✮

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴇ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴊɪ ?

[katscopic]

˖⌕ ۫ . . . ﹫ haven't you heard i'm the internet girl?

↺ indigo !! | '02 . she/her . honorary filipino & french person

➤ ⓘ introduction | masterlist | rules ⓘ

➤ where the streets meet sunshine (wtsms) — series [WIP]

➤ nano bytes: 😴 🍡 🐾 wooper anon 🧌 🦕

↳ indi signing off.

[katscopic]

hi indi🤤

hi eli..

[katscopic]

if we're ever in the middle of conversation and i say "rolls eyes" .....just know it's @herlondonboy's fault.

[herlondonboy]

WHAT

[katscopic]

WDYM WHAT??? YK YOU STARTED TS

[katscopic]

rolls eyes.

hi eli

[katscopic]

if we're ever in the middle of conversation and i say "rolls eyes" .....just know it's @herlondonboy's fault.

[katscopic]

there is no fall off because you are awesome!!! (i lowkey forgot how to spell awesome(im dyslexic… and dysgraphic…))

-🧌

aww thank you hun <3 also twinsss i'm dyslexic too LMAO

[katscopic]

the katscopic fall off needs to be studied

[katscopic]

INDI BORROWED LIVES IS FIRE I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU

-🧌

LMFAOOOOOO TY 🧌ANON

[katscopic]

Borrowed Lives

pairing: sophia laforteza x fem!reader info: y/n can jump into other people’s lives. then she becomes isabelle laurent, sophia's childhood best friend, and realizes some lives are harder to leave than others. warnings: body swapping, identity confusion, loss of self, dissociation, memory bleed, slow burn, emotional attachment, existential themes, angst kinda??? i dee kay..™ (thanks cam) note: sorry yall, ya girl’s white blood cells been workin over time 😓 here’s some content for you guys tho! enjoy <3

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

The first time it happened, Y/N thought she was dying.

Not metaphorically. Not in the dramatic way people online described panic attacks or breakdowns. She genuinely believed something inside her body had ruptured beyond repair.

One second she’d been walking home beneath flickering streetlights, hands buried deep in the pockets of her jacket against the cold, moving with the restless current of strangers filling the sidewalk. A businessman brushed past her while arguing through wireless earbuds. A teenage girl laughed at something glowing on her phone screen. Two women stood outside a convenience store speaking in low, tense voices that sounded too intimate to be anger.

Lives everywhere.

That had been the thought circling through her mind before everything changed. Not in a poetic way. Just curiosity. The strange awareness that every person she passed carried entire histories she would never know. Childhood bedrooms. Favorite songs. Bad memories. Tiny routines. Every stranger around her was living a life as complete and consuming as her own, and somehow the realization made the city feel impossibly large.

Then somebody slammed into her shoulder.

The impact knocked her sideways hard enough to sting. Y/N muttered an automatic apology despite the fact it hadn’t been her fault, but the stranger barely acknowledged her before continuing down the sidewalk.

Their skin touched for less than a second.

The world split open.

At first, it didn’t hurt.

That was the worst part.

Pain would’ve made sense. Pain would’ve felt human. Instead, reality itself seemed to slip sideways around her. The city noise warped into something distant and underwater. Car horns stretched into distorted echoes. Her heartbeat stumbled violently against her ribs as the ground tilted beneath her feet.

And then—

She was somewhere else.

Sunlight spilled harshly through crooked blinds. Burnt toast lingered in the air alongside stale coffee and dish soap. A television murmured faintly somewhere nearby beneath the sound of somebody talking in an exhausted voice.

“…can’t keep doing this every month, Eli.”

Y/N jerked upright so fast the chair beneath her scraped loudly across tile.

The movement felt wrong immediately.

Too heavy.

Too unfamiliar.

“What’s wrong with you?” the woman asked.

Y/N stared at her.

Mid-forties maybe. Dark circles beneath tired eyes. Hair pinned back carelessly like she’d stopped caring how it looked hours ago. A coffee mug rested between her hands, steam curling upward lazily.

And somehow Y/N knew her.

Not recognized.

Knew.

Linda Moreno. Thirty-eight years old. Dental assistant. Divorced three years ago after discovering her husband had been cheating on her. Smoked cigarettes secretly behind the clinic despite promising her kids she’d quit. Terrified of ending up alone once they moved out.

The information slammed into Y/N’s head naturally, instinctively, like remembering something she’d forgotten.

Her stomach dropped.

“Eli?” the woman asked slowly.

The name struck next.

Eli Moreno.

Twenty-three years old. Failed community college twice. Loved astronomy documentaries. Had a scar near his hip from falling off a bike at twelve. Pretended not to care when people underestimated him even though it quietly destroyed him every single time.

Then the memories came.

Not fragments.

Entire years.

Christmas mornings. School hallways. First kisses. Humiliations. The exact feeling of crying silently in a bathroom stall at fifteen after overhearing classmates call him pathetic. Songs memorized accidentally after hearing them too many times on the radio. Tiny meaningless details layered endlessly atop one another until Y/N could barely feel herself beneath the crushing weight of somebody else’s life.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

Except it wasn’t her voice.

Lower.

Rougher.

Male.

Panic ripped through her instantly.

She stumbled backward from the kitchen table so quickly the chair nearly tipped over behind her. Everything about her body felt wrong. Taller. Broader shoulders. Different balance. Even breathing felt unfamiliar.

Linda frowned harder. “Eli, are you okay?”

Y/N ran.

The apartment blurred around her as she shoved through the front door and practically fell down the stairs. Her mind felt overcrowded, packed too tightly with instincts and memories that weren’t hers. She knew which stair squeaked on the third-floor landing. Knew Eli kept spare cash hidden inside an old hoodie pocket. Knew the route he usually took to the subway station.

None of it belonged to her.

The city hit her all at once when she burst outside again. Noise. Headlights streaking across wet pavement. People brushing past her without looking twice while panic clawed violently through her chest.

Then she saw her reflection in a storefront window.

Y/N stopped dead.

A stranger stared back.

Dark curls. Brown skin. Tired eyes rimmed red with confusion. A face she had never seen before in her life.

Male.

Her hand lifted shakily toward her face.

The reflection copied her instantly.

The world lurched beneath her feet.

She stood there frozen for what felt like forever, staring at somebody else’s face wearing her fear.

Then reality snapped.

Hard.

The force of it dropped her to her knees.

Rainwater soaked instantly through denim as Y/N gasped against cold pavement, staring down at trembling hands she recognized. Her hands. Her body. Herself.

Around her, people continued walking without slowing down.

Nobody noticed anything strange.

Nobody cared.

The world kept moving.

For two days, Y/N convinced herself she had hallucinated the entire thing.

There had to be another explanation.

A seizure maybe. A dissociative episode. Some kind of psychotic break brought on by stress or exhaustion. Human brains were fragile. People experienced impossible things all the time.

Except hallucinations didn’t leave memories behind.

Y/N still remembered Eli Moreno’s life with horrifying clarity.

Not vaguely.

Perfectly.

She remembered the smell of his childhood dog after rain. The embarrassment of failing his driver’s test the first time. The exact layout of his apartment bedroom. The panic he felt every time his father called because some part of him still desperately wanted approval he would never receive.

Those memories sat inside her head beside her own like they belonged there.

That was the detail she couldn’t explain away.

Three days after the incident, she searched his name online.

Her hands shook the entire time.

When his social media profile appeared, Y/N nearly threw up.

Same face.

Same apartment.

Same mother smiling in old family photos.

Everything real.

Everything exactly where it should’ve been.

She spent hours afterward sitting motionless on the floor of her bedroom, staring at nothing while her thoughts spiraled violently in circles.

How was it possible?

What happened to her body while she was gone?

What happened to Eli while she was inside him?

Had he known?

The questions multiplied endlessly until they became impossible to silence.

Then it happened again.

A woman brushed against Y/N’s hand while exiting a crowded subway car, and suddenly the station disappeared.

She was sitting in an office cubicle.

Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Her stomach churned with nausea and stale alcohol. An unfinished spreadsheet glowed on the computer screen in front of her.

Female.

Thirty-one years old.

Recently engaged but secretly uncertain about it.

The realization arrived instantly alongside a flood of memories that weren’t hers. Childhood birthdays. College parties. Arguments. Favorite foods. Emotional instincts. Entire years of another woman’s life crashing violently into Y/N’s consciousness before she could even process what was happening.

This time, she understood.

Not fully.

But enough.

Enough to realize this wasn’t random.

Enough to understand that somehow—somehow—physical contact had thrown her into another person’s body.

Another person’s life.

The thought made her feel sick.

Y/N spent four hours trapped inside that woman before snapping back into herself in the middle of a train station bathroom.

After that, denial became impossible.

The jumps continued unpredictably.

Sometimes minutes. Once, nearly an entire day.

Physical contact triggered them most often, though heightened emotions seemed to make them easier somehow. Crowded places became dangerous. Skin against skin and suddenly her consciousness slipped sideways into another existence.

At first, every jump felt like survival.

Blend in.

Don’t panic.

Don’t say anything strange.

But eventually curiosity began growing inside the fear.

Because people were devastating up close.

Not simplified into first impressions or public versions of themselves. Real. Contradictory. Fragile in ways they hid from everyone around them. The rude cashier secretly grieving her older brother. The arrogant college student terrified of disappointing his parents. The woman who laughed the loudest at parties while privately wondering if anybody would notice if she disappeared.

Y/N lived dozens of lives in fragments.

Enough to realize how lonely everyone actually was.

That became the cruelest part of the ability. Not the fear. Not the confusion. The intimacy. The unbearable closeness of understanding people completely while remaining fundamentally unknown herself.

Returning to her own body eventually started feeling strange.

Small.

Like she’d spent too long wandering through enormous crowded rooms only to lock herself back inside a closet afterward.

Then she became Isabelle Laurent.

And everything changed.

The Isabelle Laurent jump happened on a Thursday, though Y/N would not realize the significance of that detail until much later, when she began to notice that her life no longer moved in days so much as in interruptions.

