summary: Y/n is part of the avengers, but her whole world changes when she is sent away for special training with the infamous Scarlet Witch. She focuses on the mission, but doesn't expect to fall in love on the way.
word count: ~ 4.3k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 4 ~ á˘
summary: Mary goes bye-bye and Y/n gay panics.
word count: ~ 1.6k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 5 ~ á˘
summary: Y/n goes home with Wanda and enjoys the rest of the party.
word count: ~ 1.3k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 6 ~ á˘
summary: They arrive at Wanda's and then it's sleepy time.
word count: ~ 1.2k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 7 ~ á˘
summary: Wanda and Y/n discuss the interview process and eat breakfast. Y/n is a gay mess.
word count: ~ 1.3k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 8 ~ á˘
summary: The first interview! Also hella gay panic from Y/n.
word count: ~ 3.1k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 9 ~ á˘
summary: Second interview and confession of feelings.
word count: ~ 2.6k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 10 ~ á˘
summary: First kiss!
word count: ~ 1.7k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 11 ~ á˘
summary: Sex, but it's gentle.
word count: ~ 3.6k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 12 ~ á˘
summary: They discuss some rules and boundaries.
word count: ~ 1.8k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 13 ~ á˘
summary: Y/n goes to class.
word count: ~ 3.3k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 14 ~ á˘
summary: Wanda is horny for Y/n, and punishes her.
word count: ~ 3.1k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 15 ~ á˘
summary: More sex, just pure sex. Utter filth.
word count: ~ 5.7k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 16 ~ á˘
summary: Sex, Wanda gets frisky in an elevator.
word count: ~ 3.7k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 17 ~ á˘
summary: They go shopping! And then they fuck in a dressing room cause they're both horny for each other.
word count: ~ 2.5k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 18 ~ á˘
summary: Morning sex, they go to Wanda's mystery event and Y/n makes a new friend! Then, she battles her insecurities on a rooftop.
word count: ~ 5.9k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 19 ~ á˘
summary: Y/n gets mad at Wanda, talks with her about her insecurities, and they have very gentle sex.
word count: ~ 3.8k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 20 ~ á˘
summary: Y/n gets in trouble cause she's a rule breaker, they have surprise guests for dinner, and Y/n gets punished.
word count: ~ 4.7k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 21 ~ á˘
summary: Y/n struggles with her growing feelings for Wanda, attends a party, and ends the night in an unexpected way.
word count: ~ 4.2k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 22 ~ á˘
summary: Wanda talks with y/n about her past.
word count: ~ 3.8k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 23 ~ á˘
summary: Filthy smut, like downright nasty. You should probably go to church after reading this.
word count: ~ 4.9k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 24 ~ á˘
summary: Y/n gets a phone call and a package and deals with her fears. Then, a big confession of feelings!!
word count: ~ 4.5k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 25 ~ á˘
summary: Wanda and Y/n have a surprise guest! Y/n gets hella jealous and Wanda just wants everyone to get along.
word count: ~ 6.1k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 26 ~ á˘
summary: Part two of Y/n's punishment and then it gets sad and they have sex.
word count: ~ 5k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 27 ~ á˘
summary: Y/n gets a surprise and then things get very sad when she has to leave.
word count: ~ 4.2k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 28 ~ á˘
summary: Y/n arrives back at the compound. Then, part one of the mission.
word count: ~ 6.4k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 29 ~ á˘
summary: Mission part two.
word count: ~ 4k+
ᢠ~ Chapter 30 ~ á˘
summary: The team debriefs, Wanda and Y/n have a much needed talk, and then they fuck!!
word count: ~ 5.2k+
All work is my own. None of the content on this blog is yours to translate, steal, or repost on any platform.
Hi can you please do a girlfriend headcannon with haseul please
Haseul Girlfriend HCs
A/N: Yup, second post in a week, the world is ending. Probably also going to be the last one for a while-
Haseul is pretty smart when it comes to music, always telling you about the reasoning why a scene has a certain sound or what the effect of that sound has on the listener.
She also always lets you listen to her new songs first to get your opinion.
She is scared of birds. Like terrified, especially of pigeons. It surprised you but it did give you a chance to protect her when you both went on walks around parks.
Although, that wasnât always the case, the first time you both went to the park, you saw a stall with birdseed and got some while she was getting some coffee, thinking it would be a nice fairytale moment to sprinkle some towards Haseul as sheâd be flocked by birdsâŚ
What happened instead was her screaming on top of her lungs, flinging her coffee cup away in panic and half burning a passing cyclist who falls into the lake from surprise and pain. Oops.
While you were able to apologize to her and not get dumped, the two of you were still banned from that park-
She likes to travel and explore different countries.
She also likes to learn languages, trying to get some basic words from each place she visits.
Youâll often find her sending you pictures of her new outfits, asking if you like it and what accessories you think would go well with it.
synopsis:
âł when y/n visits septimont with her brother, rover, she didn't expect to compete in the gladiator tournament with their new friend, lupa, nor to catch the attention of the septimontain's leader, augusta
genre:
âł wlw, fluff, love at first sight, slow burn
featuring:
âł augusta x rover's sister!reader
âł lupa, rover (male ver.), iuno
warnings / notes:
âł i hope you like it @keervah
âł 940 words
Septimont did not bow to kings, it bowed to power.Â
Stone walls carved with battle sigils towered into the blazing sky, banners snapping violently in the heat, and at the cityâs heart stood the arenaâancient, massive, soaked in history and victory.Â
Rover exhaled slowly beside you, âYeahâŚthis place runs on strength.âÂ
Lupa grinned, âAs it should.âÂ
In Septimont, the strongest ruled.Â
At the highest platform overlooking the arena sat the Ephorâhead of the city, final authority, and undefeated champion, Augusta.Â
She was impossible to miss.Â
Tall and striking, her presence commanded silence even among roaring crowds. Pale skin glowed against the gold of her armorâa sleeveless white tunic beneath an ornate golden chestplate, pauldrons resting sharply on her shoulders. A flowing white skirt split by leather pteruges moved with the breeze, revealing high-cut black shorts beneath.Â
Her long, vibrant orange-red hair cascaded down her back like fire.Â
Sharp crimson eyes, ringed in white-gold, surveyed the fighters below like a predator choosing its prey.Â
On the back of her left hand, her Tacet Mark glimmered faintly. A golden sunburst headpiece rested on her brow and eight-pointed star earrings caught the light.Â
Power, elegance, and dangerâall in one woman.Â
Beside the throne stood the Council of Elders, and somewhere unseen for nowâthe Priestess who guided fate itself but it was Augusta who ruled, her word was law.Â
The horn thundered and the gladiator tournament began, as warriors surged into the arena.Â
Steel rang, dust exploded, and shouts echoed like thunder.Â
You moved without thinking, a blade came for your head as you ducked, swept their legs, and twisted their wrist until their weapon clattered away.Â
Another charged, you vaulted over their shoulder and slammed them into the sand.Â
The crowd erupted as Rover fought like a storm beside you and Lupa laughed as she disarmed two opponents at once, but something shifted and the chanting changedâyour name, getting louder and louder and louder from every section of the arena.Â
From her throne, Augusta leaned forward watching you with interest.Â
Your movements werenât wild, they were precise and controlled, every strike had purpose, strength backed by skillÂ
Not reckless or cruel, but beautiful.Â
A massive gladiator rushed towards you with a war hammer.Â
The ground shook and you waited.Â
At the last second, you pivoted, grabbed the handle and twisted, using their momentum to send them crashing flat onto their back.Â
Silence, and then the arena exploded. Augusta stood causing the entire arena to freeze, even the elders bowed their heads.Â
Her voice carried like thunder wrapped in silk, âVictory.âÂ
Your chest heaved as guards separated the fighters, but Augustaâs gaze stayed locked onto youâsharp, burning, and curious.Â
The undefeated Ephor had found her next obsession.Â
Days blurred into brutal rounds as you, Rover, and Lupa kept winning but it was you who Augusta watched relentlessly.Â
Sometimes she evaluated other fighters but her eyes always returned to you.Â
When you fought, lightning crackled faintly around her greatswordâher Griffon Echo shimmering above her like a spirit of war as she tested her own skills between matches.Â
Watching her was like witnessing a living legend; flashy, powerful, and untouchable. Yet somehow, you were the only one who made her lean forward during your matches.Â
The final battle was chaos; dust storms of movement and weapons clashing in every direction.Â
When it ended, only three stoodâyou, Rover, and Lupa.Â
The arena had gone silent, and then a thunderous applause followed by the sound of the horn, long and loud.Â
Victory.Â
High above, the priestess had finally emerged, Iuno, the infamous one, whispered about, feared and trusted.Â
She lifted three medals etched with Septimontâs crest.Â
âBy fate and by strength,â she declared, âthe champions are crowned.âÂ
She placed one around Roverâs neck, one around Lupaâs, and then stepped before you.Â
Her gaze lingered, calculating. âThe arena has chosen you.âÂ
When she placed the medal against your chest, her fingers brushed lightly.Â
âYou have altered Septimontâs path.âÂ
A strange smile touched her lips and behind her, Augusta watched you like a storm barely contained.Â
Later, when the crowds finally faded and torches lit the stone corridors, you stood alone near the training grounds, still buzzing with adrenaline.Â
âY/n.âÂ
Your heart jumped and you turned to see who it was as Augusta approachedâno throne, no council, and no ceremony, just her.Â
Up close, she was overwhelmingâtall, broad-shouldered, and the faint scent of metal and heat clung to her armor as lightning still danced softly along her greatsword.Â
âYou fight as a warrior born,â she said quietly. âBut your power is earned.âÂ
You swallowed, âSo is yours.âÂ
Her sharp eyes softened, barely.Â
âFew speak to me like that.âÂ
âFew fight like I do,â you replied before you could stop yourself.Â
For a long moment, the Ephor of Septimont simply stared and then she laughedâsoft, real and dangerous.Â
âI have ruled this city through strength alone,â she said. âBut today, you reminded me why I first took the blade."Â
Her gaze dropped briefly to your medal, then back to your eyes.Â
âYou have my respect.âÂ
Your breath caught.Â
âAnd,â she added lowly, âmy interest.âÂ
The air around you felt electric when she said those words.Â
âI would see you train here,â Augusta continued. âRemain in Septimont.âÂ
âWith you?â you asked.Â
Her lips curved, âEspecially with me.âÂ
From a balcony above, Lupa nudged Rover. âOh sheâs a goner.âÂ
Rover nodded in agreement, âAbsolutely.âÂ
Iuno watched quietly, eyes glowing with unreadable fate.Â
âThe Ephor's future has changed,â she murmured.Â
And beneath burning skies and echoing steel, the undefeated gladiator had finally met her match though not in strength but in her heart.Â
synopsis:
âł when y/n visits septimont with her brother, rover, she didn't expect to compete in the gladiator tournament with their new friend, lupa, nor to catch the attention of the septimontain's leader, augusta
genre:
âł wlw, fluff, love at first sight, slow burn
featuring:
âł augusta x rover's sister!reader
âł lupa, rover (male ver.), iuno
warnings / notes:
âł i hope you like it @keervah
âł 940 words
Septimont did not bow to kings, it bowed to power.Â
Stone walls carved with battle sigils towered into the blazing sky, banners snapping violently in the heat, and at the cityâs heart stood the arenaâancient, massive, soaked in history and victory.Â
Rover exhaled slowly beside you, âYeahâŚthis place runs on strength.âÂ
Lupa grinned, âAs it should.âÂ
In Septimont, the strongest ruled.Â
At the highest platform overlooking the arena sat the Ephorâhead of the city, final authority, and undefeated champion, Augusta.Â
She was impossible to miss.Â
Tall and striking, her presence commanded silence even among roaring crowds. Pale skin glowed against the gold of her armorâa sleeveless white tunic beneath an ornate golden chestplate, pauldrons resting sharply on her shoulders. A flowing white skirt split by leather pteruges moved with the breeze, revealing high-cut black shorts beneath.Â
Her long, vibrant orange-red hair cascaded down her back like fire.Â
Sharp crimson eyes, ringed in white-gold, surveyed the fighters below like a predator choosing its prey.Â
On the back of her left hand, her Tacet Mark glimmered faintly. A golden sunburst headpiece rested on her brow and eight-pointed star earrings caught the light.Â
Power, elegance, and dangerâall in one woman.Â
Beside the throne stood the Council of Elders, and somewhere unseen for nowâthe Priestess who guided fate itself but it was Augusta who ruled, her word was law.Â
The horn thundered and the gladiator tournament began, as warriors surged into the arena.Â
Steel rang, dust exploded, and shouts echoed like thunder.Â
You moved without thinking, a blade came for your head as you ducked, swept their legs, and twisted their wrist until their weapon clattered away.Â
Another charged, you vaulted over their shoulder and slammed them into the sand.Â
The crowd erupted as Rover fought like a storm beside you and Lupa laughed as she disarmed two opponents at once, but something shifted and the chanting changedâyour name, getting louder and louder and louder from every section of the arena.Â
From her throne, Augusta leaned forward watching you with interest.Â
Your movements werenât wild, they were precise and controlled, every strike had purpose, strength backed by skillÂ
Not reckless or cruel, but beautiful.Â
A massive gladiator rushed towards you with a war hammer.Â
The ground shook and you waited.Â
At the last second, you pivoted, grabbed the handle and twisted, using their momentum to send them crashing flat onto their back.Â
Silence, and then the arena exploded. Augusta stood causing the entire arena to freeze, even the elders bowed their heads.Â
Her voice carried like thunder wrapped in silk, âVictory.âÂ
Your chest heaved as guards separated the fighters, but Augustaâs gaze stayed locked onto youâsharp, burning, and curious.Â
The undefeated Ephor had found her next obsession.Â
Days blurred into brutal rounds as you, Rover, and Lupa kept winning but it was you who Augusta watched relentlessly.Â
Sometimes she evaluated other fighters but her eyes always returned to you.Â
When you fought, lightning crackled faintly around her greatswordâher Griffon Echo shimmering above her like a spirit of war as she tested her own skills between matches.Â
Watching her was like witnessing a living legend; flashy, powerful, and untouchable. Yet somehow, you were the only one who made her lean forward during your matches.Â
The final battle was chaos; dust storms of movement and weapons clashing in every direction.Â
When it ended, only three stoodâyou, Rover, and Lupa.Â
The arena had gone silent, and then a thunderous applause followed by the sound of the horn, long and loud.Â
Victory.Â
High above, the priestess had finally emerged, Iuno, the infamous one, whispered about, feared and trusted.Â
She lifted three medals etched with Septimontâs crest.Â
âBy fate and by strength,â she declared, âthe champions are crowned.âÂ
She placed one around Roverâs neck, one around Lupaâs, and then stepped before you.Â
Her gaze lingered, calculating. âThe arena has chosen you.âÂ
When she placed the medal against your chest, her fingers brushed lightly.Â
âYou have altered Septimontâs path.âÂ
A strange smile touched her lips and behind her, Augusta watched you like a storm barely contained.Â
Later, when the crowds finally faded and torches lit the stone corridors, you stood alone near the training grounds, still buzzing with adrenaline.Â
âY/n.âÂ
Your heart jumped and you turned to see who it was as Augusta approachedâno throne, no council, and no ceremony, just her.Â
Up close, she was overwhelmingâtall, broad-shouldered, and the faint scent of metal and heat clung to her armor as lightning still danced softly along her greatsword.Â
âYou fight as a warrior born,â she said quietly. âBut your power is earned.âÂ
You swallowed, âSo is yours.âÂ
Her sharp eyes softened, barely.Â
âFew speak to me like that.âÂ
âFew fight like I do,â you replied before you could stop yourself.Â
For a long moment, the Ephor of Septimont simply stared and then she laughedâsoft, real and dangerous.Â
âI have ruled this city through strength alone,â she said. âBut today, you reminded me why I first took the blade."Â
Her gaze dropped briefly to your medal, then back to your eyes.Â
âYou have my respect.âÂ
Your breath caught.Â
âAnd,â she added lowly, âmy interest.âÂ
The air around you felt electric when she said those words.Â
âI would see you train here,â Augusta continued. âRemain in Septimont.âÂ
âWith you?â you asked.Â
Her lips curved, âEspecially with me.âÂ
From a balcony above, Lupa nudged Rover. âOh sheâs a goner.âÂ
Rover nodded in agreement, âAbsolutely.âÂ
Iuno watched quietly, eyes glowing with unreadable fate.Â
âThe Ephor's future has changed,â she murmured.Â
And beneath burning skies and echoing steel, the undefeated gladiator had finally met her match though not in strength but in her heart.Â
a/n: a little post-holiday girl in red inspired fluff for @keervah just because đ¤ Iâm sorry it took so long and I hope youâll like it đ
âRainy days and bad luck come in my way. I look for you when Iâm lost so I donât go insaneâ
âAw fuck!â
You curse at the sky as you feel huge drops of rain fall on your face. You grumble to yourself. Of course itâs today of all days that it rains! 29% chance of rain this week and itâs when youâre already late, tired, and cold. Youâre already halfway to the bus station and you canât risk going back home to get an umbrella âcause youâre already running late.
