Chapter 1: Shower Confessions and the Lock That Broke
The steam was thick enough to taste, cheap strawberry shampoo and the ghost of Rose’s perfume clinging to the damp air. Lisa stood under the shower’s weak spray, eyes closed, letting the hot water pound the ache from her shoulders after three hours at the studio. The dorm bathroom was a closet, all chipped tiles and a single flickering fluorescent light that buzzed like an angry insect.
She heard the main door to their room click open, then Rose’s cheerful humming. A drawer slammed. Lisa smiled, rinsing suds from her short, dark hair. Rose was always a hurricane of noise.
The bathroom door swung inward before the lock could fully engage.
A draft of cooler air hit Lisa’s skin. She froze, her eyes snapping open.
Rose stood in the doorway, a fluffy blue towel in her hand, her expression one of comic surprise. Her gaze, initially aimed at the towel rack, traveled. It dipped down, then stopped. Everything stopped. The hum of the light, the drip of the tap, the very rotation of the earth—it all just fucking halted.
Lisa’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. Instinctively, she crossed her arms, a futile gesture. The water streamed over her toned shoulders, her flat stomach, the evidence of a body that never quite fit the easy, binary boxes everyone else seemed to have. A body that had been a curse, a secret, a source of whispered cruelty in locker rooms and school hallways back home. The old, familiar shame, hot and acidic, flooded her throat.
Rose’s eyebrows shot up. Her pink, glossy lips parted.
Then, a slow, wicked smirk spread across her face. She leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, her eyes glinting with mischief, not horror. Not disgust.
“Well,” Rose said, her Australian accent dipping into a drawl. “So that’s why you always hog the hot water. More real estate to heat up.”
Lisa couldn’t breathe. The joke hung in the steam between them, fragile and immense.
“Rose—” The word was a croak.
“Relax, you dork.” Rose tossed the towel onto the closed toilet lid. Her movements were casual, deliberate. “My eyes are up here, anyway. Mostly. I just came to grab my moisturizer. You left yours on my desk again, by the way.” She turned to the cluttered shelf, snatching a small bottle, her back to Lisa for a few merciful seconds.
The simple, normal action was a lifeline. Lisa fumbled for the shower knob, turning off the water. The silence was sudden and loud. She reached for her own towel, wrapped it tightly around her waist, tucking the end in with practiced efficiency.
Rose turned back, leaning against the sink. The smirk was softer now, just a quirk at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve got abs, like, proper ones. I’m jealous. All I get from singing is good lung capacity.”
Lisa stared at her best friend, searching for any flicker of pity, of awkwardness. She found only Rose’s usual warm, bubbly certainty. “You… you don’t…”
“Don’t what?” Rose tilted her head. “Care? It’s just you, Lis. Always has been.” She pushed off the sink and grabbed the door handle. “Now hurry up. You’re all pruny and we’re late. Jisoo’s cousin is DJing at that new club downtown and I heard there’s a dancer from the Seoul crew coming. Thought you’d want to scope out the competition.”
She left, pulling the door closed behind her with a firm click.
Lisa stood there, dripping on the bathmat, the towel absorbing the water beading on her skin. The phantom laughter of old bullies echoed, then faded, drowned out by the sound of Rose now aggressively rummaging through their shared closet, muttering about fishnets.
She looked at herself in the smudged mirror. Her face, with its boyish good looks and the anxiety still tightening her jaw. She saw the body she hid under baggy jeans and loose tanks. Rose had seen it. And the world had not ended.
A shaky breath escaped her. Then another, steadier.
She dressed quickly in her uniform: black jeans, a plain white tee, a beaten-up leather jacket. When she emerged, Rose was applying a second coat of mascara in the full-length mirror.
“Took you long enough,” Rose said, without turning around. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Lisa said, and it was mostly true. “Just… thanks.”
Rose met her eyes in the reflection, her expression gentle. “For what? For having functioning eyes?” She spun around, grabbing her tiny sequined bag. “Come on. Maybe you’ll see that mystery girl from last weekend again. The one in the red dress who left you speechless.”
Lisa groaned, shoving her feet into her boots. “She didn’t leave me speecheless. I was… strategically observing.”
“You looked like a goldfish someone dropped on the floor. It was adorable.” Rose linked her arm through Lisa’s, pulling her toward the door. “Tonight, no observing. Tonight, you actually talk to a pretty girl. A miracle, I know.”
The club was a thundercloud of sound and strobing light. Bodies pressed close, the air sweet with sweat and synth beats. Lisa let the music sink into her bones, the tension from earlier slowly uncoiling as she moved near the edge of the dance floor. Rose was already in the thick of it, laughing with Jisoo.
Then Lisa saw her.
Across the crowd, near the bar, was the woman from the previous week. The one in the red dress. Tonight she wore black, sharp lines against sharp features, her dark hair a swaying curtain as she nodded to something her friend said. She was luminous, a stark contrast to the shadowy room.
Lisa’s mouth went dry. Just go talk, Rose’s voice echoed in her head.
She was about to push through the crowd when a broad-shouldered guy stepped into her path, his gaze also fixed on the woman at the bar. Lisa recognized his type—the cocky, oblivious kind. He smoothed his hair back, a predator’s grin on his face, and began to move toward her.
A cold knot formed in Lisa’s stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. It was a deeper recognition, a flare of protective instinct. She saw the woman’s posture, the slight, tired slope of her shoulders as the guy approached. Saw her offer a polite, closed-lipped smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Without thinking, Lisa changed course. She moved not toward the woman, but toward the guy, timing her steps to intersect his just as he reached the bar’s edge. She bumped into him, hard, sloshing his drink over his pristine white shirt.
“Hey!” he barked, looking down at the mess.
“Oh, man, so sorry!” Lisa said, her voice pitched loud and goofy, laying on a thicker Thai accent than usual. “So clumsy! Here, use this!” She shoved a random cocktail napkin at his chest before turning, offering the woman in black a quick, deliberate glance—a raised eyebrow, a tiny shrug that said can you believe this guy?
The woman’s eyes met hers. The polite, empty smile vanished. For a fraction of a second, something else was there—surprise, recognition, a flicker of genuine amusement. It was there and then gone, veiled behind a slow, considering look as the drunk guy spluttered beside them.
But it was enough. Lisa didn’t wait. She melted back into the pulsing crowd, her heart beating a rapid, new rhythm against her ribs. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. The connection, however brief, was a live wire.
From across the room, Rose caught her eye and gave her a triumphant, exaggerated thumbs-up. Lisa just shook her head, a real smile finally touching her lips as she turned to face the music, the thrum of the bassline feeling for the first time like a promise, not just noise.