At the time, it was simply another afternoon folded into the growing strangeness of her existence. Rain had fallen earlier, leaving the sidewalks slick and reflective, the city lights smeared into soft, trembling ribbons across the pavement. Y/N had been walking without much thought, her hands occupied with a bottle of sports drink she did not particularly want and a bag of chips she had bought out of habit rather than hunger. The cold air clung to her skin in a way that felt both grounding and unreal, as though her body belonged to the weather more than it belonged to her.

She had learned, by then, to recognize the early signs.

Not always reliably. Not with precision. But enough to feel when the world around her began to thin at the edges. It started as a kind of pressure behind her eyes, like the air itself had become slightly too dense. Sound would begin to distort in subtle ways, stretching just a fraction longer than it should. Footsteps would echo incorrectly. Her own heartbeat would feel delayed, as though it were arriving a second too late to match her body.

That was what she felt now.

Y/N slowed her pace without consciously deciding to. Her grip tightened around the drink bottle. Somewhere ahead, pedestrians crossed through an intersection, their umbrellas shifting like dark petals under the streetlights. A couple brushed past her shoulder, laughing softly at something shared between them. The contact was brief, accidental, the kind of meaningless touch that would normally pass without consequence.

But her body reacted before her mind could intervene.

There was a moment—so small it almost did not exist—where everything went quiet.

Not silent.

Removed.

As if the world had been pulled back by invisible hands, leaving her suspended in something thinner than air.

Then the impact hit.

It was not pain. It was displacement.

The sensation tore through her so completely that her vision fractured at the edges. The streetlights bent unnaturally. The sound of passing cars elongated into something distant and hollow. Her body tried to inhale, but the breath never finished forming.

And then she was gone.

Y/N came back to herself standing in the middle of a kitchen she did not recognize.

For a brief moment, she did not understand that anything had changed. Her mind attempted to continue forward from the last coherent thought she remembered, as though nothing had interrupted it. The sensation was like waking up mid-sentence in a conversation she had not realized she was part of.

Then the details settled.

Warm light. Pale countertops. The faint smell of something citrus and clean, like soap or detergent. A glass of water sitting half-finished on the counter beside a set of keys she did not recognize.

Her body felt wrong.

Not injured. Not altered in any obvious way. But mismatched, like clothing worn inside out. Her balance shifted slightly when she tried to steady herself, and her center of gravity responded in a way she did not expect.

Y/N looked down.

Smaller hands. Slender wrists. Painted nails.

Her stomach dropped.

“No,” she whispered, but the voice that came out was not her own.

It was softer. Higher. Controlled in a way her voice had never been.

The sound alone was enough to fracture her already unstable sense of reality.

Her breath hitched.

This was not the first time it had happened, but the familiarity of it did not make it easier. If anything, it made it worse. Her mind began to assemble information at an alarming speed, as it always did during these moments, forcing her to understand before she could fully process.

She knew things she should not know.

The kitchen belonged to a shared apartment. The keys on the counter were for a building in Los Angeles. The half-empty glass had been filled approximately forty minutes ago. The body she was inhabiting belonged to a woman in her early twenties.

Her name surfaced a second later, uninvited and complete.

Isabelle Laurent.

Y/N stumbled backward, her hand gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself. The sensation of Isabelle’s body responding to her panic felt disturbingly natural, as if this form had always been hers and she was only now remembering how to use it.

But she forced herself to breathe.

In.

Out.

She had learned this much, at least. Panic made the transitions harder to navigate. Panic made everything blurrier.

Still, her mind was already filling with inherited memories that did not belong to her. Not like dreams. Not like imagination. Like files being opened inside her consciousness without permission.

Isabelle. Twenty-two. Freelance stylist assistant. Lives in Los Angeles. Childhood best friend of Sophia Laforteza.

That last detail landed with particular weight.

Y/N froze.

Sophia.

Not a vague idea of her anymore. Not a face behind a screen or a voice in an interview clip. A real person attached to real memories that were not hers but were now inside her head regardless.

Her pulse spiked.

This was not random.

It never felt random once she had enough time to recognize patterns, but something about this one made her chest tighten in a way she could not immediately explain. The emotional residue embedded in Isabelle’s memories carried a warmth that was almost disorienting. Years of closeness. Familiarity so deep it bordered on instinct.

And underneath that—

Something else.

A quiet, unspoken tenderness that Y/N did not have the language to immediately categorize.

A knock sounded at the front door.

Y/N jolted so violently she nearly dropped the glass on the counter.

“Isabelle?” a voice called from outside. “Izzy, are you alive in there or did you finally pass away from your own chaotic scheduling?”

The voice was familiar in a way that made Y/N’s stomach twist.

Not because she had heard it before in person.

Because she had heard it everywhere else.

Sophia Laforteza.

But this was not the version of her that existed on screens.

This was lower, looser, softened by familiarity and absence of performance. The kind of voice that belonged to someone speaking without thinking about how they were being perceived.

Y/N stood completely still.

Another knock.

“Izzy,” Sophia called again, more insistent now. “Open the door before I start using dramatic threats.”

Isabelle’s body moved before Y/N consciously decided to respond.

That was one of the most terrifying parts of the jumps. The body always remembered before she did. Muscle memory layered over foreign consciousness like it had every right to be there.

Y/N crossed the room and opened the door.

The hallway light spilled inward.

Sophia stood there.

No camera. No stage lighting. No curated expression. Just a girl in an oversized hoodie, hair loosely tied back, holding a plastic bag that looked like it contained takeout. She leaned slightly against the doorframe like she had done it a hundred times before.

And behind her—

A history Y/N did not belong to.

“I knew you were home,” Sophia said immediately, pushing past her gently without waiting for permission. “You left your location on, by the way. Rookie mistake.”

Y/N shut the door slowly.

Her mind struggled to stabilize.

Isabelle’s memories insisted on familiarity. On comfort. On ease. They told her how to stand, how to breathe, how to exist around Sophia without drawing attention.

But Y/N herself was overwhelmed by the reality of it.

This was not a video. Not a stage. Not an edited clip.

This was proximity.

Sophia dropped the bag onto the counter and turned around, scanning the room. “You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”

Y/N opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Her throat tightened.

Sophia frowned slightly. “Iz?”

The nickname landed strangely in her chest.

Izzy.

Isabelle’s nickname. Something said casually, affectionately, without hesitation.

Y/N forced herself to respond, but even the act of speaking felt like stepping onto unstable ground. “I’m fine,” she managed.

Sophia narrowed her eyes immediately.

That expression—Y/N realized distantly—was not new. It was habitual. Familiar. Something learned over years of knowing when Isabelle was lying.

“You’re not fine,” Sophia said flatly. “You’re doing the thing where you try to sound fine but you definitely aren’t fine.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

She had no script for this.

No preparation.

Because this was not a stranger’s life in the abstract sense anymore. This was someone who had known Isabelle long enough to notice micro-changes. Someone who had shared enough time with her that deception required precision Y/N did not yet have.

“I just—” Y/N started, then stopped.

Because the truth was impossible to explain.

Sophia sighed and stepped further into the apartment, already moving like she belonged there too. Like this space was shared in a way that did not require permission or explanation.

“You didn’t answer my texts earlier,” she said, softer now. “I thought you got lost or something.”

Y/N watched her carefully.

Every movement felt loaded with meaning she was only partially equipped to understand. The way Sophia set the bag down. The way she kicked off her shoes automatically. The way she glanced around the room without needing to be asked.

Comfort rooted in repetition.

History.

“I was… busy,” Y/N said carefully.

Sophia gave her a look.

“Busy doing what? Ignoring the concept of time again?”

There was humor in it, but underneath it was something else. Concern, maybe. Familiar frustration. A pattern of interaction that had existed long before Y/N arrived.

And that was when it hit her.

Not all at once.

But in layers.

She was not just inside Isabelle’s body.

She was inside Isabelle’s life.

And that meant everything she did here would ripple outward into a world that already had expectations for her.

Sophia walked past her toward the living room, still talking casually. “Also, I brought food, because I know you’ve been surviving on like, air and stress for the last two days.”

Y/N followed slowly.

Her thoughts were no longer linear.

They were branching.

Expanding.

Because somewhere underneath the panic, underneath the disbelief, something colder was beginning to form.

Understanding.

This was not random.

This was not hallucination.

And whatever this ability was—

It was far more real than she had been willing to accept.

Sophia dropped onto the couch and looked back at her. “Come sit, Izzy. You’re acting weird.”

Y/N paused in the doorway.

For a fraction of a second, she considered telling her.

Everything.

But she already knew what would happen if she did.

So instead, she stepped forward and sat down beside her.

Carefully.

Quietly.

Inside a life that was not hers.

Sophia noticed changes immediately.

Not dramatic ones.

Nothing obvious enough for suspicion to form right away. Y/N understood quickly that Isabelle’s life had routines embedded so deeply into it that most interactions could survive on instinct alone. The body remembered things before she consciously did. Which cabinet held the glasses. Which side of the couch Isabelle usually sat on. How long Sophia liked her tea steeped before complaining it tasted “too bitter and depressing.”

The terrifying part was how naturally it all came to her.

Not because Y/N was pretending well.

Because Isabelle already existed inside her head.

The memories settled into place the longer she stayed there, smoothing rough edges whenever panic threatened to expose her. Sometimes Y/N would reach for something before consciously realizing why. Sometimes she would laugh at jokes a split second before remembering where the punchline came from.

It felt less like acting and more like being haunted.

Sophia sat cross-legged beside her on the couch, pulling containers of takeout from a plastic bag while talking about rehearsal schedules and some argument that had apparently happened earlier between two of the girls over whose turn it was to pick music in the practice room.

Y/N listened carefully.

Not because she needed information.

Because she couldn’t stop staring.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly the reality of Sophia’s existence overwhelmed her. Not celebrity exactly. That feeling had already begun dissolving the second Sophia stepped through the apartment door. Reality made her smaller somehow. Softer around the edges. Human in ways cameras never captured.

She talked with her hands when she was tired.

She leaned into furniture absentmindedly while speaking.

She kept pushing loose strands of hair behind her ear only for them to fall back into place thirty seconds later.

Tiny things.

Ordinary things.

And somehow those details affected Y/N more than years of performances ever had.

“You’re staring at me,” Sophia said suddenly.