You brisk walk all the way to the bus station as the patter of rain starts to pick up. You glance at your watch, five more minutes before the bus arrives, and you heaved a sigh. Everywhere looks so festive, itâs Christmas eve after all and people are enjoying the holidays. You watched them miserably because today you have been called to report to work because your co-worker had an âemergencyâ and your supervisor was either stupid or favors your co-worker that they didnât say anything and called you over.
You honestly couldâve said ânoâ since it was a last minute notice, but you work in healthcare and also needed the extra cash because youâve been eyeing a cute sweater and a lego set you wanted to buy for your longtime crush, Mina. You smiled as you thought about your adorable introvert. You werenât officially dating but youâre sure there was something between you because of the way Minaâs eyes shine when she sees you or how she lets loose her cute laughter and her gummy smile just for you. Youâve been going on cute little dates for months now and you remembered Minaâs kid-like excitement when you both saw that humongous Hogwarts lego set at a store you passed by. You secretly took note of that because Mina and legos and Mina building legos and Minaâs little happy dance - you were full on smiling now and felt warm because of the thought.
A loud honk shook you out of your reverie as the bus stopped in front of you and you can feel yourself slipping to your previous bad mood once again. You sat near the window and looked out in disbelief. Of course the rain stopped when youâre finally inside. Itâs like the universe is testing your patience today. You decided to text Mina, just to lighten your mood a bit even though you have to inform her that you canât spend Christmas eve together because of work. Mina, bless her beautiful soul, replied in an instant and you just about melted. She sent you a photo of her in a Christmas sweater holding a yule log with a text saying âLetâs eat this together when you get back and go to the Christmas market after.â
You were restless at work and you catch yourself glancing at the clock almost every few minutes. Itâs pretty late and youâre sure Minaâs having dinner with her family already. Your goal was to go straight to the store after your shift on Christmas morning to buy that lego set and spend the rest of Christmas day with her. Youâre in a brighter mood just thinking about how happy it will make her and you used that thought to fuel you for the rest of your shift. You received a text from Mina a few hours before midnight, âMerry Christmas, y/n. I wish you were here so tonight. I canât wait to see you tomorrow morning!â She was so cute and it got you all giddy! You sent her an apology and told her youâd want to spend Christmas eve with her too but you assured her that tomorrow will be a fun day for the both of you. Her swift reply came, âI canât wait! Good luck with the rest of your shift. Iâll see you tomorrow,â with a kissy face photo of her attached. You felt your cheeks heat up and you were trying to suppress a giggle. Sheâs the most adorable person ever! Now youâre more determined and happy thinking that this extra shift was all worth it when you see her tomorrow.
Finally, an hour left before your shift ends. You send the store a quick message asking to wrap up the Hogwarts lego set and sent them the payment. This way, you just need to drop by to get it and save you time. You canât wait to spend your first Christmas with Mina! A few minutes passed and you received a text from your supervisor and your mood darkened incredibly. The employee assigned after your shift could not make it and there isnât anyone else available to take over so you need to stay for their shift, which unfortunately for you is a double shift.
You can feel your temper rising. You wanted to scream and curse at someone but you really had no choice, itâs not like youâd be able to just leave your work and leave your patients to tend to themselves. You were in a very terrible mood as you counted the hours and realized youâd be missing the Christmas market when your shift ends because it closes early for their last day. You type out a message to your supervisor begging them to find someone to at least cover half the shift youâre forced to do. You had plans today and you feel like everything is ruined and you donât even know what to tell Mina.
Your heart was heavy as your supposed shift ended and the new one started. As if on cue, Mina texted you good morning and that she couldnât wait to see you. You were devastated and the festive mood long gone. You were disappointed at yourself for promising so much and not being able to make good on it, especially since this is Mina. You sent her an apology and an explanation not really in the mood anymore. Of course, because this is Mina, she understood and told you sheâd still be waiting to spend Christmas with you no matter when your shift ends. You send out a halfhearted reply and another apology before burying your phone deep in your pocket not wanting to send more false promises. You informed the lego store of your predicament and the store owner asked if youâd want to pick it up at their residence instead if you donât make it before the store closes. You say yes and thank them, thankful that their address is close to Minaâs. At least you can pick it up along the way.
The rest of the day was a blur. In the end, no one arrived to split your shift with you and it made you feel numb. It was already dark when the next person came in for the shift after yours. You sluggishly got ready to leave and sent both the store owner and Mina that you were on your way and apologized for how late it was. Thankfully the travel back was uneventful although you were really devastated as you watch people heading home with smiles on their faces.
Only a few more hours âtil Christmas was over and you feel salty for only having that amount of time with Mina. You knew yourself well enough that you might end up ruining this night with her because you really are in a terrible mood and didnât wanna see her disappointed face. So as you walked towards the store ownerâs house you contemplated on just giving your Christmas gift and heading home.
You thanked the store owner as he gave you the huge box and apologized for the trouble. He was still all smiles and wished you Merry Christmas before you went on your way. A couple of houses before Minaâs you stopped and texted her that youâre almost at her door and wanted to give her something. You kept walking afterwards even after you felt your phone vibrate from her reply. You spotted her sitting at the foot of their porch. All wrapped in an oversized sweater and an elf hat sitting atop her head. Your heart warmed at the sight but guilt kept you from being truly happy to see her.
But Mina, known for her introverted and calm demeanor, just about beamed and ran when she spotted you. She enveloped you in a hug before dragging you to the door. You smiled halfheartedly and stopped her. You wanted to say youâre just there to give her a Christmas present and leave, but before you can even get anything out she looked at you sternly and said, âNope. Youâre staying. I prepared a bath for you and warm clothes and a surprise. So youâre staying. Got that?â You looked at her and canât decide whether to smile or get scared because she looks so adorable with her elf hat and furrowed brows. All you were able to do was nod and utter a small âyes, maâamâ before she gave you a gummy smile and pushed you inside the house.
Mina just realized you were holding a gigantic box when youâre finally inside the house and gave you a questioning look. You chuckled lightly, âThis is your Christmas present and I wanna see you open it.â Mina smiled at you widely, âOkay but first a warm bath! I know youâre really tired so take your time and relax. The clothes are in the bathroom, goâ she pushed you towards the bathroom as she dragged out the last syllables. You were surprised with what you saw inside. The bathroom smells like peppermint and there were candles that cast a warm glow. An assortment of Christmas themed bath bomb were by the tub and a pair of fluffy pajamas and sweater were by the counter. You can already feel yourself relaxing and your mood lifting as you take in the scene before you.
You took your time in the bath as you were trying to shake off your bad mood because Mina has been trying to cheer you up. You got dressed and was drying your hair when you stopped and stared at the mirror. You didnât notice it at first but the sweater youâre wearing has a huge penguin wearing a Santa hat. You canât help but giggle now and hugged yourself thinking of how this is the sweetest gesture youâve gotten. Finally in a better mood than when you first arrived.
You excited the bathroom and made your way to the living room to see Mina in a similar outfit placing two mugs of what smells like hot chocolate on the table. She looked at you and cooed at how adorable you are in your outfit. âI knew it would suit you!â She said as she straightened up and you saw her sweater has a huge black cat with a red scarf looped around its neck. âItâs me and you,â she said shyly as she saw you looking back and forth at her sweater and yours âDo you like it?â She asked as she batted her eyes at you. You smiled a genuine smile for the first time that day and enveloped her in a hug. âI love it so much!â You said against her hair and she giggled.
She made you sit on the couch and gave you a mug of hot chocolate with little marshmallows on them before disappearing into the kitchen. She returned with the yule log and a couple of forks in her hand and placed it in front of you. âItâs still Christmas after all,â she said as she picked up her own mug and sat beside you placing her head on your shoulder. You put your mug down and held her. âIâm sorry I was in a bad mood earlier,â you started âI just really wanted to spend our first Christmas together the best way. I know how much you wanted to see the lights and decor around the Christmas market and we werenât even able to go.â She looked at you lovingly then and cuddled closer, âBut we are spending the Christmas the best way. It doesnât matter that itâs a little late, at least youâre here now. And besides, I have another surprise for you!â She suddenly stood up and placed her mug on the table before putting her hand out to help you up.
She dragged you to her bedroom door, mischief dancing in her eyes as she looked at you. âI knew you were sad that we didnât get go enjoy the pretty Christmas scene soâŚ.â She then opened the door and you stare at everything in awe. âI just brought them here for you.â She finished quietly. You took in the whole room as you entered. Christmas lights were strewn on the ceiling and a small Christmas tree sat on her dresser decorated with cute ornaments and fake snow. Fairy lights cascaded over the shelves, the window, and her headboard. Everything looks so magical that it took your breath away. âMinaâŚâ you let out her name in a whisper, words failing you with how sweet and wonderful her surprise is. You look at her beside you and her eyes were shining and expectant as she looks at your glowing face. You held her close, kissed her forehead, and whispered, âThank you. This is the best Christmas ever.â She giggled and hugged you tightly before pulling back a little. She stared at you shyly this time and pointed upwards.
You look up and saw a mistletoe and you felt your face heat up. She was so adorable with her mischievous eyes and her shy smile that you canât help but giggle and give her a small smirk. She hit you playfully before standing on her tiptoes, you pulled her in for your first kiss. It was chaste and warm and perfect. Just like your Mina. âYouâre what I want for Christmas, y/n. And I hope you want me too,â she said with so much love and adoration that you thought your heart was gonna burst. You leaned in for another kiss as words are not enough to tell her how much you want this too. You stopped to catch your breath and rested your forehead against hers. âYouâre mine.â You said against her lips and she giggled.
