The air smelled like California salt-breeze mixed with the faint scent of Jisoo's shampoo and the new leather of the tour-van's seats. It was just after midnight, although the city still glimmered outside in the vast window of the plush Mercedes-sprinter size van that the four of them used on tour—but tonight it only held Jisoo and Jennie.
Jennie leaned back against the soft leather, her legs curled sideways so she could face Jisoo. She pulled the blanket that was usually tucked across the van's mini-sofa and wrapped it around both of them, though the driver had been instructed to wait another thirty minutes so they could drift in a slow comfortable silence before heading to the hotel.
Jisoo, in a loose white T-shirt and joggers, her hair still slightly damp from the quick shower back at the venue, glanced at Jennie. Somewhere backstage, the cheers of the LA crowd still hummed in her memory. The tour lights, the roar of fans—they'd been roaring for hours. But now—now it was quieter. Just them.
Jennie sighed, her eyelids heavy from the day but her mind restless. She had watched Jisoo all night: on stage prowling with confidence, off-stage taking a second to breathe, their shared laugh backstage when Jisoo found Jennie sneaking a banana from the snack table, the subtle brush of Jennie's hand on Jisoo's shoulder when she complimented her performance. Those little touches—they meant more than Jennie had admitted to herself.
She turned so her shoulder gently rested against Jisoo's upper arm. Jisoo looked down, expression soft. "Are you okay?" she asked, quietly.
Jennie nodded. "I'm really okay," she whispered. She paused, then added, "But I had this moment tonight... when you walked off after the last encore..." Her voice faltered, just a tiny bit. She watched as Jisoo's hand reached for hers, fingers lacing together under the blanket without either of them making a big scene of it.
"In that moment," Jennie said, looking down at their joined hands, "I suddenly realised I'd never felt something so... painful when someone else has you. And I don't want to feel that again."
Jisoo's thumb traced soft circles on the back of Jennie's hand. She didn't say anything right away; she just anchored Jennie there with a look full of warmth and something deeper.
Jennie exhaled, letting the tension roll off her shoulders. "So thank you," she said. "For being here, for sharing this van with me—even though you didn't have to. For sharing this room with me. For... you."
Jisoo leaned her head against the headrest, then turned slightly so her cheek brushed against Jennie's hair. "I asked for you to share the van," she murmured. "Because I wanted you next to me. Every night, every city. If we're going to keep doing this—traveling, performing, coming home to some hotel room in some city halfway across the world—I'd rather come home to you."
And for a moment, Jennie's eyes filled, but she blinked quickly and kissed Jisoo's wrist. "Good," she replied. "Because I don't want anyone else when I'm with you."
A hush settled over them. Outside, the van engine ticked quietly. The LA skyline was lit up like a promise. They didn't need to talk; the silence between them carried the weight of something new, something gentle and certain.
Eventually, the driver tapped the glass softly, the signal to head off. Jisoo helped Jennie up, and they gathered their bags, side by side, moving in sync. At the hotel, their shared room awaited: a large king-bed, plush headboard, a window overlooking a quiet pool lit by soft spotlights, and just enough room for them to breathe together.
Once the door clicked closed behind them, Jisoo turned, taking Jennie's face in her hands, thumb brushing over Jennie's lower lip. "Home," she said softly. "This is home now."