Y/N nearly choked on air.

“What?”

Sophia laughed softly. “You’ve looked at me like six times in the last minute. Either I have food on my face or you’ve finally decided I’m annoying.”

Heat rushed instantly into Y/N’s chest.

The worst part was that Isabelle’s body knew how to respond. Knew the rhythm of this conversation already. Knew how their friendship moved around teasing naturally and without effort.

But Y/N hesitated for just a second too long.

Sophia noticed immediately.

Her expression shifted slightly. Not suspicious yet. Just attentive.

“You okay?” she asked again, quieter this time.

Y/N looked down at the takeout container in her hands.

The truth sat heavy behind her teeth.

No, actually. I’m a stranger inside your best friend’s body and I don’t know how to stop loving the sound of your voice already.

Instead she forced a small shrug. “Just tired.”

Sophia studied her for another moment before leaning back against the couch cushions.

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately,” she muttered.

The sentence hit harder than Y/N expected.

Because she realized suddenly that Isabelle had probably been exhausted long before this happened. Overworked. Stressed. Carrying pieces of herself silently the way most people did.

The inherited memories arrived unpredictably sometimes. Not complete scenes but emotional impressions tied to certain thoughts. Isabelle falling asleep over her laptop at three in the morning. Ignoring texts because answering felt overwhelming. Smiling through conversations while secretly wanting to disappear for a week.

Y/N swallowed hard.

It was impossible not to feel invasive.

Every jump already carried guilt attached to it, but this felt different somehow. More personal. Isabelle wasn’t anonymous. She wasn’t just another stranger whose life Y/N would inhabit briefly before disappearing.

She mattered here.

To Sophia especially.

And Y/N was beginning to understand just how much.

“Did Dani end up apologizing?” Sophia asked, opening another container.

Y/N blinked.

Isabelle’s memories surfaced automatically.

Argument three nights ago. Daniela accusing Isabelle of overcommitting herself again. Isabelle snapping back out of exhaustion more than anger.

“Kind of,” Y/N answered carefully.

Sophia snorted. “So no.”

Despite herself, Y/N smiled faintly.

Sophia pointed immediately. “There you are.”

“What?”

“That look.” Sophia grinned. “You’ve been acting weird all night. I was starting to think somebody replaced you with an emotionally repressed clone.”

The joke landed too close to the truth.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Sophia didn’t notice. Or if she did, she interpreted it differently. She nudged their shoulders together lightly before reaching for her drink.

The contact sent panic through Y/N instantly.

Not because she disliked it.

Because she did.

Too much.

Isabelle’s affection for Sophia already existed inside her like muscle memory. Years of closeness layered naturally through shared experiences and quiet loyalty. But Y/N’s own feelings tangled dangerously with it, making it impossible to separate what belonged to whom anymore.

Admiration.

Attraction.

Warmth.

They blurred together until she couldn’t identify where Isabelle ended and she began.

That terrified her.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

The jumps had always been temporary. Detached. She entered lives and left them again. Sometimes the memories lingered afterward, but emotional distance remained intact enough for survival.

This felt different.

She already didn’t want to leave.

The realization struck suddenly and with enough force to make her chest ache.

Sophia kept talking, unaware of the crisis unfolding beside her. Something about rehearsal times tomorrow. One of the girls forgetting choreography earlier and nearly knocking over a camera during practice.

Y/N watched her while pretending not to.

It was strange hearing idol stories stripped of glamour. No dramatic editing. No polished anecdotes prepared for interviews. Just exhaustion and annoyance and laughter over ordinary mistakes.

Human.

Everything about Sophia felt painfully human up close.

“You should come by the dorm tomorrow,” Sophia said suddenly.

Y/N froze.

“What?”

Sophia looked at her like the answer should’ve been obvious. “The girls keep asking where you disappeared to.”

Isabelle visited often.

The memory surfaced immediately afterward. Movie nights. Helping style outfits sometimes. Sitting on kitchen counters while the girls practiced harmonies badly on purpose just to make each other laugh.

A familiar presence.

Someone welcome there.

Y/N’s pulse quickened.

The KATSEYE dorm.

Actual KATSEYE.

The thought would’ve sounded insane months ago. Impossible. The kind of fantasy she used to half-joke about online with other fans who understood celebrity crushes were safest from a distance.

Now she was here.

Inside the life of someone Sophia trusted enough to invite over casually.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said slowly.

Sophia frowned. “Why not?”

Because I’m not really Isabelle.

The answer screamed through her head.

Instead she forced another shrug. “Busy.”

“You hate being busy,” Sophia replied immediately.

Again—that terrifying familiarity.

Sophia knew Isabelle deeply enough to spot inconsistencies instinctively. Every hesitation felt dangerous now. Every wrong reaction risked cracking something open.

Y/N suddenly understood how fragile this situation actually was.

Not because people would discover the supernatural truth. That seemed impossible.

Because relationships were built on tiny recognitions.

Patterns.

People noticed when someone laughed at the wrong moment. When they stopped using phrases they’d always used before. When affection shifted slightly out of rhythm.

And Sophia had known Isabelle for years.

“Seriously,” Sophia continued, softer now. “You’ve been distant lately.”

Guilt hit Y/N so hard it almost felt physical.

Because Sophia meant Isabelle.

She had no idea the person sitting beside her literally wasn’t the same girl anymore.

The thought made Y/N feel sick.

Yet even beneath the guilt, another emotion curled quietly through her chest.

Selfishness.

Because part of her was grateful for the misunderstanding.

If Sophia thought Isabelle was just stressed or overwhelmed, then she would keep looking at her like this. Keep speaking to her gently. Keep inviting her closer without realizing she was inviting a stranger instead.

The realization horrified her.

“You’re doing it again,” Sophia said.

Y/N blinked. “Doing what?”

“Thinking too hard.” Sophia leaned back dramatically. “I can literally hear the gears turning in your brain.”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed softly.

Sophia smiled immediately like she’d won something.

And god—that smile.

It looked different in person.

Less perfected. Less intentional. Slightly crooked in a way cameras rarely captured because they were always searching for cleaner angles.

Y/N wanted to memorize it.

That thought scared her more than anything else had so far.

Because she was already becoming attached.

The next morning, Y/N woke up in Isabelle’s bed still inside Isabelle’s body.

That had never happened before.

For several long seconds, she just stared at the ceiling in complete silence while panic slowly tightened around her ribs.

Usually the jumps ended unpredictably but quickly enough that permanence never became a concern. A few hours at most. Long enough to disorient her but never long enough to settle completely into another existence.

This was different.

Sunlight spilled weakly through curtains onto unfamiliar walls decorated with framed photos and scattered jewelry trays. Isabelle’s memories identified the room automatically, but Y/N still felt detached from it in the way tourists felt detached from hotel rooms.

Temporary.

Supposed to be temporary.

Except she was still here.

Her pulse quickened.

What if she couldn’t leave?

The possibility had existed abstractly before now, lingering quietly beneath every jump without ever fully surfacing. But lying here in Isabelle’s body after an entire night passed uninterrupted made the fear suddenly real.

Y/N sat upright too quickly.

The movement sent a wave of dizziness through her immediately—not supernatural this time. Ordinary exhaustion. Isabelle’s exhaustion.

That was another thing Y/N had begun noticing.

Bodies carried themselves differently depending on the lives inside them.

Eli’s body had felt heavy with insecurity and sleeplessness. The overworked office woman had carried tension permanently in her shoulders. Isabelle moved like someone constantly running on too little rest and too much responsibility.

Even now, fatigue clung stubbornly to her muscles.

Y/N rubbed her face slowly.

Then froze.

Her hands.

Not hers.

The sight still startled her every time.

A phone buzzed loudly beside the bed.

Y/N grabbed it instinctively before remembering she technically shouldn’t know the password.

Except she did know it.

Because Isabelle knew it.

The realization remained deeply unsettling no matter how many times it happened.

Sophia’s name flashed across the screen beside a string of messages.

SOPHIA: u alive?

SOPHIA: be honest are you still asleep

SOPHIA: if u are i respect it actually

Another text appeared while Y/N stared.

SOPHIA: also can u come over later?? Lara wants help picking an outfit and none of us trust each other anymore

Y/N’s chest tightened unexpectedly.

The casualness of it.

The normalcy.

Sophia texting Isabelle first thing in the morning like it was instinct.

Like Isabelle existed permanently inside the shape of her daily life.

Before Y/N could stop herself, she smiled faintly at the screen.

Then the guilt returned immediately afterward.

Because none of this belonged to her.

And yet—

when she pictured Sophia waiting for her at the dorm later, warmth spread uncontrollably through her chest anyway.

Y/N spent almost forty minutes standing in front of Isabelle’s bathroom mirror before finally leaving the apartment.

Not because she was trying to look good.

Because existing inside another person’s appearance for this long had begun to distort her sense of reality in ways she wasn’t prepared for.

At first, the reflection had only been unfamiliar. That part she understood. Every jump carried that same initial moment of disorientation—the sharp shock of seeing somebody else move when she moved, breathe when she breathed.

But now the unfamiliarity was beginning to soften around the edges.

That terrified her.

Isabelle’s face no longer looked entirely wrong when Y/N stared into the mirror. The features had already started settling into recognition through repetition. Dark hair falling over one shoulder. Gold jewelry scattered across the counter. The tiny scar near Isabelle’s chin from crashing her bike at eleven years old.

Y/N knew where every detail came from.

That made it worse.

Because it meant Isabelle existed inside her constantly now, surfacing in fragments at random moments. Not loud enough to overpower her own identity, but present enough to blur against it.

The memories had never stayed this strong before.

Y/N gripped the sink harder.

“Okay,” she whispered quietly to herself.

Except the voice still wasn’t hers.

The sound hit her strangely every single time.

She straightened slowly and forced herself to step away from the mirror before she could spiral further. Isabelle’s phone sat beside the sink where she’d left it earlier, Sophia’s unread messages still glowing faintly across the screen.

The dorm.

The thought alone tightened something nervous and electric beneath Y/N’s ribs.

Because this was crossing into dangerous territory now.