âNow how are you gonna top my best Christmas gift ever?â She playfully teased and you lit up, excited to give her the lego set you bought. âCome see,â you smirked at her, âIâm sure youâd love itâ you said as you took her hand and led her out to the living room again. You moved the small table to make way and sat on the carpeted floor before placing the box in front of you. You gestured for her to sit on the opposite side and told her to open it.
You canât decide which was better, her heartfelt confession earlier or how she was squealing like a little girl right now. Like you imagined, she was as excited and as giddy as a little kid on Christmas morning. You were beaming as you watch her take out the pieces and tried to hug the huge box against her. âBEST GIFT EVERâ you heard her muffled exclamation. You laughed and pried the box off of her hands before teasingly said, âbetter than me being yours?â Her eyebrows shot up so fast, eyes wide but also teasing. âNope! Iâll always call you mine.â She said with a grin.
You spent the rest of the night drinking hot chocolate and building the lego. You canât help but think then that there isnât any other way you wanna spend Christmas.
a/n: a little post-holiday girl in red inspired fluff for @keervah just because đ¤ Iâm sorry it took so long and I hope youâll like it đ
âRainy days and bad luck come in my way. I look for you when Iâm lost so I donât go insaneâ
âAw fuck!â
You curse at the sky as you feel huge drops of rain fall on your face. You grumble to yourself. Of course itâs today of all days that it rains! 29% chance of rain this week and itâs when youâre already late, tired, and cold. Youâre already halfway to the bus station and you canât risk going back home to get an umbrella âcause youâre already running late.
You brisk walk all the way to the bus station as the patter of rain starts to pick up. You glance at your watch, five more minutes before the bus arrives, and you heaved a sigh. Everywhere looks so festive, itâs Christmas eve after all and people are enjoying the holidays. You watched them miserably because today you have been called to report to work because your co-worker had an âemergencyâ and your supervisor was either stupid or favors your co-worker that they didnât say anything and called you over.
You honestly couldâve said ânoâ since it was a last minute notice, but you work in healthcare and also needed the extra cash because youâve been eyeing a cute sweater and a lego set you wanted to buy for your longtime crush, Mina. You smiled as you thought about your adorable introvert. You werenât officially dating but youâre sure there was something between you because of the way Minaâs eyes shine when she sees you or how she lets loose her cute laughter and her gummy smile just for you. Youâve been going on cute little dates for months now and you remembered Minaâs kid-like excitement when you both saw that humongous Hogwarts lego set at a store you passed by. You secretly took note of that because Mina and legos and Mina building legos and Minaâs little happy dance - you were full on smiling now and felt warm because of the thought.
A loud honk shook you out of your reverie as the bus stopped in front of you and you can feel yourself slipping to your previous bad mood once again. You sat near the window and looked out in disbelief. Of course the rain stopped when youâre finally inside. Itâs like the universe is testing your patience today. You decided to text Mina, just to lighten your mood a bit even though you have to inform her that you canât spend Christmas eve together because of work. Mina, bless her beautiful soul, replied in an instant and you just about melted. She sent you a photo of her in a Christmas sweater holding a yule log with a text saying âLetâs eat this together when you get back and go to the Christmas market after.â
You were restless at work and you catch yourself glancing at the clock almost every few minutes. Itâs pretty late and youâre sure Minaâs having dinner with her family already. Your goal was to go straight to the store after your shift on Christmas morning to buy that lego set and spend the rest of Christmas day with her. Youâre in a brighter mood just thinking about how happy it will make her and you used that thought to fuel you for the rest of your shift. You received a text from Mina a few hours before midnight, âMerry Christmas, y/n. I wish you were here so tonight. I canât wait to see you tomorrow morning!â She was so cute and it got you all giddy! You sent her an apology and told her youâd want to spend Christmas eve with her too but you assured her that tomorrow will be a fun day for the both of you. Her swift reply came, âI canât wait! Good luck with the rest of your shift. Iâll see you tomorrow,â with a kissy face photo of her attached. You felt your cheeks heat up and you were trying to suppress a giggle. Sheâs the most adorable person ever! Now youâre more determined and happy thinking that this extra shift was all worth it when you see her tomorrow.
Finally, an hour left before your shift ends. You send the store a quick message asking to wrap up the Hogwarts lego set and sent them the payment. This way, you just need to drop by to get it and save you time. You canât wait to spend your first Christmas with Mina! A few minutes passed and you received a text from your supervisor and your mood darkened incredibly. The employee assigned after your shift could not make it and there isnât anyone else available to take over so you need to stay for their shift, which unfortunately for you is a double shift.
You can feel your temper rising. You wanted to scream and curse at someone but you really had no choice, itâs not like youâd be able to just leave your work and leave your patients to tend to themselves. You were in a very terrible mood as you counted the hours and realized youâd be missing the Christmas market when your shift ends because it closes early for their last day. You type out a message to your supervisor begging them to find someone to at least cover half the shift youâre forced to do. You had plans today and you feel like everything is ruined and you donât even know what to tell Mina.
Your heart was heavy as your supposed shift ended and the new one started. As if on cue, Mina texted you good morning and that she couldnât wait to see you. You were devastated and the festive mood long gone. You were disappointed at yourself for promising so much and not being able to make good on it, especially since this is Mina. You sent her an apology and an explanation not really in the mood anymore. Of course, because this is Mina, she understood and told you sheâd still be waiting to spend Christmas with you no matter when your shift ends. You send out a halfhearted reply and another apology before burying your phone deep in your pocket not wanting to send more false promises. You informed the lego store of your predicament and the store owner asked if youâd want to pick it up at their residence instead if you donât make it before the store closes. You say yes and thank them, thankful that their address is close to Minaâs. At least you can pick it up along the way.
The rest of the day was a blur. In the end, no one arrived to split your shift with you and it made you feel numb. It was already dark when the next person came in for the shift after yours. You sluggishly got ready to leave and sent both the store owner and Mina that you were on your way and apologized for how late it was. Thankfully the travel back was uneventful although you were really devastated as you watch people heading home with smiles on their faces.
Only a few more hours âtil Christmas was over and you feel salty for only having that amount of time with Mina. You knew yourself well enough that you might end up ruining this night with her because you really are in a terrible mood and didnât wanna see her disappointed face. So as you walked towards the store ownerâs house you contemplated on just giving your Christmas gift and heading home.
You thanked the store owner as he gave you the huge box and apologized for the trouble. He was still all smiles and wished you Merry Christmas before you went on your way. A couple of houses before Minaâs you stopped and texted her that youâre almost at her door and wanted to give her something. You kept walking afterwards even after you felt your phone vibrate from her reply. You spotted her sitting at the foot of their porch. All wrapped in an oversized sweater and an elf hat sitting atop her head. Your heart warmed at the sight but guilt kept you from being truly happy to see her.
But Mina, known for her introverted and calm demeanor, just about beamed and ran when she spotted you. She enveloped you in a hug before dragging you to the door. You smiled halfheartedly and stopped her. You wanted to say youâre just there to give her a Christmas present and leave, but before you can even get anything out she looked at you sternly and said, âNope. Youâre staying. I prepared a bath for you and warm clothes and a surprise. So youâre staying. Got that?â You looked at her and canât decide whether to smile or get scared because she looks so adorable with her elf hat and furrowed brows. All you were able to do was nod and utter a small âyes, maâamâ before she gave you a gummy smile and pushed you inside the house.
Mina just realized you were holding a gigantic box when youâre finally inside the house and gave you a questioning look. You chuckled lightly, âThis is your Christmas present and I wanna see you open it.â Mina smiled at you widely, âOkay but first a warm bath! I know youâre really tired so take your time and relax. The clothes are in the bathroom, goâ she pushed you towards the bathroom as she dragged out the last syllables. You were surprised with what you saw inside. The bathroom smells like peppermint and there were candles that cast a warm glow. An assortment of Christmas themed bath bomb were by the tub and a pair of fluffy pajamas and sweater were by the counter. You can already feel yourself relaxing and your mood lifting as you take in the scene before you.
You took your time in the bath as you were trying to shake off your bad mood because Mina has been trying to cheer you up. You got dressed and was drying your hair when you stopped and stared at the mirror. You didnât notice it at first but the sweater youâre wearing has a huge penguin wearing a Santa hat. You canât help but giggle now and hugged yourself thinking of how this is the sweetest gesture youâve gotten. Finally in a better mood than when you first arrived.
You excited the bathroom and made your way to the living room to see Mina in a similar outfit placing two mugs of what smells like hot chocolate on the table. She looked at you and cooed at how adorable you are in your outfit. âI knew it would suit you!â She said as she straightened up and you saw her sweater has a huge black cat with a red scarf looped around its neck. âItâs me and you,â she said shyly as she saw you looking back and forth at her sweater and yours âDo you like it?â She asked as she batted her eyes at you. You smiled a genuine smile for the first time that day and enveloped her in a hug. âI love it so much!â You said against her hair and she giggled.
She made you sit on the couch and gave you a mug of hot chocolate with little marshmallows on them before disappearing into the kitchen. She returned with the yule log and a couple of forks in her hand and placed it in front of you. âItâs still Christmas after all,â she said as she picked up her own mug and sat beside you placing her head on your shoulder. You put your mug down and held her. âIâm sorry I was in a bad mood earlier,â you started âI just really wanted to spend our first Christmas together the best way. I know how much you wanted to see the lights and decor around the Christmas market and we werenât even able to go.â She looked at you lovingly then and cuddled closer, âBut we are spending the Christmas the best way. It doesnât matter that itâs a little late, at least youâre here now. And besides, I have another surprise for you!â She suddenly stood up and placed her mug on the table before putting her hand out to help you up.
She dragged you to her bedroom door, mischief dancing in her eyes as she looked at you. âI knew you were sad that we didnât get go enjoy the pretty Christmas scene soâŚ.â She then opened the door and you stare at everything in awe. âI just brought them here for you.â She finished quietly. You took in the whole room as you entered. Christmas lights were strewn on the ceiling and a small Christmas tree sat on her dresser decorated with cute ornaments and fake snow. Fairy lights cascaded over the shelves, the window, and her headboard. Everything looks so magical that it took your breath away. âMinaâŚâ you let out her name in a whisper, words failing you with how sweet and wonderful her surprise is. You look at her beside you and her eyes were shining and expectant as she looks at your glowing face. You held her close, kissed her forehead, and whispered, âThank you. This is the best Christmas ever.â She giggled and hugged you tightly before pulling back a little. She stared at you shyly this time and pointed upwards.
You look up and saw a mistletoe and you felt your face heat up. She was so adorable with her mischievous eyes and her shy smile that you canât help but giggle and give her a small smirk. She hit you playfully before standing on her tiptoes, you pulled her in for your first kiss. It was chaste and warm and perfect. Just like your Mina. âYouâre what I want for Christmas, y/n. And I hope you want me too,â she said with so much love and adoration that you thought your heart was gonna burst. You leaned in for another kiss as words are not enough to tell her how much you want this too. You stopped to catch your breath and rested your forehead against hers. âYouâre mine.â You said against her lips and she giggled.
âNow how are you gonna top my best Christmas gift ever?â She playfully teased and you lit up, excited to give her the lego set you bought. âCome see,â you smirked at her, âIâm sure youâd love itâ you said as you took her hand and led her out to the living room again. You moved the small table to make way and sat on the carpeted floor before placing the box in front of you. You gestured for her to sit on the opposite side and told her to open it.
You canât decide which was better, her heartfelt confession earlier or how she was squealing like a little girl right now. Like you imagined, she was as excited and as giddy as a little kid on Christmas morning. You were beaming as you watch her take out the pieces and tried to hug the huge box against her. âBEST GIFT EVERâ you heard her muffled exclamation. You laughed and pried the box off of her hands before teasingly said, âbetter than me being yours?â Her eyebrows shot up so fast, eyes wide but also teasing. âNope! Iâll always call you mine.â She said with a grin.
You spent the rest of the night drinking hot chocolate and building the lego. You canât help but think then that there isnât any other way you wanna spend Christmas.
a/n: This is a fem reader fic, but all are welcome. Reader's gender doesn't really have a bearing on the story. also, @songsofvenus, i did it.
WC:9761
Full Moon: The âFirstâ meet
âThe moon is beautiful tonight, isnât it?â
The tavern always smells like honey and smoke.
Itâs the kind of place that feels like itâs been there longer than memory â walls stained with laughter, ceiling beams holding whispers of too many winters. Outside, the night hums with music and the low buzz of insects. The moon hangs heavy above the hills, full, swollen and silver, the kind that looks close enough to touch if you reached just high enough.
You push the door open and step inside. Warmth greets you first, then noise. Someoneâs playing a fiddle near the hearth, a tune bright enough to lift the heart but old enough to sound like itâs been carried through generations.
You find a seat at the counter, halfway between solitude and company. You donât know why you came here tonight â only that something pulled you, a quiet gravity that feels older than reason.
Elias, the barkeep, wipes his hands on a linen rag and gives you a look that sits somewhere between surprise and something else entirely. Itâs brief, fleeting.