Up until this point, every jump had existed in isolation. Temporary interruptions in strangers’ lives before she vanished again. She never stayed long enough to build connections or alter anything permanently.

But Isabelle already had connections.

Deep ones.

People loved her here.

People expected things from her.

And Sophia—

Y/N stopped herself before finishing the thought.

The feelings developing there already felt unstable enough without naming them directly.

Outside, the city hummed softly beneath overcast skies. The earlier rain had faded into cold damp air that clung to the sidewalks and left everything smelling faintly like concrete and electricity.

Y/N walked carefully, hyperaware of herself in a way she rarely used to be before the jumps started. Isabelle’s body moved differently than hers. More graceful without trying. Quicker. Lighter on her feet.

People looked at Isabelle differently, too.

Y/N noticed that immediately.

Not celebrity attention exactly. Isabelle wasn’t famous in the same way Sophia was. But there was a confidence to the way strangers interacted with her that Y/N wasn’t accustomed to inhabiting. Cashiers smiled longer. People made eye contact more often. Men glanced twice when she passed them on the sidewalk.

It felt invasive somehow.

Not because Isabelle was uncomfortable with attention.

Because Y/N wasn’t used to receiving it.

By the time she reached the KATSEYE dorm building, her pulse had climbed high enough to make her hands feel slightly numb.

This is insane, she thought.

Not in the excited fan way anymore.

In the genuinely destabilizing way.

Because the reality of this situation had started settling into her bones now. She wasn’t visiting celebrities. She wasn’t watching idols from a distance.

She was stepping directly into a life that already belonged there.

The elevator ride upward felt strangely quiet.

Y/N stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall while her thoughts spiraled uncontrollably. What if one of the girls noticed something wrong immediately? What if Isabelle acted differently around them than the memories suggested? What if Sophia already suspected something and Y/N had been too distracted to realize it?

The doors slid open before she could think herself into panic.

Music drifted faintly down the hallway.

Somebody laughed loudly from inside the dorm.

And suddenly Y/N understood something terrifying:

Isabelle was comfortable here.

The realization hit before she even knocked.

Her body already knew this place. Knew the route through the hallway. Knew which door belonged to the dorm without consciously checking the numbers.

Familiarity settled into her muscles like instinct.

Before she could second-guess herself, the door swung open.

Sophia stood there holding a half-eaten granola bar.

“Oh my god,” she said immediately. “You actually came.”

The warmth in her voice hit Y/N embarrassingly hard.

Sophia stepped aside automatically to let her in, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up her arms while music played somewhere deeper in the apartment.

The dorm looked different than Y/N expected.

Smaller.

Not physically maybe, but emotionally. Softer around the edges. Shoes abandoned near the entrance. Water bottles covering half the kitchen counter. Somebody yelling from another room about stealing skincare products again.

It felt lived in.

Chaotic in the deeply ordinary way shared spaces always became.

“IZZY’S HERE,” Sophia shouted suddenly.

“Tell her Lara’s impossible!” Megan’s voice yelled back instantly.

Y/N froze slightly as several girls appeared almost at once from different parts of the dorm.

Faces she recognized immediately.

Not personally.

But enough from years online that seeing them move casually through a kitchen without cameras felt surreal in a way she couldn’t fully process.

Manon pointed accusingly toward a pile of clothing on the couch. “Please tell Lara that wearing three belts at once is a crime.”

“It’s fashion,” Dani argued defensively from the floor.

Sophia leaned closer to Y/N and muttered, “You see what I deal with?”

The closeness nearly short-circuited her thoughts.

God.

Everything about Sophia became overwhelming at this distance. The way she smelled faintly like vanilla and detergent. The warmth radiating from her shoulder. The effortless way she folded people into her space without hesitation.

Y/N forced herself to focus.

Isabelle.

You are Isabelle here.

The reminder steadied her slightly.

The girls greeted her naturally after that. Casually. Like someone who had already existed inside their lives for years.

And according to Isabelle’s memories, she had.

Y/N found herself responding automatically at times, pulled along by instinct and inherited familiarity. She knew which girl hated coffee unless it was overloaded with sugar. Knew who always stole fries off other people’s plates without asking. Knew where Isabelle normally sat in the living room during movie nights.

The knowledge disturbed her less now.

That disturbed her more.

“Okay,” Lara announced dramatically, holding up two outfits. “Help me decide before I lose my mind.”

Y/N blinked.

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Lara said. “Sophia keeps giving useless answers.”

Sophia gasped. “My answers are visionary.”

“You told me to dress ‘emotionally.’”

“That means something to me!”

The room erupted into overlapping laughter.

And despite herself—despite the fear constantly simmering beneath her skin—Y/N laughed too.

The sound slipped out naturally.

Warm.

Real.

For a moment, nobody looked like idols.

Just girls arguing over clothes in a messy apartment.

The realization settled heavily in Y/N’s chest.

Because this was the version nobody really got to see. Not fully. Fans saw polished fragments carefully chosen for public consumption. Interviews. Livestreams. Edited personalities shaped gently around marketability.

But this—

this was humanity stripped of performance.

Sophia throwing popcorn at people when she lost arguments.

Lara collapsing dramatically across furniture whenever she got stressed.

The girls speaking over each other until conversations became impossible to follow.

Ordinary.

Painfully ordinary.

And Y/N loved it immediately.

That scared her more than anything else.

Because somewhere along the line, this stopped feeling temporary.

“You’re staring again,” Sophia said quietly beside her.

Y/N jumped.

Heat rushed instantly into her face. “I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

Sophia grinned before nudging her shoulder lightly.

The contact sent panic and warmth crashing together through Y/N’s chest so violently she almost forgot how to breathe.

She couldn’t keep reacting like this.

Not around Sophia.

Not when Isabelle’s feelings already complicated everything.

Because Y/N had started noticing things buried deeper inside Isabelle’s memories now. Not obvious confessions or dramatic realizations. Smaller moments.

Sophia asleep against Isabelle’s shoulder during long car rides.

Sophia calling Izzy first whenever something important happened.

Sophia reaching for her automatically in crowded places.

Love existed here already.

Maybe not romantic.

Maybe not fully understood.

But it existed.

And Y/N was beginning to fall into it too.

The thought made guilt coil sharply through her stomach.

Because none of this belonged to her.

Not Sophia’s trust.

Not her affection.

Not the easy intimacy threaded through every interaction.

Y/N was borrowing a life. Wearing it. Pretending she deserved access to things Isabelle had built slowly over years.

“You okay?” Sophia asked suddenly.

The room had gotten louder around them somehow. Music playing now. Somebody arguing about food orders from the kitchen.

Y/N realized she’d gone quiet too long.

“Yeah,” she answered quickly.

Sophia studied her carefully.

There it was again.

That attention.

That terrifying ability she had to notice tiny shifts immediately.

“You’ve been weird lately,” Sophia murmured.

Y/N’s chest tightened.

The words weren’t accusatory.

That almost made them worse.

Sophia sounded worried.

“I’m fine,” Y/N said softly.

Sophia didn’t respond right away.

Instead she looked at her for another second longer than necessary, expression unreadable beneath the apartment lights.

Then finally she sighed.

“You know you can tell me stuff, right?”

The sentence hit like a physical blow.

Because Y/N suddenly realized Isabelle probably did tell Sophia everything.

Or close enough to everything that silence itself now felt suspicious.

Guilt flooded her so quickly it almost made her nauseous.

Sophia trusted Isabelle completely.

And Y/N was standing inside that trust like a thief.

Before she could respond, one of the girls shouted from the kitchen asking who wanted food, and the moment broke apart instantly beneath louder conversation.

But the feeling lingered.

Sophia moved away eventually, laughing at something someone else said while the apartment shifted naturally around her energy. She was magnetic without trying to be. The kind of person people unconsciously oriented themselves toward.

Y/N watched her from across the room.

Watched the easy way she existed here.

And for one dangerous moment, she forgot to feel guilty at all.

Because she was happy.

Actually happy.

The realization settled softly and horribly inside her chest.

Not during the jumps themselves.

Not because of the power.

Here.

With Sophia.

In this apartment full of noise and warmth and ordinary affection.

Y/N hadn’t realized how lonely she’d become until now.

Maybe that was why this felt so dangerous.

Because part of her already knew she wasn’t going to leave willingly anymore.

By the fifth day inside Isabelle Laurent’s life, Y/N began forgetting to think of herself as temporary.

The realization came quietly.

Not all at once. Not in some dramatic moment of surrender where she consciously decided she wanted to stay. It slipped into her thoughts gradually, woven between ordinary routines until she suddenly noticed how naturally she had begun responding to Isabelle’s name.

Izzy.

The nickname no longer startled her every time Sophia said it.

That terrified her more than anything else had so far.

Because the jumps were never supposed to last this long.

Every previous life had eventually pushed her back out without warning. Sometimes it took minutes. Sometimes hours. Once, nearly an entire day. But always temporary. Always unstable. Like her consciousness was something reality rejected after enough time passed.

This was different.

This felt rooted somehow.

Permanent enough that Y/N caught herself making future plans before remembering she technically did not belong here at all.

The thought lingered unpleasantly in the back of her mind as she stood in the dorm kitchen early that morning, half-awake and holding a mug Isabelle apparently used for coffee despite openly hating coffee.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Y/N turned sharply.

Sophia stood in the doorway wearing oversized sweatpants and one of those faded hoodies people only kept because they were comfortable. Her hair looked barely brushed. Sleep still clung visibly to her face.

And somehow she was still beautiful.

The realization had stopped feeling dramatic after the first few days. It existed more like background noise now. Constant. Automatic. Dangerous in its consistency.

“What?” Y/N asked.

Sophia pointed lazily toward the coffee machine. “You always put too much creamer in first.”

Y/N blinked.

Then Isabelle’s memory surfaced immediately afterward.

Right.

Isabelle always mixed the creamer before the coffee because she claimed it “felt emotionally correct.”

The familiarity of it made Y/N’s chest ache strangely.

Sophia knew these details instinctively. Tiny meaningless habits gathered slowly over years of friendship. The way Isabelle organized playlists. The foods she picked around instead of eating. Which side of the couch she preferred during movie nights.

Intimacy built through repetition.