âEvening,â he says simply, voice gravelly from years of laughter and smoke. âHavenât seen you around before.â
You smile, shaking your head. âJust passing through.â
He studies you for a moment longer, like heâs looking for a detail he canât quite find. Then he nods, turning to pour you a drink. âTravelers always come after the full moon,â he murmurs, mostly to himself.
You blink. âSorry?â
âNothing.â He slides a tankard across the counter, golden mead sloshing softly against its sides. âSweetest weâve got. Bit too much honey, if you ask me.â
Before you can answer, a voice rings out from behind you â smooth, lilting, carrying laughter even before the words take shape.
âYou say that every time, Elias, and youâre still wrong. Thereâs no such thing as too much honey.â
You turn â and the rest of the tavern seems to fade.
Sheâs standing by the doorway, framed by moonlight and the chatter of the room, and for a heartbeat, you forget how to breathe.
Her hair catches the firelight like strands of gold spun thin. Her smile is wicked and bright, and her eyes â God, her eyes â gleam with the sort of knowing that makes you feel seen, even when you donât want to be.
Sophia.
You donât know her yet, not by name, but she already feels like a memory you shouldâve kept.
She glides toward you with the ease of someone who belongs everywhere. Elias groans softly under his breath, but thereâs fondness beneath it, a tired affection that sounds like routine.
âHere to argue with me about my mead again?â he asks.
âItâs tradition,â she says, slipping onto the stool beside you. âYou canât have a full moon without our monthly debate.â
You chuckle, glancing between them. âDo you two know each other?â
âUnfortunately,â Elias says.
âTragically,â Sophia corrects with a grin. âHeâs my favorite person to annoy.â
Thereâs something magnetic about her. She speaks in a rhythm that makes you lean closer without realizing. Every word dances. Every laugh feels like it was meant for you, even when itâs not.
You raise your tankard. âSo, youâre the local expert on honey content, then?â
âOnly when it comes to mead,â she says, turning her gaze toward you, sharp and playful. âEverything else, Iâm still figuring out.â
You smile, already lost.
Thereâs no other way to describe it â you fall for her right then. Not slowly, not carefully. Instantly. Like youâd been walking a familiar path and suddenly realized the stars were brighter because she was standing under them.
She tells you about the town â the festivals, the flower stalls in the square, the way the cobblestones glisten after the rain. She speaks in colors, and somehow you can see every one. You tell her bits about yourself, small things â your travels, the people youâve met, the way the forest looked when you arrived at dusk.
She listens like itâs all facinating, but her eyes flicker, just for a second, a glint of something you canât decipher.
The tavern grows louder, but your world narrows until itâs just her voice, her laugh, her fingers tracing circles on the rim of her glass. She leans in, her shoulder brushing yours, and something electric hums between you.
âDo you always charm strangers this easily?â you ask, trying to sound playful instead of awestruck, or lovestruck.
âOnly the interesting ones,â she says softly.
Elias passes by again, shaking his head. He catches Sophiaâs eye â and for an instant, his expression softens. Then heâs gone, moving down the bar, refilling drinks, pretending not to look back.
You donât see it. Youâre too busy watching Sophia tilt her head back to drink, the firelight catching her throat, her smile curving like a secret.
Time slips strangely when youâre around her. One minute, youâre strangers. The next, youâre laughing like old friends, knees brushing beneath the counter.
When the crowd begins to thin, she looks toward the door. âCome on,â she says, standing. âYou canât waste a full moon indoors.â
You follow her out without question.
Outside, the night is soft and golden. The moon rests low above the horizon, enormous and impossibly bright. The air smells like clover and pine and the faint sweetness of mead still on your breath.
You walk side by side down the dirt road, your hands brushing every so often. The silence between you feels easy â not empty, just waiting to be filled.
When you turn back, sheâs already watching you. Thereâs something in her gaze â a glimmer of affection, but something else too, something you canât quite name.
It doesnât matter. Not tonight.
All you know is that the world feels right beside her. That maybe you were supposed to walk into that tavern tonight. That maybe you were supposed to meet her.
And so you smile, and she smiles back â that wide, luminous grin that could outshine the moon itself.
Later, when she says goodnight, you think of something stupid like fate.
You fall asleep with her laughter still echoing in your head.
And when you dream, you dream of the same tavern, the same moonlight, the same laughÂ
Waning Gibbous: The âFirstâ picnic
You wake to sunlight and the faint scent of honey still clinging to your sleeves â a sweet reminder of the night before. The tavern, the laughter, the way Sophia said your name like she was tasting it. Youâve been replaying every moment since, like a song you canât get out of your head.
You donât expect to see her again.
Thatâs what makes the knock at your door so startling.
âGood morning!â
Her voice is unmistakable â warm and lilting, with that soft musicality that makes your heart do something stupid. You open the door to find Sophia standing there in the early light, holding a picnic basket and smiling like sheâs been waiting for you all along.
Sheâs wearing a light dress the color of cream and sunlight, and her hairâs tied up with a ribbon that catches the breeze.
You blink, still trying to wake up. âSophia?â
âDo you know any other Sophias who bring you breakfast at ungodly hours?â she asks, pretending to frown.
âItâs not that early,â you say automatically, even though it definitely is.
Her grin widens. âSee? Youâre already defending me. Thatâs a good sign.â
You canât help but laugh. âSo, breakfast, huh?â
âWell,â she says, tilting her head, âtechnically lunch. But breakfast sounds more romantic.â
You donât even hesitate when she gestures for you to come along. Somehow, following Sophia feels as natural as breathing.
The two of you walk out of town and into the fields, where the grass bends in soft waves and the air smells faintly of clover. Sophia talks as she walks, hands moving animatedly â about the best pastries in the market, or about how Elias still doesnât know how to pour mead without spilling some.
You mostly listen, stealing glances when you think sheâs not looking. Her words come easily, full of color and rhythm â and every so often, she glances your way as if to make sure youâre still smiling.
You are. You canât not.
When you reach the meadow, Sophia spreads out a checkered blanket and unpacks the basket with a flourish.
âBehold,â she declares, dramatically lifting a jar, âmy greatest weakness: strawberry jam.â
âYour greatest weakness?â you tease. âNot bad dancing? Or too much talking? Or that thing you do with your nose?â
âExcuse me,â she says, pretending to be offended. âI am an excellent dancer and a delightful conversationalist. Also, Iâll have you know that my nose is adorable.â
âDebatable.â
She gasps, hand over her chest. âYou wound me.â
You grin. âMaybe Iâll make it up to you with a compliment.â
She perks up. âGo on.â
You pause, pretending to think. âYou have a nice⌠basket.â
Sophia groans, throwing a grape at you. You catch it midair â barely â and she claps, laughing.
âFine,â she says. âYou get partial redemption.â
The picnic is simple but perfect â flaky bread, cheese, strawberries, and the jam she swears could solve wars. You eat until youâre full, and then some, talking about nothing and everything: the weather, favorite colors, childhood dreams.
She tells you she used to sneak onto the roof to look at stars, because she liked pretending they could hear her.
You tell her you used to name every stray cat in your neighborhood.
âEvery single one?â
âEven the mean ones.â
She laughs softly. âThatâs very you.â
You raise a brow. âWhat does that mean?â
âIt means you look at things like theyâre worth loving,â she says, voice lighter than air â but thereâs a softness in her gaze that makes your chest ache a little.
After lunch, she convinces you to play a dice game she claims is âincredibly simple.â
Itâs not.
Ten minutes later, sheâs giggling so hard she canât even roll straight.
âWait, wait,â you protest, pointing at her cup. âYouâre making up rules as we go!â
âAm not!â
âThen explain how I just lost twenty points because my dice rolled an even number.â
âItâs a bonus penalty,â she says, completely deadpan.
âThatâs not a thing.â
âIt is now.â
You groan. âYouâre insufferable.â
Sophia beams. âAnd youâre adorable when youâre losing.â
Your face heats instantly, which only makes her laugh harder. âYou know,â she adds, grinning, âyou make this too easy.â
You lie back on the blanket in mock defeat. âYouâre evil.â
She flops down beside you, her hair brushing your shoulder. âMaybe. But at least Iâm cute about it.â
You canât argue with that.
For a while, the two of you just lie there, watching clouds drift lazily across the sky.
Sophia hums â a tune you swear youâve heard before, though you canât place it. It feels like how sunlight sounds.
âDo you ever think,â she says quietly, âthat maybe the skyâs too big for one person to look at alone?â
You glance over. Sheâs smiling, eyes closed, face tilted toward the warmth.
âThen itâs a good thing you invited me,â you say softly.
She opens one eye, looking at you, and for a heartbeat, it feels like the world narrows down to that one look â the little spark in her gaze, the quiet recognition of something she wonât name yet.
âYeah,â she murmurs. âIt is.â
Later, she kicks off her shoes and wanders barefoot into the stream that runs along the edge of the meadow. The water sparkles around her ankles, catching sunlight in little bursts.
âCome on!â she calls. âItâs not cold!â
âIt looks cold.â
âItâs refreshing,â she insists, splashing water toward you.
You yelp as it hits your arm. âSophia!â
She laughs so hard she almost falls. You chase her in, splashing back until both of you are soaked, breathless, laughing like children.
When you finally stumble back onto the grass, dripping and exhausted, she sits beside you and hands you a towel from the basket like she knew this would happen.
âYou planned this,â you accuse.
âMaybe,â she admits, grin mischievous. âYou always smile more when youâre caught off guard.â
You roll your eyes, but your heartâs not fooling anyone.
By the time the sun dips low, painting everything in gold, youâre both stretched out on the blanket again. The air is still warm, the world quiet except for the hum of cicadas.
Sophia props herself up on one elbow, watching you. Her eyes catch the last of the light, glowing amber.
âWhat?â you ask, suddenly shy.
âNothing,â she says softly. âJust thinking that you look exactly how today feels.â
You blink. âWhat does that mean?â
She smiles. âLike sunshine. Like something I donât want to forget.â
You donât realize how close sheâs leaned until you can see the tiny flecks of light in her irises.
Your heart stumbles over itself.
âThen donât forget,â you say quietly.
Her smile falters â not in sadness, but in that way people do when theyâre feeling too much, when feeling overwhelms in a tidal wave. âIâll try not to,â she whispers.
You walk back together as the sky deepens to violet. The road is lined with fireflies, and she catches one in her hands, letting it glow between her fingers.
âSee?â she says. âEven the little lights follow us home.â
Elias is sweeping outside the tavern when you arrive. He gives Sophia a long, unreadable look, and she offers him a cheerful wave.
âEvening, Elias!â
He nods slowly. âEvening, Sophia. At the waterfalls again?â
Sophia just smiles. âYou always remember, donât you?â
âHard to Forget.â
You frown, not understanding, but Sophia just squeezes your arm gently. âIgnore him,â she says lightly.
And then sheâs looking at you again, eyes soft, almost hopeful. âTomorrow?â
âTomorrow,â you promise.
When you finally lie down that night, the scent of wildflowers still clings to your clothes, and you fall asleep smiling, the sound of her laughter echoing in your mind.
You dream of sunlight and honey and the way Sophia looked at you â like she already knew youâd follow her anywhere.
Third Quarter: The âFirstâ Date
The sun was just beginning to sink when you saw her again. It was a daily occurrence by now, Sophia seemed to always know where to find you, spending at least a little of every day with you.
The sky had turned gold around the edges, a warm sort of light that made everything feel softerâthe cobblestones, the chatter spilling from market stalls, even the wind. You were helping old Mr. Brehn at the bakery when you caught sight of her through the open doorway. Sophia, standing there like sheâd stepped straight out of a dream youâd been too afraid to admit you were having.
She was laughing at something the flower vendor said, a ribbon of sound that wrapped around you, bright and unhurried. Her hair caught the last of the sunlight, haloed in gold, and she wore a soft cream dress this time, with her sleeves tied up and a faint dusting of flour smudged across her wristâas though sheâd been somewhere else, busy being radiant.
âDonât stare too long,â Brehn said, elbowing you with a grin. âYouâll burn your bread.â
You pretended to focus on the dough. âI wasnât staring.â
âYou were absolutely staring.â
You were.
And when she spotted you through the doorway, her smile widened like sheâd just remembered your name after a long time. âThere you are,â she said, stepping inside.
âMe?âÂ
âYou,â she confirmed, tapping your chest lightly with one flour-dusted finger. âI thought I might find you here.â
âYou were looking for me?â you tried to sound casual, but the words tripped over each other on their way out.
Sophia tilted her head, pretending to think. âMaybe. Or maybe I was just following the smell of cinnamon. But either wayâŚâ she smiled, bright as a sunrise. âIâm glad it led me to you.â
Brehn made a sound behind youâsomething between a chuckle and a sighâand muttered, âYoung love, gods save them,â before shuffling to the back room.
Sophia leaned against the counter, eyes glinting. âWalk with me?â
You nodded before you even realized sheâd asked.
The streets were quieter by the time you left the square. Lanterns had begun to bloom open one by one, their light flickering gently across the cobblestones. Sophia led you along the river path, the air full of late-summer sweetness and distant music from the townâs open-air musicians.
She carried a small satchel slung across her shoulder, and halfway down the path, she stopped and spread a blanket beneath a willow tree, right where the moonlight dripped onto the grass like silver ink.
âSit,â she said, patting the space beside her.
You sat.
Out came a small collection of pastries, wrapped in parchment, and a flask that smelled faintly of honey and berries. There was even a single daisy tucked in a glass bottle of waterâslightly wilted, but clearly chosen with care.
You smiled. âYouâve thought this through.â
She looked pleased. âItâs called preparation. You should try it sometime.â
âOh, is that what this is? Preparation? For what?â
âFor me charming you,â she said matter-of-factly, handing you a pastry. âObviously.â
You almost choked laughing, and she grinned like sheâd been waiting for exactly that.
The evening unfolded like it had been written in the stars. She talked, and you listened, though sometimes it was hard to tell which one of you was doing more of the talking. Sophia had a way of pulling the world closer with her wordsâstories about constellations that guided travelers, about a lake that froze into glass once every hundred years, about a child who swore they saw the moon blink.
You didnât know how much of it was true, but the way she spoke made truth feel like a secondary concern.
At one point, a gentle breeze lifted her hair, and she pressed her hand to her chest dramatically. âThe wind adores me,â she said.
âCan you blame it?â you replied before you could stop yourself.
Her grin faltered just long enough for color to rise in her cheeks. âThat was smooth.â
âI didnât meanââ
âDonât take it back,â she interrupted, nudging your shoulder. âIt was good. Iâll allow it.â
You both laughed then, your shoulders brushing, and for a moment the world seemed to tilt slightly, like it was holding its breath for you.
When the laughter faded, Sophia leaned her head against your shoulder. The movement was so natural you didnât even flinch. You just breathed inâthe faint scent of wildflowers and honey clinging to her hair.
âYou smell like cinnamon,â she murmured.
âYou told me to bring something that makes me happy,â you said softly.
Her head lifted slightly, and she blinked at you. âAnd you brought⌠roasted chestnuts?â
You hesitated, smiling. âNo. I brought myself.â
There was a pauseâlong enough for the crickets to fill itâbefore Sophia laughed, the sound bubbling up warm and real. âThatâs terrible,â she said, but she was smiling so hard her nose crinkled.
âIt made you laugh, didnât it?â
She pretended to pout. âBarely.â
âYou laughed.â
âOnly a little. But not because the joke was funny, only because youâre cute.â
âStill counts.â
Sophia giggled again, the kind of sound that made your ribs ache with happiness. And then she reached for your handâcasually, like it was the most natural thing in the worldâand kept it there, fingers intertwined.
You watched the moonlight play over her face, turning her eyes to molten silver. âYou know,â she said quietly, âthe moonâs at the third Quarter tonight.â
âIs that bad luck?â you asked.
âMaybe.â She smiled softly. âOr maybe it means thereâs more to come.â
Her thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, tracing slow circles. The silence that followed wasnât awkwardâit was tender, something that filled the air instead of breaking it.
When it grew late, she walked you home. You passed the fountain where children played during the day, now quiet under the silver light. Every now and then, sheâd nudge you with her shoulder, like she was checking to make sure you were still beside her.
At your door, she stopped. The world was hushedâjust you, her, and the sound of the river in the distance.
âThe moonâs changing,â she said softly. âIt always does.â
You nodded, not really knowing what to say.
Sophia looked up, eyes reflecting the stars, and for a moment you swore you saw something flicker behind themâa shadow of sorrow quickly tucked away. But then she smiled again, bright and certain.
âPromise me youâll meet me again tomorrow?â
âAs long as the moonâs still there,â you said, half-joking.
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. âThen I suppose weâll never run out of tomorrows.â
And before you could reply, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. Just a whisper of a thingâlight, fleetingâbut it stole the air right out of your lungs.
Then she was gone, her cloak sweeping behind her, laughter echoing faintly down the lantern-lit street.
You stood there long after she disappeared, staring at the moon, heart racing in a way that didnât feel entirely newâbut you couldnât understand why.
All you knew was that you were smiling, and the night felt like it had been waiting for you both.
Waning Crescent: The âFirstâ dance
The town was unrecognizable that night.
Every month, the streets were dressed in silk banners and candlelight, the smell of roasted chestnuts and honey cakes drifting through the air. But this timeâit all felt different. Maybe it was because youâd spent the whole day with Sophia, helping her carry lanterns for the children to hang by the river. Maybe it was because every time you looked up, you found her already looking back, smiling that secret, knowing smile that made your pulse stutter.
The moon hung low and sharp in the sky, a silver sickle slicing through the dark. The Waxing Crescent. A sliver of light that promised something was coming, though neither of you knew what it would take to get there.
Sophia was impossible not to notice that night.
She wore blue. Not the kind of blue that faded into the background, but the kind that shimmered when the lanterns caught itâlike the reflection of moonlight on still water. Her hair was braided loosely down her back, the braid unraveling every time she turned to laugh at something someone said.
Youâd barely stepped into the square when she found you. She didnât even say hello. She just grinned, eyes bright, and grabbed your hand.
âThere you are,â she said breathlessly. âI was beginning to think youâd forgotten.â
âForgotten?â you echoed, startled by her choice of word.
âMm,â she hummed. âThat you promised to dance with me.â
âI donât remember promising that.â
She tilted her head, pretending to think. âThen maybe it was a dream.â Her fingers tightened around yours. âBut if it was, Iâm glad you showed up anyway.â
You laughedâbecause that was the thing about Sophia. She could say something utterly ridiculous, and yet somehow, youâd still want to believe every word of it.
The musicians struck up their first tuneâa lively reel that sent the crowd spinning and clapping. Sophia pulled you straight into the chaos before you could even protest.
âI canât dance,â you said, nearly tripping over your own boots.
âYouâll learn,â she replied, her laughter spilling into the music. âJust follow me.â
âIâll step on your toes.â
âYou say that like you havenât already.â
Her teasing was quick and light, and soon your nerves melted under the sound of her joy. You moved the way she told you toâleft, right, spinâand somehow, between her laughter and your stumbling, the rhythm began to find you both.
At one point, she twirled away from you, her skirt flaring, and the world blurred around her. When she turned back, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes soft with something you couldnât quite name.
The music slowed. Couples began to draw closer.
Sophia stepped into your space, one hand resting lightly against your chest, the other still holding yours. You could feel her heartbeat through your fingers, quick but steady, like it had been waiting for this.
âSee?â she whispered. âYouâre not terrible at it.â
âBecause youâre doing all the work,â you said quietly.
âMaybe,â she said, smiling up at you. âBut youâre trying. Thatâs what counts.â
For a while, neither of you spoke. You just moved together, slow and quiet, surrounded by laughter and candlelight. Every now and then, youâd catch her looking at youânot in the playful way she usually did, but like she was memorizing the lines of your face.
It should have felt strange, but instead it felt like something inside you recognized her gaze. Like youâd been waiting for it.
Later that night, when most of the lanterns had dimmed and the music softened into something slow and wistful, Sophia led you away from the square.
âWhere are we going?â you asked, but she only smiled and said, âYouâll see.â
You walked in companionable silence through the narrow streets until you reached the riverbank. The water shimmered under the crescent moon, scattered with reflections of floating lanterns. Sophia crouched down beside one, tracing her fingers through the rippling light.
âEvery month,â she said softly, âthey say the lanterns carry wishes upstream. Toward the moon.â
You knelt beside her. âDo you believe that?â
She hesitated, then shook her head lightly. âNo. I think the moon already knows what we wish for. It just doesnât always give it to us. Not in the way we think, at least.â
There was something in the way she said itâtender, almost mournfulâbut when you turned to look at her, she was smiling again.
âCome on,â she said, reaching into her satchel. She pulled out a small paper lantern, its edges faintly golden from the firelight. âWrite something.â
You blinked. âWhat should I write?â
âAnything.â She grinned. âA wish. A secret. A bad poem.â
You laughed under your breath but took the quill she offered. You hesitated for a long time before writing, the ink pooling at the edge of each letter:
I hope this lasts.
When you handed the lantern back, Sophia didnât ask what you wrote. She simply leaned closer and whispered, âIt will. Itâll last foreverâ
And for that moment, you believed her.
Together, you set the lantern afloat. It drifted gently down the river, joining the countless othersâsmall, trembling lights on a sea of silver.
Sophia leaned her head against your shoulder, watching it fade into the distance. âThe moon looks happy tonight,â she murmured.
âDoes it?â
âMm. Maybe it likes seeing us like this.â
You smiled, eyes on the water. âThen letâs make sure we give it a reason every night.â
Sophia didnât answer. She just squeezed your hand, her thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, fleeting patternâone you didnât yet recognize.
When she finally walked you home, the moon had risen higher, its curve gleaming pale against the dark. You turned at your door, about to thank her for the night, but she spoke first.
âPromise me something?â
âAnything.â
âRemember this,â she said quietly. âEven if⌠you donât remember me.â
You blinked, startled. âWhat?â
Sophia smiled quickly, brushing it off with a laugh that didnât quite reach her eyes. âI meanâjust promise you wonât forget how perfect tonight was.â
âOh.â You smiled back, still a little dazed. âThat, I can do.â
And when she leaned in, her lips brushed your cheek, softer than moonlight.
When you closed your eyes that night, her laughter still echoed behind your ribs. You didnât know what you were falling intoâonly that you were already in too deep.
New Moon: The âFirstâ Sign
The night of the new moon was darker than it had any right to be. Not the kind of dark that feels empty, but the kind that hums with quiet lifeâthe kind where every candle flicker feels like itâs standing guard against something vast and unseen. The sky was a blank sheet above the town, the stars trembling faintly against it, and as you climbed the path to Sophiaâs cottage, the world felt softer, slower.
Her house sat on the crest of the hill, its windows glowing amber against the blue-black night. You could smell the lilac before you reached the doorâthe scent that seemed to follow her everywhere. Inside, sheâd said, there would be dinner waiting. âSomething sweet,â sheâd promised, âbut not too sweet. Balance is everything.â
When you knocked, she opened the door before you could even lower your hand.
âYouâre early,â she teased, stepping aside to let you in. âOr maybe Iâm late. I never know anymore.â
The cottage was just as youâd imaginedâsmall and a little chaotic, but warm in a way that made your chest ache. Books were stacked in uneven piles along the walls, spilling over tables and chairs. Dried flowers hung from ceiling beams, their stems brittle but still fragrant. A cat-shaped teapot steamed quietly on the stove, and the fire snapped in the hearth like it was trying to keep up with her.
And then there was Sophia.
Her hair was loose tonight, falling in soft waves that caught the firelight. Her dress looked borrowed from the sunlight itselfâsimple linen, tied loosely at the waist, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows as she stirred something golden in a small pot.
You leaned against the doorframe, smiling. âYouâre glowing.â
She laughed, glancing over her shoulder. âItâs the honey. I spill it on myself every time. Iâm half sugar at this point.â
You grinned. âElias told me you still argue with him about how much he puts in his mead.â
Sophia groaned, lowering her head dramatically. âBecause he refuses to understand proportions! A spoon too little and it ruins everything.â
âSeems like youâd know all about balance.â
She turned, brow lifting, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. âAre you calling me sweet?â
âI didnât say that,â you said, fighting a smile.
Her laugh was soft, easyâthe kind that slipped under your ribs and stayed there. âYou didnât have to.â
While she worked, you wandered around the room, drawn by the clutter. Everything in her house seemed touched by memory: old glass bottles filled with dried petals, pressed leaves, maps with little red Xs marked in corners. It was the kind of home that told stories, one without a single empty surface.
Then something on the mantle caught your eye.
A small object, half-hidden behind a stack of worn booksâa wooden sculpture of a hand. Its size was odd, its surface darkened with age. You leaned closer, realizing it was shaped like a monkeyâs paw, its fingers curled unnaturally. Four were outstretched, and oneâjust oneâwas half drawn toward its palm.
You stared for a moment. The wood looked smooth, as though it had been touched too many times, worn down by time or memory.
Before you could look closer, Sophiaâs voice floated from behind youâgentle, but firm in a way you hadnât heard before.
âCareful with that.â
You turned, caught off guard. She was standing a few feet away, wiping her hands on a towel, her tone casualâbut her eyes were fixed on you, sharp and unreadable.
âSorry,â you said quickly. âDidnât mean to snoop. What is it?â
Sophia hesitated for a breath too long. Then she smiled, light and easy again, slipping past you to place herself between you and the mantle.
âSomething old,â she said simply, brushing a bit of dust from the wood before setting a candle in front of it, as if to hide it behind the flame. âA keepsake. Useless thing, really.â
Her voice softened again, playful, warm. âNow, are you going to stand there staring at my shelves, or are you going to taste the soup I nearly burned waiting for you?â
You blinked, disarmed by how quickly the moment shifted. âYou? Burn soup? I thought you were perfect.â
She snorted, leading you toward the small table by the hearth. âPerfect people donât spill honey on themselves every night. Sit down.â
You did. She served you a bowl of something golden and fragrantâit shimmered faintly when it caught the light, like sunlight trapped in broth. She sat across from you, chin resting on her hand as she watched you take the first bite.