Y/N still didn’t know how to exist inside that kind of closeness without feeling guilty.

Sophia wandered into the kitchen and stole the mug directly from her hands before Y/N could react.

“You’re half asleep,” she mumbled. “Move.”

Y/N obeyed automatically.

Watching Sophia make coffee should not have affected her this much. Nothing about the moment was extraordinary. Morning light spilled weakly through the apartment windows while the dorm remained mostly quiet around them. Somebody snored faintly from another room. The refrigerator hummed softly beneath the sound of coffee pouring into ceramic.

Ordinary.

That was what kept undoing her.

Sophia existed so ordinarily up close.

Not polished into celebrity perfection. Not performing. Just sleepy and warm and comfortable enough around Isabelle to exist without thinking about herself too carefully.

Y/N wanted to stay inside moments like this forever.

The thought surfaced before she could stop it.

Her stomach twisted immediately afterward.

Because wanting that was selfish.

Isabelle had a life outside of Y/N. A real one. Friends. History. Relationships. And every day Y/N remained here, she was stealing more of it.

But the longer the jump lasted, the easier it became to ignore that reality.

“Here,” Sophia said, handing the mug back.

Their fingers brushed briefly.

Panic flashed instinctively through Y/N’s chest despite the fact the ability had never triggered while she was already inside someone else.

Sophia noticed the reaction immediately.

Her eyebrows pulled together slightly. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Y/N answered too quickly.

Sophia kept looking at her.

There it was again.

That terrifying attentiveness.

The first few days, Y/N managed to convince herself the differences between her and Isabelle were subtle enough to survive unnoticed. But Sophia paid attention in ways that made her nervous constantly. Not suspicious exactly. Just aware.

Like she could feel something slightly out of rhythm even if she couldn’t identify it yet.

“You’ve been acting weird for like a week,” Sophia murmured.

Y/N forced herself not to tense.

“I’m tired.”

“That’s your answer for everything lately.”

Because it was the safest answer.

Exhaustion explained distance. Silence. Forgetfulness. Emotional inconsistency. Y/N clung to it desperately because the truth was impossible.

Sophia leaned against the counter beside her, still studying her face.

“You know,” she said slowly, “if something’s wrong, you can just tell me.”

The sincerity in her voice hurt.

Y/N looked down at the coffee cup in her hands.

The truth sat permanently behind her teeth now, growing heavier every day she stayed here. Sometimes she imagined saying it out loud just to feel the relief of honesty for a second.

I’m not Isabelle.

I don’t know where she is.

I don’t know how to leave.

But even imagining Sophia’s reaction made fear tighten painfully through her ribs.

She would lose this immediately.

Not just the dorm or the girls or the fragile place she’d carved into this life.

Sophia.

The thought landed with terrifying clarity.

Y/N cared about Sophia now in a way that had already grown beyond celebrity fascination or inherited affection. Somewhere between late-night conversations and shared routines and quiet mornings in the kitchen, something real had started forming inside her chest.

And it was becoming impossible to separate her own feelings from Isabelle’s anymore.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Sophia said softly.

Y/N blinked.

“What?”

Sophia smiled faintly. “You get this look when you disappear into your own head.”

The familiarity of the statement made guilt curl sharply through Y/N’s stomach again.

Because Sophia knew Isabelle deeply enough to map her expressions.

And somehow Y/N had started fitting into those spaces naturally despite not deserving them.

Before she could respond, footsteps sounded from the hallway.

One of the girls shuffled sleepily into the kitchen, immediately complaining about somebody using all the hot water already. The moment dissolved beneath louder conversation after that, but Sophia’s gaze lingered on Y/N a second longer before she finally looked away.

The feeling stayed with her anyway.

Later that afternoon, Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor of Sophia’s bedroom while Sophia searched frantically through drawers for a missing necklace she swore somebody had stolen.

“I’m serious,” Sophia muttered, pulling open another drawer dramatically. “There’s no way it just disappeared.”

“You lose things constantly,” Y/N pointed out.

“Not this necklace.”

Y/N smiled despite herself.

She was getting too comfortable here.

That awareness followed her everywhere now, surfacing in brief guilty flashes whenever she caught herself relaxing completely into Isabelle’s life. She knew where things belonged in the dorm automatically. Knew the rhythms of everyone’s schedules. Which nights Sophia stayed up too late scrolling through edits people made online. Which snacks disappeared first whenever movie nights happened.

She belonged here enough that nobody questioned it anymore.

The realization should have relieved her.

Instead it made panic simmer constantly beneath her skin.

Because the longer this lasted, the more there would be to lose eventually.

“There,” Y/N said suddenly, pointing toward a pile of clothes on the chair.

Sophia turned.

The necklace sat tangled between two hoodies.

“…okay,” Sophia admitted reluctantly. “Maybe I do lose things constantly.”

Y/N laughed softly.

Sophia looked up immediately.

And then—

she smiled.

Not the exaggerated bright smile used during interviews or performances. Something quieter than that. Warmer. Softer around the edges.

Y/N’s chest tightened painfully.

God.

She was in trouble.

The realization had existed abstractly before now, lingering beneath every interaction without fully forming into language. But sitting here watching Sophia laugh at herself in the middle of a messy bedroom suddenly made everything feel dangerously clear.

Y/N was falling in love with her.

Not slowly.

Already.

The truth hit hard enough to make her feel slightly nauseous.

Because this wasn’t fantasy anymore. Not a distant crush projected safely onto a celebrity she would never actually know. This was real proximity. Real intimacy. The kind that grew quietly through ordinary moments until suddenly it existed everywhere.

Sophia tossed the necklace onto her desk before dropping dramatically onto the floor beside Y/N.

“I’m exhausted,” she groaned.

“You say that every day.”

“Because every day is exhausting.”

Their shoulders bumped lightly together.

The contact sent warmth spiraling instantly through Y/N’s chest.

Dangerous.

Everything about this felt dangerous now.

“What are you thinking about?” Sophia asked suddenly.

Y/N froze.

Too many things.

You.

How much I don’t want to leave.

Whether Isabelle would hate me if she knew.

Instead she shrugged lightly. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Sophia said it casually, teasingly.

But the word still lodged painfully beneath Y/N’s ribs.

Because she was lying constantly now.

About everything.

The silence stretched briefly between them afterward, softened only by faint music drifting through the apartment walls from another room.

Then Sophia spoke again.

“You know what’s weird?” she said quietly.

Y/N glanced toward her carefully. “What?”

“You feel different lately.”

The words hit like ice water.

Y/N’s heartbeat stumbled violently.

Sophia stared up at the ceiling while speaking, unaware of the panic instantly flooding through her beside her.

“Not bad different,” she added quickly. “Just… different.”

Y/N forced herself to breathe normally.

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Sophia frowned slightly. “You’re quieter now.”

Because I’m scared constantly.

“You look at people differently.”

Because I know things about them they never chose to tell me.

“And sometimes,” Sophia continued slowly, “it feels like you’re trying really hard to remember how to be yourself.”

The sentence shattered straight through her.

For one horrifying second, Y/N genuinely thought Sophia knew.

Not everything.

But enough.

Her pulse roared loudly in her ears.

Sophia finally looked toward her then, expression softer than before.

“I’m not saying something’s wrong,” she said carefully. “I just…” She hesitated. “I miss you a little, I think.”

The honesty of it hurt more than suspicion would have.

Because Sophia wasn’t accusing her.

She was grieving something she couldn’t explain.

Y/N suddenly felt sick with guilt.

Isabelle existed in fragments inside her mind now. Memories. Habits. Emotional echoes. But the real Isabelle—the version Sophia loved—was absent.

And Sophia noticed.

Of course she noticed.

How could she not?

People always noticed eventually when someone they loved changed.

Y/N stared down at her hands silently.

She wanted to tell her.

The urge rose suddenly and violently inside her chest.

Not because she thought Sophia would believe her. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d laugh or get angry or think it was some elaborate breakdown.

But at least it would be honest.

At least Sophia would know this distance wasn’t rejection.

Before Y/N could speak, Sophia leaned sideways until her head rested briefly against Y/N’s shoulder.

The contact froze every thought inside her instantly.

“There you are,” Sophia murmured quietly.

Y/N stopped breathing.

“What?”

“You disappear into your head sometimes.” Sophia’s voice softened further. “But you always come back eventually.”

The warmth of her against Y/N’s shoulder felt unbearable suddenly.

Because Sophia thought she was talking to Isabelle.

And Y/N no longer trusted herself enough to remember the difference consistently anymore.

↳ indi signing off.

taglist: @katsattorney @mayzini @racinghost @max-reads-things @starfilledkisses @av4nzini @hereagain4u @sani-sunny @herlondonboy @yanxxi @vivilvr @yournextdooralien @propxinqity

[gabsrevival]

Thats My Girlfriend

syn: you get wasted at a party one night, and call Manon to pick you up, and KATSEYE discovers your relationship in the loudest way possible.

tags: manon x reader, drunk reader, established relationship, secret relationship, accidental reveal, possessive manon, protective manon, clingy reader, fluff, cuddling, manon is whipped, domestic fluff

w/c: 5.2k+

taglist (join here): @plqnetputellas @katscopic @micaluvssoccer @aoeiurgnmddk @xiiaann @x-d4cvalentine-x @needmeganskiendiel @randomperson868 @urwavvy

a/n: much love xx

The dorm was finally quiet for once.

Not silent—never silent, not with six girls living together—but quiet enough that Manon could hear the hum of the refrigerator and the soft buzz of the city outside the windows. Practice had run late. Everyone had stumbled home exhausted, peeling off makeup and hoodies before disappearing into bedrooms one by one.

Manon was still awake.

She stood barefoot in the kitchen wearing gray sweatpants and one of her old rehearsal shirts, filling a glass with water while scrolling absently through notifications on her phone. Mostly group chats. Fans posting clips from today’s schedule. Sophia sending another ridiculous meme to the dorm chat from literally ten feet away.

Then her screen lit up.

my pretty girl 💋

Manon froze.

You never called this late.

Texts? Sure. Random voice notes at 2 AM? Constantly. But actual phone calls this close to midnight? Almost never.

A weird feeling settled in her stomach as she answered.