âItâs amazing,â you said immediately. âWhat did you put in this?â
âTrade secret,â she said with a sly grin. âIf I told you, youâd never come back.â
âMaybe Iâd come back anyway.â
That earned a pause. Her smile faltered for just a second, something unreadable flickering across her face. Then she shook her head and laughed softly, reaching over to nudge your bowl. âEat before I get sentimental.â
You stayed late that night, talking about nothing in particular. She told you about her gardenâhow she couldnât keep lavender alive but her thyme grew too fast. You told her about your walks through the woods and how sometimes you thought you heard your name carried in the wind. She laughed, told you that meant the forest liked you.
At some point, she sat on the floor in front of the fire, humming quietly as you leaned against the wall beside her. Her head found your shoulder naturally, like it had always belonged there.
You thought about how every time you saw her, the rest of the world blurred a little. How you felt like you could live your entire life in that cottage, in that small pool of firelight, with her fingers tracing idle circles on your wrist.
When you finally stood to leave, she followed you to the door.
âStay,â she said softly, just as you reached for the handle.
You turned. âYou want me to?â
She smiled faintly. âI always do.â
Her voice had a strange echo to it thenâa quiet longing that made something in your chest twist. But before you could ask, she rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to your cheek, feather-light.
âGo on,â she whispered. âItâs late. The moonâs gone tonight, remember?â
As you stepped outside, you glanced back once more.
She was standing by the hearth, her silhouette painted gold by the firelight. And though her expression was soft, her gaze flicked, just once, toward the mantleâtoward that strange little hand youâd nearly touched.
The candle sheâd set before it burned lower, wax pooling at its base. The wooden fingers hadnât moved, but you couldâve sworn that one of them, the curled one, cast a slightly longer shadow than before.
Waxing Crescent: The âFirstâ tears
You wake before dawn to a sound too fragile to belong to the world outside. It takes you a few seconds to realize itâs coming from Sophia.
The fire has gone out sometime in the night, leaving only faint embers pulsing in the hearth like slow, dying hearts. The light that fills the room is the silver kind that arrives before sunriseâthe light that belongs to ghosts and memories. It spills across the wooden floorboards, across the table with its half-melted candles, and finally across Sophiaâs face.
Sheâs turned toward the window, half-hidden by her hair. Her lips are parted. A tear slips quietly down her cheek.
Youâve seen her in so many forms beforeâmischievous, stubborn, tired, luminousâbut never like this. Thereâs something ancient about the way she looks now, like a statue that has seen centuries pass in silence. The sight makes your chest ache.
You almost donât move. She seems so still, so fragile, that even breathing too loud feels like it would break the spell. But when another tear traces its way down, something in you decides for you.
You reach out, your fingers brushing lightly against her cheek.
Sophia startles. Her eyes fly open, deep and dark and uncertain. She looks at you like sheâs not sure if sheâs dreamingâor if sheâs still inside whatever dream she just left. Then she exhales, softly, and whispers your name as if remembering where she is.
âHey,â you murmur. âYou were crying.â
Her lashes flutter. She blinks once, twice, and looks away, toward the dying embers. Her voice, when it comes, is softâgentle enough to almost make you forget itâs avoidance.
âWas I?â
You nod. âYeah. You were.â
She pushes herself up slowly, her hair falling over her face as she rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. The motion is too casual, too deliberate. âI mustâve been dreaming,â she says. âIt happens sometimes.â
âBad dream?â
Sophia hums, as if sheâs deciding how much of the truth sheâs willing to share. Finally, she says, âNot bad. Just⌠too familiar.â
You tilt your head. âFamiliar how?â
She doesnât answer right away. Instead, she pulls the blanket tighter around herself and turns her gaze toward the window, where the last sliver of moon hangs low. âThere are some things,â she says after a long silence, âthat stay with you even when youâve left them behind. Places. People. Promises.â
Thereâs a weight in her tone that feels older than her. Something unspoken but heavy, like the echo of prayer still clinging to a ruined temple.
You reach for her hand. âYou make it sound like you used to belong to something.â
Her lips twitch into a faint smile, though it doesnât reach her eyes. âMaybe I did.â
âLike a church?â you tease gently.
Her smile flickers at that. For a heartbeat, she looks almost wistful. âSomething like that,â she murmurs. âOnce.â
Thereâs a quiet in the room after thatâan unspoken understanding that youâve brushed against something she doesnât talk about. Not because she canât, but because it hurts to.
You donât push further. You just keep your hand where it is, your thumb tracing small circles against her skin until her breathing steadies again.
When morning finally arrives, you wake to the scent of smoke and lavender. The hearth burns again, a pot bubbling softly above it. Sophia is at the counter, barefoot and wrapped in her shawl, humming an unfamiliar melody that sounds too structured, too reverent to be a simple tune.
It sounds like a hymn.
You sit up and watch her for a while, the early light washing her in gold. Thereâs something graceful about the way she movesâa rhythm too deliberate to be casual. Her gestures are small and precise, like sheâs performing a ritual sheâs forgotten she knows.
When she notices you watching, she smiles. âYou should eat,â she says lightly, placing a plate in front of you. âI made something warm.â
You grin, still half-dazed. âYou always wake up first. Do you ever sleep?â
âSometimes.â
âYou said that like itâs optional.â
She laughs, but itâs quieter than usual. âOld habits,â she says, and you catch the faintest trace of something else beneath her toneâsomething that sounds almost like confession.
âWhat kind of habits?â
She glances at you, eyes glimmering. âOnes you donât need to worry about.â
You chuckle, even as curiosity tugs at you. âYou talk like you used to be someone important.â
Sophiaâs hand stills on the spoon. For a moment, you think youâve crossed a lineâbut then she smiles again, softer this time. âI used to be someone obedient,â she corrects. âThatâs not quite the same thing.â
Her words linger in the air, strange and heavy.
You take a bite of the food sheâs made, but your eyes drift toward the shelf above the hearthâwhere something small sits in shadow. A wooden trinket, its surface dark and uneven. You frown, leaning forward just slightly.
Itâs a totem. Carved, old, and curled inward.
The sight sends a faint chill crawling down your spine, but you donât know why.
âWhatâs that?â you ask.
Sophiaâs voice changes so subtly that if you werenât listening for it, you might have missed itâthe note of quiet alarm she hides beneath her calm. âThat?â she says, turning toward you, her smile immediate and easy. âJust a keepsake.â
You raise an eyebrow. âFrom where?â
âFrom a long time ago.â
âLooks⌠strange.â
âMost old things do,â she says lightly, and thenâbefore you can ask againâshe crosses the room and sets a cup of tea in front of you, her body perfectly positioned between you and the shelf. âDrink before it gets cold.â
Her tone is kind, but her eyes flicker toward the totem for the briefest moment, sharp and assessing, before she looks back at you.
The message is subtle but unmistakable.
She doesnât want you near it.
You decide not to press. Still, you canât shake the feeling that whatever that object isâit isnât just decoration. And the way Sophia stands there, smiling like sheâs trying not to betray something, makes you think sheâs guarding it.
After breakfast, you both step outside. The world is gray and soft, mist curling low across the valley. Sophia tilts her face to the sky, eyes half-closed, as though listening for something distant.
âYou really do like mornings,â you say, watching her.
âTheyâre the quietest part of the day,â she answers. âBefore the world remembers its noise.â
You smile. âYou sound like someone giving a sermon.â
She turns to you, sunlight catching her eyes, and for a heartbeat she looks almost ethereal. âMaybe Iâve given one before,â she says with a small shrug.
You laugh, thinking sheâs joking. But she doesnât laugh with you.
Instead, she looks at you for a long, unreadable moment, her expression caught somewhere between affection and sorrow. Then she smilesâa small, fleeting thingâand whispers, âEat well today, alright? I want you strong.â
You nod, a little confused, but the way she says it makes something warm stir in your chest.
When you leave her cottage that afternoon, the clouds begin to roll in. You turn once, just to wave goodbye. Sheâs still at the window, hand resting lightly on the frame.
You tell yourself itâs just a trick of the light. But when Sophiaâs gaze meets yours through the glass, thereâs something there you canât quite name.
Not fear. Not guilt.
Something older.
Something that feels like prayer.
First Quarter: The âFirstâ Kiss
The night hums soft and low, the way summer nights do when the world decides to be kind for a while. The air smells like wet grass and river stones, touched with the faint sweetness of lilies. You follow the path by memoryâpast the crooked willow that leans too far, past the old fence where the wood gives way beneath your palm. The moon is fractured tonight, its light scattered in the rippling current below, breaking into pieces every time the water moves.
Sophia stands in the shallows barefoot, her skirt hiked to her knees, hem damp where it brushes the water. The pale gleam of moonlight turns her hair silver. Around her neck, the small pendant youâve seen a dozen times before glows faintly, like itâs catching more light than it should.
For a moment, you just watch herâhow she lifts her hand and lets the cold river thread through her fingers, how she looks like she belongs more to the moonlight than to the ground.
âHey,â you call softly.
She turns, and her smile hits you like warmth after rain. âYou found me.â
âYouâre easy to find,â you say. âYou glow.â
She laughs, quiet and embarrassed. âThatâs the moon, not me.â
You shake your head, stepping closer. âNo. Itâs definitely you.â
The words come out before you can stop them, as natural as breathing. Lately, everything with her feels like thatâinstinctive, inevitable. She fills the silence so easily that you forget what life sounded like before her voice existed in it.
She looks down at the water, but not fast enough to hide the color rising in her cheeks. âYou always say things like that,â she murmurs.
You grin. âCanât help it.â
Her eyes flicker up at youâblue in the moonlight, uncertain, searching. You wade in until youâre close enough to see the tremor in her hands. The river folds around your legs, cold and alive, tugging gently at your balance.
âYou shouldnât be out here alone,â you say.
âNeither should you,â she replies, and thenâher smile softensââbut Iâm glad you are.â
For a while, neither of you speaks. The current hushes against your ankles. Fireflies blink in the reeds, the kind of quiet magic you only notice when someone else is beside you. Sophia tips her head back to look at the broken moon, and the pendant against her chest flares againâjust faintly, like itâs reacting to something unseen.
You catch yourself staring. âThat necklace,â you say. âItâs different tonight.â
Her fingers brush over it protectively. âIt always shines brightest when the moonâs in pieces,â she says softly, eyes still skyward. âLike itâs trying to put it back together.â
You smile. âYou talk about it like itâs alive.â
âMaybe it is,â she whispers, then glances at you. âEverything that remembers love is, a little.â
You donât understand what she means, but the way she says itâquiet, reverentâmakes you want to.
When she looks at you again, her expression has changed. Her eyes are glassy, rimmed with tears that catch the moonlight.
âHey,â you murmur, stepping closer. âWhatâs wrong?â
She shakes her head quickly, as if that could undo the tears. âNothing,â she says, laughing weakly. âYou always ask that.â
âAlways?â
Her breath catchesâjust barelyâbut then she smiles again. âIt doesnât matter.â
You want to press, but something about her tone tells you not to. So instead, you lift your hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. She doesnât move away. If anything, she leans into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut.
Her skin is cool from the river, but her pulse beneath your fingertips is racing.
âI love you,â you say.
You donât plan to, but the words come out anyway, honest and heavy and too full. Because itâs trueâbecause somehow it feels like itâs always been true, like you were already in love with her before you even knew her name.
Sophiaâs hands tremble as they rise to your face. Her touch is feather-light at first, then surer, her thumbs tracing the edge of your jaw as if sheâs memorizing you. Her voice breaks when she whispers, âYou always do.â
You frown, confused. âWhat do you mean?â
But she only smilesâa sad, radiant smile that feels like the end of something. âYou always mean it.â
And before you can ask again, she leans in.
The kiss is soft, hesitant, the kind that feels like both a beginning and an apology. Her lips taste faintly of riverwater and honey, salt from her tears mixing with the sweetness of her breath. You feel her tremble, feel the way her fingers slide up into your hair as though sheâs trying to anchor herself to this one perfect moment.
You kiss her back like youâve been waiting a lifetime for it. Maybe you have.
When you finally pull away, she presses her forehead to yours, breathing you in. Her hands are still on your face, still shaking.
âIâve wanted to do that since the first night,â you whisper.
Her answering laugh is quiet, wet with tears. âYou did,â she says softly.
You open your mouth to ask what she means, but she leans in again, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth before you can speak. âDonât ruin it,â she murmurs. âJust let it be.â
You do. You let the silence hold you both.
The wind shifts, carrying the scent of rain and riverweed. You shiver a little, and Sophia steps back just enough to study you, her gaze catching on the edge of your shirt where itâs come loose. Her eyes flickerâsomething sharp and sad passing through themâbefore she reaches out and gently pulls the fabric back into place.
âWhat?â you ask.
She shakes her head quickly, forcing a smile. âNothing. Youâll catch cold if you keep standing there.â
You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. âYou sound like my mother.â
âThen she must have been wise.â
âIs that your way of saying Iâm an idiot?â
Sophia grinsâreally grinsâand you realize how much youâve missed that look, even though itâs only been hours. âMaybe a little.â
You grin back. The two of you linger by the river until the moon slips lower, until her pendant dims to nothing. And when you finally walk her home, hand in hand, you can still feel the ghost of her kiss against your lips.
It isnât until laterâwhen youâre washing the river mud from your skin, the lamplight stretching long and soft across your backâthat you notice the old scar.
A line, thin and pale, running across your back. Youâve never thought much of it, never remembered where it came from. But tonight, for some reason, when your fingers trace it, your heart stuttersâlike something inside you is almost remembering.
Outside, the river keeps singing. And somewhere not far away, Sophia stands at her window, watching the moon vanish behind clouds.
Her fingers touch her lips, then her pendant.
Waxing Gibbous: The âFirstâ Goodbye
The night before the full moon was too still â the kind of stillness that felt like holding your breath before something breaks. The air shimmered faintly with silver light, soft and sharp all at once. The meadow was washed in it, all color drained away until even Sophia looked ghostlike, standing in the tall grass with her white dress brushing her knees, her hair unbound and dark as ink.
You thought she was beautiful. You always did.
She turned when she heard your footsteps, her expression soft but unreadable, eyes glimmering with something that wasnât quite sadness and wasnât quite peace. Behind her, the moon hung swollen, almost full â a blade of light suspended in the sky.
You smiled when you reached her. âYou found our spot again.â
Sophiaâs lips lifted, but it wasnât a smile. âYou always say that.â
Her tone was gentle, affectionate even, but there was something underneath it â something so quiet you could almost miss it if not for the way her fingers curled into her palms.
You stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. âYouâve been distant,â you murmured. âTell me whatâs wrong.â
Sophia hesitated, the way she always did when she was deciding whether to tell you the truth or protect you from it. Her gaze drifted upward, to the almost-full moon, and for a moment her face was lit like a painting â every line carved by sorrow and devotion.
âDo you know what tomorrow is?â she asked softly.
You grinned, thinking you knew the answer. âA lunar cycle since we first met?â
She laughed faintly, but it was hollow. âNo. Not that.â
You frowned, tilting your head. âThen what?â
Her eyes met yours, and for a heartbeat, she looked like she might tell you everything. Then she looked away again. âDo you remember the first time you came here?â
âOf course I do,â you said. âYou dragged me here to see fireflies.â
Sophiaâs shoulders trembled, though she smiled. âYou always say that too.â
You reached for her hand, and she let you take it. Her fingers were cold. When she finally spoke again, her voice was low and careful, like a prayer she wasnât sure she was allowed to say.
âI used to be a priestess,â she said.
You blinked. âYou?â
Her lips curved faintly. âSurprised?â
âA little. You donât really strike me as the⌠temple type.â
She laughed softly at that, but it faded quickly. âMaybe I wasnât very good at it. I thought I understood what faith meant. I thought if I prayed hard enough, the moon would listen.â
You squeezed her hand gently. âDid she?â
Sophiaâs eyes filled, not with tears yet, but with something like exhaustion â the kind that comes from carrying the same pain too many times. âShe did,â she whispered. âAnd thatâs the problem.â
The wind stirred around you, cool and sweet. You could hear the river beyond the meadow, a steady hush. It shouldâve been peaceful. Instead, it felt fragile.
Sophia stepped closer until your foreheads touched. Her breath trembled against your skin. âYou were dying,â she said, her words breaking apart as she spoke them. âThere was blood, and I⌠I couldnât lose you.â
You froze, your pulse stuttering. âSophiaââ
âI begged her,â she continued, voice shaking. âI begged the moon to save you. I didnât care what it cost. And she heard me. She always hears her priestesses.â
Her thumb brushed your cheek, tender and reverent, as if she were memorizing you again.
âShe gave you back,â Sophia whispered. âBut she didnât give you whole.â
You stared at her, confused. âWhat are you saying?â
Tears welled in her eyes. âEvery time the moon wanes, you forget. And when she waxes, you return. The curse renews itself.â
You blinked, the words sinking like stones you couldnât hold onto. âThatâs not possible.â
Sophia smiled through her tears, shaking her head. âYou always say that, too.â
Her hands moved to your shoulders, tracing down your arms until she found the edge of your shirt. She hesitated, then gently slid it aside, her fingertips brushing the long scar across your back â a pale, jagged line that you never remembered earning.
âThis,â she whispered, her voice cracking. âThis is where it started. You fell in my arms that night. I thought the moon saved you.â Her hand trembled against your skin. âBut all she did was make sure Iâd lose you over and over again.â
You swallowed hard, words caught in your throat. You wanted to tell her she was wrong, that youâd never forget her, that youâd always find her again â but there was a weight building in your chest, something heavy and cold. The world around you seemed to hum faintly, a vibration you could feel in your bones.
Sophiaâs expression broke. She cupped your face in her hands, desperate now. âPlease, stay,â she whispered. âJust this once, stay.â
âIâm here,â you said, trying to sound steady. âIâm not going anywhere.â
âYou always say that,â she repeated, a tear slipping down her cheek. âAnd then the next night, you look at me like Iâm just some curious stranger.â
Your vision blurred. âSophiaâŚâ
âShh,â she murmured, pressing her forehead to yours. âDonât fight it. It hurts more when you do.â
You tried to focus on her face â her eyes, her trembling smile, the scent of her hair. You wanted to memorize her, but everything was already slipping, fogging at the edges.
âIâll remember,â you swore, your voice trembling. âIâll remember you.â
Sophia let out a sound between a laugh and a sob. âYou said that the first time. And every time after.â
Sophiaâs hands cupped your face, trembling so hard it was a wonder she didnât drop you. Her fingers pressed against your jaw, desperate, worshipful. âNo, no, no,â she breathed, voice cracking. âStay with me. Pleaseâjust a little longer.â
You tried to focus on her â the shape of her face in the moonlight, the streaks of tears shining silver down her cheeks â but the world was tilting, spinning away from you. Her voice was soft but distant now, like it came through water.
âSophia,â you gasped, your breath hitching, your heart tripping over itself. âWhatâs happening to me?â
Her breath broke on a sob. âShh,â she whispered, dragging you against her chest, clutching you so tightly you could feel her pulse shuddering against your skin. âItâs okay, love. Youâre okay. Just breathe, pleaseâbreathe with me.â
You tried. You really did. But every inhale came shorter, shallower. The air refused to stay in your lungs.
âI donâtââ your voice faltered, trembling. âI donât understandââ
âI know,â she said, brushing your hair back, her hand shaking violently. Her thumb traced the curve of your cheek as though memorizing it. âYou donât have to understand. Just listen to me. Please.â
Your body jerked with another uneven breath. Her forehead pressed against yours, her skin fever-warm, her tears dripping down to mingle with your own.
âItâs just the curse,â she whispered, though her voice broke halfway through. âItâs not your fault. Itâs never your fault.â
Her words hit something inside you â something ancient and frightened. You reached for her hand, fingers weak, trembling. You could barely see now; the moonâs glow blurred and fractured, the edges of the world fading to white.
âDonât go,â she whispered. âDonât go yet.â
You clung to her, your grip slipping. âSophiaâŚâ
She made a sound â something between a sob and a prayer â and pressed her lips to your temple, again and again, her tears falling like rain. âYou always love me,â she whispered, voice cracking. âAnd I never stop.â
You wanted to tell her you werenât leaving, that youâd stay this time, that you could fight it. But your voice was gone, your mouth barely moving.
âS-SophiaâŚâ
Her name broke apart in your throat.
Sophiaâs arms tightened around you as if she could anchor you to this world by sheer will. âIâm here,â she whispered, her breath catching. âIâm right here. Youâre safe. Youâre safe.â
But she wasnât calm anymore â she was breaking. You felt her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs, her body trembling as though the grief itself might tear her open. Still, she forced her voice steady for you, even as it shattered. âItâs okay,â she whispered. âItâs okay, my love. You can rest now.â
You wanted to say something â anything â but all that came was a breath. You exhaled, slow and final.
Your body stilled.
The night went utterly silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. The moon hung swollen and merciless above, lighting the meadow in cruel silver.
Sophia didnât move. She just held you, your head cradled to her chest, her fingers tangled in your hair. Her lips brushed your crown, your cheek, your closed eyelids. Each kiss was a plea the heavens wouldnât hear.
When her voice finally came, it was raw â scraped hollow from crying too long, from praying too hard. âYou promised youâd remember,â she whispered into your skin. âYou always promise.â
Her tears stained your collar, her breath hitching like her lungs refused to let her go on. âAnd I always let you.â
She tilted your face toward hers, brushing one last tear from your cheek. The moon painted her in white fire â the priestess she once was, the lover she could never stop being.
Her voice broke as she said it â the words she always used when she could say nothing else.
Hiiiii actually i wanna thank you for writing sanayeon HCs đĽšđĽš i hope if you have some free time you can write sanayeon HCs again â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸ hv a wonderful day
A/N: HiiiiđĽ°, Iâm glad you liked them. You have a great day toođââď¸
SanaYeon HC Pt.2
SFW HCs
They unintentionally ended up kissing at one of their concerts, Nayeon was surprisingly calm while Sana was a blushing mess.
Rubbing their faces together is something they like to do to for comfort.
They can be surprisingly shy despite their boldness and directness.
Nayeon has been asking Sana to do some short skit TikTokâs with her but whenever the two start filming, they just keep laughing and giggling when the other is acting.
Dinner dates are something both girls like to do whether they go out or order in.
Cuddles are a must for Sana and she wakes up early just to get in more cuddles with Nayeon
Sana often bites Nayeonâs cheeks. She claims itâs too cute not to.
On the other hand, Nayeon pinches Sanaâs cheeks frequently to show affection.
They cannot stay serious on camera, it was already bad for them before but recently itâs been even worse with the other members just glaring at the two girls giggling uncontrollably.
NSFW HCs
Nayeon likes to whisper dirty things in Sanaâs ears
They have gotten bolder on stage, touching and teasing each other more while performing
Sana recently has been feeling much more subby and is more than happy to let Nayeon order her around.
She suggested roleplaying but Nayeon got shy at the idea of dressing up much to her surprise.
They missed a shoot and were scolded by Jihyo who demanded a reason why they both missed it and why no one was informed of it either.
They didnât have the courage to tell her that they were covered in way too many hickeys to show themselves to the others and were also in the process of creating moreâŚ
Recently Nayeon has found out that she really likes to see Sana be really sloppy and with Sana feeling extra submissive recently, she makes full use of it
Meanwhile Sana also loves it when Nayeon makes use of her long fingers.
They both like biting and leaving marks on each others shoulders.
Synopsis: Once a year, you sit in a booth, in Cafe DĂŠrive . On the other side of the barrier, a voiceâsoft, trembling, sometimes furious, sometimes exhaustedâbelongs to a girl who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Youâre not supposed to know who she is. Sheâs not supposed to know you. But year after year, she comes back. And year after year, you realize that maybe anonymity, or at least, the pretense of it, is the only place where someone like her can finally breathe.
Itâs just one hour. One hour where she stops pretending. One hour where you become the only person who really sees her.
WC:11338
A/N: be kind
Chapter One â 2017 - The Trainee
CafĂŠ DĂŠrive, a cafĂŠ in the streets of Seoul. A hole in the wall, not known as much for itâs coffee or tea, but for itâs booths.
The sign behind your motherâs cafĂŠ counter has said it for as long as you can remember, etched into dark wood and softened by age.
âOne session. One voice. Once a year.
No names. No faces. No promises.â
Most people take pictures of it, think itâs charming, a gimmick with soul. But youâve lived under the rules for 2 years, and theyâve never once felt like a game.
Youâve seen people change in the booths. Not quickly. Not magically. But youâve seen shoulders straighten, seen tears dry, seen strangers walk out like theyâre carrying themselves a little more gently. Youâve seen people smileânot fake smiles, not the kind when someone asks you for a photo, or when you pretend like something isnât bothering you, but the kind that seems to pull from somewhere buried and brave.
You were never supposed to be in the booths.
But then the wind is curling against the windows, and youâre wiping crumbs off the counter when the door swings open and everything in the cafĂŠ seems to hush.
Sheâs small. Thatâs the first thing you notice. Not short, exactly, just⌠slight. Like sheâs been growing up too fast to notice the pieces of herself still catching up. Her clothes hang off her like she borrowed them from an older siblingâoversized hoodie, jeans cuffed messily above her sneakers. Her baseball cap is tugged low over her face, the bill nearly shadowing her entirely. But it doesnât matter.
Because itâs her eyes.
Just before she heads toward the back booths, she glances around the cafĂŠâand you catch them, just for a second. Wide, dark, rimmed in something that looks too painful. Exhaustion.
Not the sleepy kind. The soul kind.
You move before you think about it.
The booths are sacred. Your momâs told you that more than once. People come here to pour their hearts into a stranger, to speak freely behind the safety of wood and curtain and rule. Itâs not a place for eavesdropping. But the opposite booth is empty, and something inside you stirsâa quiet kind of acheâand before you realize what youâre doing, youâre slipping quietly into Booth A, opposite the one she just entered.
The red light turns on above the divider. The session begins.
Silence.
You sit with your hands folded in your lap, listening to the thump of your own pulse in your ears. The divider between you is smooth and solid, save for the frosted glass window that allows only the softest light through.
Then:
âIs someone there?â
Her voice is uncertain. Tired.
âYes,â you say. Softly. Gently.
A pause.
âI wasnât sure anyone would come.â Her voice is steadier now, but still low. âI almost hoped no one would.â
You wait.
Then, as if a dam quietly broke, she says, âI donât think I know who I am anymore.â
It lands in the silence like a confession. You donât answerâat least not with words. You simply⌠stay. Thatâs enough.