Immediately, noise exploded through the speaker.

Heavy bass. People shouting over music. Glass clinking somewhere in the background.

And then

“Hiiiiii baby.”

Manon closed her eyes instantly.

Oh, she was drunk drunk.

Your voice came out all soft and stretched, words melting together with laughter somewhere behind them.

Manon leaned against the counter already sighing.

“How drunk are you?”

A pause.

“I dunno,” you admitted seriously. “The floor’s moving though.”

From the other room, someone snorted.

Megan had apparently wandered into the hallway and overheard enough to figure out what was happening.

Manon shot her a look before turning away slightly.

“Okay,” she said carefully. “Where are your friends?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“They lefttt.”

Manon’s stomach dropped harder.

“What do you mean they left?”

“I told them I was fine.” you laughed again, quieter now. “I may have lied.”

“Baby.”

The word slipped out automatically—soft, worried, familiar.

Manon lowered her voice immediately afterward out of instinct, glancing toward the hallway to make sure nobody else was listening too closely.

Their relationship wasn’t exactly hidden hidden. The members knew you existed. They knew Manon spent a suspicious amount of time with her. But neither of them had officially said anything yet.

Mostly because every time the topic almost came up, you would panic and change the subject.

Now, though, Manon was too focused on the fact you were stranded halfway across the city.

“Did you call a ride?” she asked.

“Mhm.”

“And?”

“…I forgot to get in it.”

Manon stared at the wall.

Somewhere behind her, Megan burst out laughing again before quickly retreating after seeing Manon’s expression.

“Okay,” Manon said slowly, rubbing her forehead. “Send me your location.”

You made a tiny sad noise.

“Please come get me.”

And there it was.

That tone.

Not dramatic. Not playful. Just small and tired and trusting in a way that immediately cracked through every ounce of annoyance Manon had been trying to hold onto.

She could practically picture you right now—leaning against some wall outside the club, blinking slowly at her phone with smeared eyeliner and cold hands.

Manon’s entire expression softened.

“Of course I’m coming.”

You hummed happily like the answer had never been in doubt.

“You’re the best girlfriend ever,” she mumbled.

Manon’s cheeks warmed instantly despite herself.

“You need to stop saying that so loudly.”

“But it’s true.”

God.

Manon bit back a smile, already grabbing her hoodie off the chair nearby.

“Stay where you are,” she said. “And don’t talk to strangers.”

You gasped dramatically.

“That’s offensive. I talk to strangers all the time.”

“Yes, and that’s exactly the problem.”

You dissolved into giggles again.

Manon could hear wind now, traffic passing nearby, the muffled chaos of people coming and going outside the club.

Then, quieter this time

“Miss you.”

The words hit embarrassingly hard.

Manon pulled her cap down over her curls and headed toward the door before anyone else in the dorm could start asking questions.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” she said softly.

You sighed contentedly into the phone.

“Knew you’d come for me.”

The second Manon pulled up outside the club, she regretted agreeing to this alone.

The street was packed.

Music spilled out every time the doors opened, mixing with traffic noise and groups of people lingering on the sidewalk. Neon signs reflected off damp pavement. A couple people nearby were already glancing in her direction—not recognizing her yet, but looking enough that it made her pull her hood lower.

Oversized black hoodie. Cap pulled down. Mask covering half her face.

Normally that was enough.

Tonight, apparently not.

Because the second you stepped outside, your entire face lit up like Manon had personally descended from heaven.

“There she is!” you yelled.

Manon’s eyes widened immediately.

“Oh my god.”

You stumbled forward at full speed anyway.

You nearly wiped out on the curb, catching yourself at the last second before crashing directly into Manon’s arms with a dramatic little noise of relief.

“There’s my girlfriendddddd,” you announced loudly into Manon’s shoulder.

Manon froze.

Actually froze.

People were everywhere.

A group near the entrance turned slightly at the sound, and Manon reacted instantly, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you closer against her chest.

“Baby,” she muttered under her breath. “Quiet.”

You just blinked up at her lazily, completely unbothered.

“You came.”

The words were so soft and pleased that it almost distracted Manon from the fact her girlfriend had apparently forgotten what volume control was.

“Obviously I came,” Manon said, trying to guide her toward the car. “Can you walk?”

“Mhm.”

You could not walk.

At least not correctly.

You took one step and immediately drifted sideways into Manon again, laughing at absolutely nothing.

Manon tightened her grip around your waist before she could fall.

“You’re terrible,” she muttered.

“You like me.”

Unfortunately, true.

You tilted your head back to look at her, eyes glassy and unfocused but still warm in that way that always made Manon feel weirdly exposed.

Then you reached up suddenly and patted Manon’s mask.

“You look suspicious.”

“I am suspicious.”

“You look hot suspicious.”

Manon groaned softly.

“You need water.”

“And a kiss.”

“No.”

“That means yes.”

Before Manon could respond, the club door swung open behind them again.

A guy from earlier—someone reader vaguely recognized from inside—walked out holding a drink.

He spotted you immediately.

“Yo,” he called. “You leaving already?”

You turned automatically, smiling politely.

And something ugly and immediate twisted in Manon’s chest.

The guy’s eyes flicked between them curiously, lingering just a little too long on the hand around your waist.

Manon moved without really thinking about it.

Her grip tightened.

She pulled you fully into her side, body angled protectively between her and the stranger.

“Yeah,” Manon answered before reader could. “She is.”

The guy lifted his hands.

“Okay damn, my bad.”

You looked up slowly.

Then your expression shifted into something delighted.

“Oh my god,” you whispered dramatically. “You’re jealous.”

Manon started walking again immediately.

“You can barely stand.”

“But you’re jealous though.”

“No.”

“Yes you are.”

“You’re drunk.”

You pointed at her like she’d just proven a major point.

“SEE?”

Manon could feel heat creeping up the back of her neck underneath the hoodie.

Behind them, the guy snorted quietly and disappeared back inside.

You, meanwhile, looked absurdly pleased with yourself.

“You got all protective,” you continued happily while stumbling alongside her. “That was sooo hot.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Can’t. I’m in love.”

Manon nearly walked directly into a parking meter.

You dissolved into giggles at her expression, grabbing onto the front of Manon’s hoodie to steady herself.

For a second, the noise around them faded.

Just you looking up at her all soft and drunk and trusting.

Manon exhaled quietly through her nose before reaching up to fix the hood slipping off your head.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered.

You beamed instantly.

“I knew it.”

Then, without warning, you leaned forward and rested your forehead against Manon’s shoulder.

The sudden affection hit harder than expected.

Manon’s hand slid instinctively to the back of your neck, keeping you close while opening the car door with the other.

You sighed happily as Manon helped you inside.

“Best girlfriend ever,” she mumbled again.

Manon glanced around the street one more time before climbing into the driver’s seat beside her.

And despite literally everything about tonight—the risk, the attention, the fact you were going to be impossible for the next several hours—Manon still couldn’t stop the tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

The car got quiet surprisingly fast.

Not fully quiet—the low hum of the engine filled the space, turn signals clicking softly every now and then while streetlights slid across the windshield in blurred streaks—but compared to the chaos outside the club, it felt calm.

Warm.

You had gone from energetic drunk to sleepy drunk in less than ten minutes.

One second you’ve been rambling about how Manon looked “mysterious and expensive” in a hoodie, and the next you were curled against the passenger door blinking slowly like you might fall asleep sitting up.

Manon glanced over briefly while stopping at a red light.

“You okay?”

You made a tiny humming sound.

Then, without answering properly, you unbuckled your seatbelt halfway just to lean closer.

“Hey—” Manon reached over immediately. “Seatbelt.”

You ignored her completely and dropped your head onto Manon’s shoulder instead.

Manon sighed.

But she adjusted instantly anyway, shifting one hand off the wheel long enough to lace their fingers together over the center console.

You smiled sleepily at that without opening your eyes.

There was something dangerous about moments like this.

Not dangerous dangerous.

Just… intimate in a way that always caught Manon off guard.

You weren't clingy most of the time. Affectionate, yes, but usually playful about it—quick kisses, teasing touches, stealing hoodies and pretending you didn’t. You rarely slowed down enough to say things seriously.

But drunk and exhausted apparently stripped all your defenses away.

The city lights painted soft gold across your face while she rested against Manon’s shoulder, fingers loose but warm between hers.

Then quietly

“Thanks for coming.”

Manon glanced at you again.

You still had your eyes closed, voice barely above a mumble now.

Manon squeezed your hand once.

“Obviously I came.”

“No but…” you swallowed slightly, brows pulling together like you were trying to organize the thought correctly. “You always come for me.”

And there it was.

That feeling again.

Like someone reaching directly into Manon’s chest and squeezing.

You said things too honestly when you were tired. Like every thought bypassed embarrassment completely.

Manon’s expression softened before she could stop it.

The traffic light turned green, but she stayed still for half a second longer anyway.

“You’d do the same for me,” she said quietly.

You cracked one eye open just enough to look at her.

“I would,” you agreed immediately. “But you do it more.”

Manon huffed out a tiny laugh through her nose.

Outside, the city blurred past in glowing reflections. Late-night convenience stores. Empty sidewalks. Cars drifting by in the opposite direction.

Inside the car, everything felt strangely small and close.

You shifted again until you were practically folded into Manon’s side, thumb rubbing lazily across the back of her hand.

“You were worried,” you mumbled.

“A little.”

“A lot.”

Manon didn’t answer that.

Because yes. Obviously yes.

You alone at some crowded club, drunk enough to forget getting into her ride? Manon had been halfway out the dorm door before the call even ended.

You smiled faintly like you could hear the silence anyway.

“You’re sooo hot when you’re worried.”

Manon nearly missed the turn.

“Oh my god,” she muttered.

You started giggling immediately, shoulders shaking against her arm.

“It’s true,” you insisted. “All serious and protective—”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you loooove me.”

Unfortunately, that was also true.

Manon rolled her eyes, but her grip on your hand tightened unconsciously.

You noticed, because of course you did.

Your smile softened into something smaller this time. Realer.

“Mm,” you hummed quietly. “Knew it.”

The teasing faded after that.

Sleepiness won out completely, you slowly went limp against her shoulder while the car filled with silence again.

A comfortable one.

At one point, Manon glanced over and realized you were staring at her instead of sleeping.

“What?” she asked softly.

You looked at her for a long moment before murmuring:

“You came for me.”

Like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

Manon’s chest ached a little at the sound.

Without taking her eyes off the road, she lifted their joined hands and pressed a quick kiss against your knuckles.

“Always,” she said quietly.

You melted instantly.

Actually melted.

A dreamy little smile spread across your face as you tucked yourself closer against Manon’s side with a satisfied sigh.

And just like that, the emotional atmosphere lasted exactly three seconds before you ruined it again by mumbling

“You should be worried more often. It’s working for you.”

Manon laughed despite herself, shaking her head while you grinned sleepily against her shoulder like you’ve just accomplished something important.

By the time you reached the dorm building, you were barely functioning.

Not unconscious—just heavily leaning into Manon’s side with your eyes half-closed while she guided you through the parking garage like you might drift away if she let go for too long.

Manon kept glancing around nervously the entire time.

Hood up. Cap low. Mask still on.

“You have to be quiet when we go inside,” she whispered while helping you into the elevator.

You nodded very seriously against her shoulder.

“Secret mission.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m very good at secrets.”

Manon made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

The elevator dinged softly.

You followed her down the hallway slowly, one arm looped around her waist while she dug through her bag for the dorm keys.

The building was quiet.

Dark.

Peaceful.

Manon visibly relaxed.

Good. Everyone was asleep.

That meant she could sneak you inside, get you water, maybe force you to eat crackers or something, and nobody would ever have to know she’d spent the last hour playing chauffeur for her completely wasted girlfriend.

She unlocked the door carefully and pushed it open.

Then immediately froze.

The living room lights were on.

Every single member was awake.

Sophia and Lara were curled up on the couch under blankets. Dani sat cross-legged on the floor with snacks scattered around her. Megan was stealing popcorn from Yoonchae’s bowl while a movie played quietly in the background.

Five heads turned toward the doorway at once.

And there stood Manon.

Dressed like she was avoiding the paparazzi.

Holding up a visibly drunk girl attached to her side.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Manon stopped breathing for a second.

You blinked slowly at the room, clearly trying to process why so many people were suddenly staring at you.

“Oh,” you mumbled.

Nobody moved.

Then your face brightened.

You lifted one arm dramatically and pointed directly at Manon.

“Did you know,” you announced proudly, “that’s my girlfriend?”

The room EXPLODED.

Sophia screamed so loudly Manon physically flinched.

“I KNEW IT,” Lara yelled immediately, practically launching herself off the couch.

Dani folded over laughing before she could even say anything coherent.

Megan pointed between the two of you like she’d just solved a murder case.

“I TOLD YOU GUYS.”

Yoonchae looked genuinely shocked.

“WAIT—SERIOUSLY??”

Meanwhile Manon looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

“Baby,” she muttered under her breath.

You ignored her completely.

“She came and rescued me,” you informed the room proudly, leaning harder into her side. “Because she loves me.”

Sophia was losing her mind.

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TOGETHER?”

“A while,” you answered vaguely.

“A YEAR,” Lara guessed immediately.

Manon’s eyes widened.

“Don’t—”

“Almost,” you admitted.

The screaming somehow got louder.

“Oh my god,” Megan gasped. “YOU HID A WHOLE RELATIONSHIP?”

“You guys are terrible at hiding things!” Dani laughed.

“No, she is,” Manon corrected instantly before realizing that probably wasn’t helping.

You looked up at her with a sleepy grin.

“You think I’m cute though.”

Manon closed her eyes briefly.

That alone made everyone start yelling again.

Because there it was.

The soft voice.

The automatic hand around your waist.

The way Manon kept adjusting your hood and steadying you every time you stumbled even slightly.

Every suspicious moment from the past year suddenly made horrible, perfect sense.

Lara pointed dramatically at Manon.

“You literally look at her like she hung the moon.”

Manon looked personally offended.

“I do not.”

“You SO do,” Sophia shouted.

You gasped softly like you’d just remembered something important.

“She gets jealous too.”

Manon nearly choked.

“Okay. Bedtime.”

“You were jealous outside the club,” you continued happily while she started dragging you toward the hallway. “It was hot.”

Dani actually fell onto the floor laughing.

Megan yelled after you both:

“WE’RE TALKING ABOUT THIS TOMORROW.”

“No we’re not,” Manon called back immediately.

“Yes we are!” five voices shouted together.

You looked up at Manon dreamily while she guided you toward her room.

“You’re famous,” you whispered suddenly, sounding genuinely surprised all over again.

Manon stared at you for a long second before laughing despite herself.

“You are unbelievably drunk.”

Getting you to Manon’s room should have taken maybe thirty seconds.

Instead, twenty minutes later, you were still in the hallway.

Mostly because every single time Manon managed to move you two more feet forward, you exposed another deeply private detail about your relationship.

“And THEN,” you announced dramatically to nobody and everybody at once, “she stole my hoodie.”

“I borrowed it,” Manon corrected tiredly, keeping one hand around your waist while trying to pull her bedroom door open with the other.

“You never gave it back.”

“Because it smells like you.”

The entire dorm erupted.

Sophia actually had to throw a pillow over her face to scream into it.

“Oh my GOD,” Dani yelled from the couch.

Manon looked seconds away from collapsing into the floor permanently.

“You’re all being very loud,” she informed the room weakly.

Lara pointed at her immediately.

“You literally just admitted you sleep with her hoodie.”

“I did not say sleep.”

“You IMPLIED sleep.”

Manon groaned into her hands.

You, meanwhile, looked delighted by the attention.

“Wait wait wait,” Megan interrupted, sitting forward excitedly. “How long have you guys been hiding this?”

Manon answered immediately.

“We weren’t hiding—”

“Ages,” you said at the exact same time.

“BABY.”

“What?” you blinked innocently.

Manon looked at you like she was reconsidering every life decision that led to this moment.

Then Yoonchae gasped softly.

“Oh my god wait, is that why Manon disappeared for like three hours after that awards show last fall?”

You lit up.

“She brought me soup.”

The room went silent.

Sophia lowered the pillow slowly from her face.

“Soup?”

“I was sick,” you explained seriously. “And she came over at like midnight with medicine and soup and those gross little crackers.”

“They’re not gross.”

“They taste sad.”

Manon pinched the bridge of her nose while everyone else collectively lost their minds again.

“That is the most relationship thing I’ve ever heard,” Lara said dramatically.

“And she cried after our first fight,” you added helpfully.

Manon’s head snapped toward you.

“Okay!”

Dani nearly choked laughing.

“You CRIED?” Megan yelled.

“It was not—”

“She thought I was gonna break up with her,” you continued dreamily.

“YOU WERE IGNORING MY TEXTS.”

“I was asleep.”

“FOR TEN HOURS.”

The room dissolved into chaos again.

Sophia pointed accusingly at Manon.

“You’re the emotional one in the relationship.”

“No she is.”

“No,” you disagreed immediately. “She just acts tough.”

Manon stared at the ceiling like she was asking the universe for patience.

You suddenly gasped again.

“And she sleeps with that ugly stuffed bear I won her.”

The silence this time was devastating.

Manon went completely still.

Then slowly:

“Okay. Bedtime. Right now.”

“She named it after me,” you informed everyone while Manon physically started steering you down the hallway.

“I DID NOT.”

“You cuddle it when I’m gone.”

The screaming behind you became genuinely unbearable.

Lara was literally falling off the couch laughing.

“YOU ARE SO DOWN BAD.”

Manon whipped around instantly.

“She bought me that stupid bear at a carnival and then cried when I didn’t win her the giant one!”

“Because you missed every shot,” you defended.

“There was wind!”

“It was indoors.”

Dani slid off the couch entirely at that point.

Manon finally managed to get you to her bedroom door, visibly exhausted.

“Okay,” she said firmly, hands on your shoulders. “You are done talking now.”

You stared at her for a long moment.

Then suddenly grabbed her face with both hands.

Manon blinked in surprise.

“She’s soooo pretty,” you told the room behind her with complete sincerity. “Look at her.”

A collective:

“OOOOOOOOOH.”

Manon’s entire face went red instantly.

“Stop encouraging her,” she muttered toward the living room while trying very hard not to smile.

You squished her cheeks slightly between your hands.

“She came and rescued me.”

“Baby.”

“She’s the prettiest person alive.”

The room somehow got louder.

Sophia was fully kicking her feet on the couch now.

“They’re actually disgusting.”

“You guys are like… embarrassingly in love,” Megan added.

Manon finally pried your hands off her face, though very gently.

“You need water,” she informed you.

“You need a kiss.”

Dani screamed.

“OH MY GOD.”

Manon physically shoved the bedroom door shut behind you while the rest of the members kept yelling from the living room.

The second the door clicked closed, the dorm noise muffled slightly.

You blinked sleepily up at her.

Manon stared back for two seconds before finally laughing into her hands.

“You are never drinking again.”

The bedroom door staying closed lasted maybe four minutes.

Because apparently privacy did not exist in this dorm anymore.

A knock sounded before the door cracked open slightly, Sophia peeking through with the biggest grin Manon had ever seen in her life.

“So,” she said casually, “we ordered fries.”

Manon stared at her.

“You’re not coming in.”

Sophia ignored that completely and looked directly at you instead.

You were currently sitting on the edge of Manon’s bed wearing one of her hoodies now, hair messy from where she’d pushed it back out of your face while trying to get you settled.

Your eyes lit up immediately.

“Fries?”

“See?” Sophia pointed triumphantly. “She wants to hang out with us.”

“She needs water and sleep,” Manon argued.

“BORING,” Megan yelled from somewhere down the hallway.

Against Manon’s better judgment, you ended up back in the living room anyway.

Mostly because you’d heard the word fries and suddenly become emotionally committed to the concept.

Now you sat bundled in a blanket on the couch while the movie nobody was actually paying attention to continued in the background.

Manon stayed right beside you.

Not subtly, either.

One hand resting against your knee. Fingers occasionally brushing your arm. Constantly checking whether you looked too warm or too tired or like you were about to tip sideways again.

The members were absolutely noticing.

“So,” Lara said slowly from across the room, “can we keep her?”

“No.”

Manon answered instantly.

Too instantly.

Too seriously.

The room went quiet for a beat.

Then Megan burst out laughing.

“OH she meant that.”

Manon blinked once like she’d only just realized how aggressive that sounded.

“I just mean—she has an apartment.”

“Mmhm,” Dani said, fully unconvinced.

You looked up at Manon with sleepy amusement.

“You’re possessive.”

“I’m keeping you alive.”

“That’s romantic.”

“It’s literally bare minimum human decency.”

Still, Manon shifted closer anyway when you leaned against her shoulder again.

Sophia watched the entire interaction like she was witnessing a live drama unfold.

“You guys are actually ridiculous.”

You hummed happily, clearly taking that as a compliment.

A few minutes later, Manon pressed a water bottle into your hands.

“Drink.”

You took exactly one sip before making a face.

“Too watery.”

Everyone stared at you.

Manon sighed deeply before kneeling down in front of you.

And that’s when it really hit everyone.

Because suddenly the teasing died down a little.

Manon tucked the blanket more securely around your legs before taking the water bottle again and holding it out patiently.

“C’mon,” she said softly. “A little more.”

Her voice had changed completely.

Gentle.

Warm.

The kind of tone people only used with someone they loved very, very much.

You stared at her like she hung the stars.

Manon brushed your hair back carefully after it fell into your face again, thumb grazing your cheek for half a second before she tilted the bottle toward you once more.

“There you go,” she murmured after you finally drank properly.

The room had gone suspiciously quiet.

Dani looked emotionally distressed.

“Oh she’s gone gone.”

Sophia clutched a pillow dramatically to her chest.

“This is actually insane to witness.”

Even Lara looked a little stunned now.

Because Manon—cool, composed, effortlessly confident Manon—was kneeling on the floor at nearly two in the morning making sure you stayed hydrated like it was the most important thing in the world.

And maybe to her, right now, it was.

You reached out suddenly, fingers catching loosely around the sleeve of her hoodie.

“You came for me,” you said quietly.

Not teasing this time.

Just soft.

Small.

Manon looked up at you immediately.

Something in her expression shifted the second she realized how sincere you sounded.

Her hand settled against your knee again automatically.

“Always,” she said just as quietly.

The entire room erupted into fake gagging noises.

“Oh BROTHER,” Megan groaned loudly.

“They’re sickening,” Sophia agreed.

Lara pretended to wipe tears from her eyes.

“True love is dead and then somehow reborn in this living room.”

Manon rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now.

A real smile.

Small and helpless around the edges.

You noticed instantly, of course.

“There’s my pretty girl,” you mumbled sleepily.

Manon’s face softened so fast it made everyone scream all over again.

Eventually, the chaos started dying down.

Mostly because you were very obviously reaching the point where your body was about to completely give up.

Your eyes kept drifting shut mid-conversation. Your words had slowed into sleepy mumbles. At one point you accidentally leaned against Sophia instead of Manon and looked genuinely confused for a full thirty seconds.

Manon finally stood up with a sigh, sliding a hand under your arm.

“Okay,” she announced. “She’s done.”

“Awwww,” Dani complained immediately.

“You can interrogate us tomorrow,” Manon said.

“Bold of you to assume we’re sleeping tonight,” Lara replied.

You looked back at the couch sadly while Manon guided you toward the hallway.

“Bye fries…”

“You barely ate any.”

“They understood me emotionally.”

Manon laughed under her breath and pulled you closer when you stumbled slightly.

The dorm quieted behind you as she brought you into her room, shutting the door gently this time.

Instantly, everything felt softer.

Dim lamp light.

The faint smell of Manon’s perfume lingering in the sheets.

One of her hoodies tossed over the desk chair.

Your stuffed bear sitting against her pillows like it paid rent here.

You stared at it immediately.

“There he is,” you whispered emotionally.

Manon groaned.

“Don’t start.”

“You DO sleep with him.”

“You gave him to me.”

“Because you missed every target at the carnival.”

“There was pressure!”

“There was a child beside you doing better.”

Manon pointed toward the bathroom.

“Makeup. Off. Now.”

You dissolved into sleepy giggles while letting her guide you toward the sink.

The next ten minutes passed slowly.

Quietly.

Manon stood between your knees while you sat on the bathroom counter, carefully wiping off your makeup with practiced patience.

You’d done this for her before after schedules sometimes. Late nights when she was too exhausted to move properly.

Now it was her turn.

“You’re smudging,” you informed her seriously while she cleaned eyeliner from under your eye.

“You’re moving.”

“I’m helping.”

“You are actively making this harder.”

You smiled lazily and caught the sleeve of her hoodie in your fist anyway, refusing to let go.

Manon didn’t even comment on it.

She just kept one hand steady against your jaw while pushing your hair back gently with the other.

The intimacy of it settled warm and heavy in your chest even through the haze of exhaustion.

“You’re nice,” you mumbled.

Manon snorted softly.

“Only to you.”

“Exactly.”

Once your makeup was finally off, Manon helped you change into one of her oversized shirts.

The entire process was embarrassingly difficult because you kept getting distracted halfway through.

At one point you forgot what you were doing entirely and just stared at her.

“What?” she asked, amused.

“You’re really pretty.”

Manon rolled her eyes, but her cheeks still pinked slightly.

A few minutes later, you were finally sitting on the edge of her bed in borrowed clothes while Manon folded your discarded outfit onto the chair nearby.

You watched her quietly for a moment.

Then:

“Are they mad?”

Manon looked over immediately.

“At us?”

You nodded slowly, suddenly looking much smaller than before.

Not drunk-chaotic anymore.

Just tired.

“I didn’t mean to tell them,” you admitted quietly. “It just… happened.”

Something in Manon’s expression softened instantly.

She crossed the room without hesitation and stopped in front of you, hands settling automatically against your knees.

“Baby,” she said gently. “They’re not mad.”

You looked unconvinced.

“They’re dramatic,” she corrected with a laugh. “There’s a difference.”

You stared down at your hands.

“I wanted it to be… better, I guess.”

That hit harder than she expected.

Because underneath all the chaos and embarrassment and teasing, there it was:

You’d cared.

You’d wanted your relationship to matter enough for a real introduction. A proper moment. Not stumbling drunk through the dorm at two in the morning yelling about stuffed animals and soup.

Manon reached up, brushing her thumb softly against your cheek.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly.

You finally looked up at her.

And after a second, Manon smiled a little.

“Honestly…” She exhaled softly through her nose. “I’m kinda relieved.”

Your expression melted instantly.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“At least now I don’t have to pretend you’re just my friend every time you come over.”

You smiled sleepily at that.

Then immediately ruined the emotional moment by mumbling:

“You were very bad at pretending.”

Manon laughed quietly.

“Go to sleep.”

This time, you actually listened.

The next morning felt like punishment from a higher power.

You woke up slowly, painfully, with your head pounding hard enough to make you question every decision you’d ever made.

Sunlight leaked through the curtains.

Your mouth felt dry.

Your stomach felt weird.

And you were wearing one of Manon’s shirts.

Oh no.

Memory returned in horrifying flashes.

The club.

The car ride.

The living room.

“Oh my god,” you whispered into the pillow.

The bedroom door opened.

Sophia walked past first, spotted you awake, and immediately grinned.

“Morning, Manon’s girlfriend.”

You made a strangled noise and buried your face deeper into the bed.

A second later, Lara’s voice drifted from the hallway.

“One year anniversary soon, huh?”

“I’m leaving the country,” you mumbled into the mattress.

Dani appeared next.

“Ratatouille made her emotional?” she asked before bursting into laughter and disappearing again.

You genuinely considered dying.

The door opened one more time.

This time it was Manon.

And the worst part?

She looked completely fine.

Fresh hoodie. Hair tied back. Holding water, medicine, and a sports drink like some kind of annoyingly beautiful caretaker.

Way too smug, too.

She leaned against the doorway for a second, watching you suffer with obvious amusement.

“You alive?”

“No.”

“Drink this.”

You sat up slowly while accepting the water bottle with the dignity of someone moments away from collapse.

Manon sat beside you on the bed, one hand automatically settling against your back while you swallowed the medicine.

You narrowed your eyes at her.

“You look happy about this.”

“I warned you not to mix drinks.”

“You could’ve warned me I exposed our entire relationship.”

Manon laughed softly.

“That’s what you said last time.”

Your head snapped toward her.

“…what?”

She smiled innocently.

“You never told me I exposed our entire relationship last time,” you accused.

“I didn’t realize you forgot.”

You stared at her in betrayal while she leaned closer, clearly fighting a smile.

Then, softer this time, she brushed her fingers through your hair and murmured:

“At least now I can hold your hand in the dorm without everyone acting confused.”

Your heart melted instantly despite the hangover trying to kill you.

Which was annoying.

Because now you were emotional and dehydrated.

[katscopic]

hey blue jay… i started work today and it was pretty good (i pack summer lunches for kids that are in need and we are doing home delivery means this year and amazon is gonna come pick up the lunch boxes!!!)

-🧌

awww yay!! i'm glad you had a good day 🧌anon! also that's such a cool job!

[katscopic]

aww hope you get better!

🦕

thank you sweetie <3

[katscopic]

im fine, hru?

🦕

i’m doing okay! sadly dealing with an ear infection 😞😞 but i’m pushing thru 🤞

[katscopic]

hai!

🦕

aww hi 🦕anon!!! how are you ml? 💞

[katscopic]

Omg it’s indi

omg it’s hafu

[katscopic]

hai! i happen to notice that im not on the anon list, can you please add me in?

-🦕anon

OMG IM SO SORRY!!

yes ofc ml, i gotchu 🤞

[katscopic]

don’t worry bro i would totally LOVE the gf status but she sadly “just can’t do it” but like i felt like we could get to that step eventually or something but she is definitely falling for her straight bsf… (yk the canon lesbian event)…

-🧌

NOT THE CANON LESBIAN EVENT… ugh been there done that. wish her the best i guess? 😭

this is lowkey sparing you from worse in the long run i fear. so don’t take it as too much of a loss 🤞