She exhales shakily. âIâm not supposed to say anything, I know. No names. No promises. But I need to say something, or Iâll lose my mind.â
You let her. You feel as if sheâd crumble if you made her stop.
âIâve been training to be someoneâsomethingâsince I was ten. For a stage. For a dream that stopped feeling like mine a long time ago.â
You donât speak. You let the space hold her.
âThey say Iâm lucky. That girls would kill for this. That I should be grateful. And maybe I was, at first. Maybe I still am, sometimes. But it feels like⌠like my skin is made of glass, and everyoneâs watching, waiting for it to crack.â
You can almost hear the way her hands twist in her lap. The way sheâs probably chewing her lip raw.
âThey use me as the good example, that Iâm the mature one. All theyâre saying is I should wait till no one is around to cry. They time how long I sleep. How much I eat. How often I smile. They tell me to be effortless while watching everything I do.â
Still, you donât interrupt.
âI miss forgetting what I look like. I miss waking up without dread. I missââ her voice falters, ââfeeling like a person.â
You lean forward slightly.
âItâs okay to miss yourself,â you say.
She pauses.
And then: âWhy does that make me feel guilty?â
âBecause theyâve made you think being human is a flaw.â
Silence, again. Not heavy. Just⌠full.
âIâm thirteen,â she says after a long moment. Her voice is quieter now. âI should be having fun with my friends after school. I shouldnât be this tired. I shouldnât be afraid to grow older.â
You feel your breath catch in your chest.
You know youâre not supposed to, but you couldnât catch the words before it left your throat.
âIâm thirteen too.â
You donât feel the same as her, not exactly. Your life is still books and awkward school projects and warm drinks handed to regulars who know your name. But something in the way she speaksâlike sheâs been hollowed out and painted overâmakes you feel older just listening to her.
âI thought chasing a dream meant being happy,â she says. âBut all I feel is pressure. I donât get to fail. I donât even get to cry.â
She laughs softly. And itâs not joyfulâitâs cracked. âYou sound older than you are.â
You shrug, even if she canât see it. âMy mom says I was born serious.â
âShe might be right,â she says. You can hear her smile. Itâs faint, but there.
You tilt your head. âDo you want to stop?â
âWhat?â
âChasing the dream.â
Sheâs quiet.
âI donât think I can,â she says eventually. âNot without disappointing everyone. Not without disappointing the version of me who believed in this.â
âYouâre not disappointing her,â you say. âYouâre just protecting the parts of her that still matter.â
Another pause. And then she breathes out, and it sounds like something has loosened in her chest.
âWhy are you here?â she asks after a moment.
You think about it.
âI want to listen. Sometimes people just need to be heard, and Iâll help whoever I can.â
âI⌠needed this,â she says. âMore than I realized.â
âIâll be here next year,â you offer. Quiet, sure.
ââŚYeah?â Her voice softens again.
You nod. âOne voice. Once a year.â
Thereâs something unsaid between you. Something warm and aching and oddly certain.
Then you hear her shift. Her hand against the curtain. âI have to go.â
You donât ask where.
But before she leaves, she saysâhesitant, almost shy:
âWill you⌠will you remember me?â
You donât need to think about it.
âYes.â
And then sheâs gone.
Chapter 2: 2018 â The Survival Show
The first snowfall of the year had come early, dusting the city in a soft hush. Inside your motherâs cafĂŠ, the warmth of brewing coffee and the gentle hum of conversation created a cocoon against the cold. The booths at the back, with their frosted glass dividers and worn cushions, stood as silent witnesses to countless confessions.
She slips into the booth across the wall from you like sheâs done it a hundred times, even though this is only the second.
You donât speak first. You donât need to.
âAre you there?â
âI am.â
ââŚYouâre here again.â
Her voice is quiet but certain. Like she wasnât sure she could count on it until now.
âI told you I would be,â you say simply.
âI wasnât sure if this was a one-time thing for you. You never told me much about yourself.â
You shift in your seat, feeling the corners of your hoodie sleeves under your palms. âNot much to tell.â
âLiar,â she says, but thereâs no bite to it. Just a soft curiosity.
Thereâs a silence. Not an awkward oneâjust space. She doesnât fill it right away. Sheâs learned that with you, thereâs no pressure to rush. Maybe thatâs part of why she came back.
âIâm on a show now,â she says after a beat. âA survival show. Itâs called Produce 48. Youâve probably heard of it.â
You hum. Youâve seen posters. You donât watch.
âI didnât think itâd be this hard,â she continues. âNot the dancing. Not even the singing. Itâs everything else. The⌠pretending. Or maybe not pretendingâmaybe itâs more like filtering. They tell us to stand out, but not too much. Be confident, but donât be arrogant. Smile, but donât fake it. Be graceful if you lose, humble if you win. And if you cry, cry prettily.â
She pauses. When she speaks again, itâs quieter. âIâm exhausted trying to be the right kind of girl.â
You sit with her words. Let them hang. Then, softly:
âWhat kind of girl do you want to be?â
That silence again. But this one feels different. Like itâs stunned.
âNo oneâs asked me that,â she says eventually, like the realization is sinking in even as she says it. âNot the producers. Not even my friends. Everyoneâs just⌠so busy. Weâre too busy chasing what they want.â
You wait. She gives you more.
âI want to be seen,â she says. âReally seen. Not for my face. Not for my ranking. Just⌠for who I am. When the cameras are off. When Iâm not trying to be Won- Ohââ
She freezes. You feel it in the breath she draws in sharp. âForget I said that. Thatâs not my real name. I mean, it is, butââ
âItâs okay,â you say, gently. âI didnât hear anything.â
âI think youâre already that girl,â you continue. âYou just havenât met enough people who know how to look.â
Sheâs quiet for a long time. Then: âYou always say things like that. Itâs weird.â
You shrug. âItâs just how I think.â
She hums. âYour voice always sounds calm. Like nothing surprises you. Youâre probably one of those kids who reads a lot, right?â
You laugh under your breath. âYeah.â
âAnd you help out at the cafĂŠ?â
âSometimes.â
âFigures,â she says. âYou talk like someone who listens all the time. People who listen always end up sounding older than they are.â
You scratch your wrist. âMy mom says Iâm wise beyond my years.â
âSheâs right.â
A beat.
âDo you like working here?â she asks.
You pause before answering. âI donât know. I like being here, I think. I like how people leave a little lighter than when they came in. I like that itâs quiet. That you can just⌠listen.â
âAnd you only do one booth a year?â
âYeah. Itâs the rule. One session per person. Once a year. My mom says it keeps it sacred. Makes people say what they actually need to say, not just what they think they should.â
âThatâs kind of beautiful,â she murmurs. âIt makes sense. I didnât think Iâd say anything last year. But something about not knowing who you are⌠it made me say everything.â
Youâre quiet, and then: âIs it scary? The show?â
âNot in the way people think,â she says. âItâs not the judges or the cameras or the schedule. Itâs the other girls. The way everyone watches each other, measures themselves. Like weâre not allowed to just existâwe have to win at existing.â
You sit with that. Then, softly, âThat sounds lonely.â
âIt is,â she says. âSometimes I wonder if itâll be worth it. If people will like me. If Iâll debut. And sometimes I wonder if Iâll like myself at the end of it.â
You shift your weight. âI think the version of you who came back this year still knows who she is. Thatâs something.â
She exhales. âI didnât even know how much I missed talking to you. I told myself it didnât matter. That you were just a voice. But itâs not just that. You listen. You donât judge. You make me feel like a person again.â
Thereâs a pause.
âDo you think Iâll make it?â she asks.
âYeah. Iâm sure youâll make it. But I hope the girl behind the barrier makes it too.â
Youâre quiet again, until you feel her settle. Her breathing slows. Her next words are softer.
âYou know what I miss?â she says. âAs dumb as it soundsâI miss normal conversations. JustâŚtalking about anything. Not being careful with my words. Not worrying how Iâll be edited.â
You smile to yourself. âThen letâs talk about anything. We have time.â
She laughs again. Itâs warmer now. âOkay, mystery voice. Whatâs your favorite book or movie?â
You pause. âProbably something by Studio Ghibli. Or The Little Prince. My mom says Iâm an old soul.â
âSheâs right,â she says. âYou talk like youâre fifty.â
You raise an eyebrow. âYou say that like itâs a bad thing.â
âNo,â she says softly. âItâsâŚcomforting.â
She doesnât ask you more. She doesnât press for details. She just lets your voice fill the space like sheâs collecting it, cataloging your calm like a museum piece she can revisit in memory. And then she sighs.
âThereâs a girl in my dorm who says she cries herself to sleep every night. Sheâs eighteen. I pretend Iâm asleep so she wonât think Iâm weak too. But sometimes I think if I open my mouth, I wonât stop crying either.â
That stills you.
You think of the posters. The glitz. The way the public devours idols like sugarâuntil they donât.
âI donât think being honest about your sadness makes you weak,â you say quietly. âI think pretending everythingâs fine all the time would break anyone.â
She doesnât respond right away. Thenâ
ââŚDo you think Iâm strong?â
You could lie. You could say yes without thinking. But you speak carefully. She deserves that.
âI think strength isnât just doing the hard things. I think itâs coming back here. Talking to someone you donât even know. Letting yourself be real, even just for a little while.â
You hear her swallow.
âI didnât think Iâd cry this year,â she says.
You let that sit. You donât interrupt.
âI almost didnât come. I almost told myself I didnât need this anymore. That I could handle it all. But then I thought of your voice. And how it made me feel safe. And I realized⌠I still need this.â
Sheâs quiet a moment longer. Then she murmurs, âDo you ever feel like youâre not meant to be the person everyone thinks you are?â
You consider. âYeah. Sometimes I think everyone wants a version of me I donât know how to keep being.â
She sighs. âExactly.â
The red light on the booth blinks once. A gentle reminder: time is running out.
But she doesnât move. Neither do you.
âYouâll be here next year?â she asks.
You nod. âIâll be here.â
Thereâs a pause. A fragile kind of silence, like the space between violin notes.
âOkay,â she says. âThen Iâll make it through. Just to come back here.â
And then sheâs gone.
Chapter 3: 2019 â The Debut
She enters quietly. Always quietly. The bell above the door chimes, but her footsteps donât make a sound. She slides into the other side of the booth.
A pause.
Then, âHi.â
You smile without meaning to. âHi.â
A deep breath escapes from her side of the wall. It sounds like sheâs been holding it for months.
âDo you remember what I said last year?â she asks.
You lean slightly forward. âI remember a lot of things you said.â
âI told you I wanted to be seen.â Her voice dips lower. âWell⌠now I am. Everywhere. All the time. They watch everything. The way I walk. The way I smile. I blink wrong and suddenly Iâm cold or stuck up. Or a robot.â
You tilt your head against the partition, waiting for her to go on.
âI debuted.â She laughs, but itâs hollow. âYou probably knew that already.â
âI did,â you say quietly.
âIâm the center,â she continues. âThat means Iâm supposed to be the anchor. The face. The standard. But it feels like being picked to stand in the middle just means Iâm the easiest target. Weâre doing well, I think. People like us. We won a couple music shows already. My name trends on Twitter a lot. Sometimes itâs good. Sometimes itâs⌠not.â
You donât answer. Sheâs not looking for reassurance. Sheâs looking for release.
âThereâs this moment every night,â she says slowly, âjust before I fall asleep, where I forget what I did that day. I donât remember the stage or the interviews or the comments. For like ten seconds, I just exist. Itâs the only time my brain feels quiet.â
You close your eyes, just listening.
âEveryone says I look like I was made for the Center. That I have the right kind of face, the right aura. But no one ever asks if I wanted to be the one in the middle.â
You hear the way she shifts in her seat, like her body is too tired for her age.
âThey train us to hold poses for hours,â she continues. âTo smile no matter what. Our managers count how many seconds we make eye contact with fans. One of them told me to âblink more gentlyâ during the encore.â
You blink instinctively.
âI get these comments online,â she says, voice tightening. âSome say Iâm arrogant. Others say I look empty. Cold. Plastic. One person said I look like I have no soul. Iâm fifteen. I still like gummy candy. I cry at movies. Iâm justââ she cuts herself off, breathing harder now. âBut they donât see that.â
âWhat do they see?â you ask.
âThey see her. The center. The pretty one. The one they can mold and break and criticize and own.â
âI miss being fifteen,â she says, almost under her breath.
âYou are fifteen.â
âAm I?â She scoffs, but thereâs no bitterness in it. Just resignation. âMost days I feel like Iâm thirty-five. I have to think about everything I say, every move I make. I watch what I eat. I train until I canât feel my legs. I fake laugh at jokes from people twice my age. I get scolded for not being âengaging enoughâ or not maintaining my image. What kind of fifteen-year-old has an image?â
You press your fingers to the wood between you. âThe kind who still wishes someone would ask her how her day was.â
Silence.
Then a breath. âHow was your day?â
You blink. It catches you off guard.
âNormal,â you say after a pause. âI helped my mom in the cafĂŠ. She keeps saying Iâm growing into my ears, which feels like a weird compliment. Then I read a book. Took a walk down to the park. Thereâs this one tree with yellow leaves that looks like itâs glowing this time of year.â
She hums. âThat sounds⌠peaceful.â
âIt is.â
Sheâs quiet for a beat, then: âWhat book?â
You hesitate, a little surprised she asked.
âThe Little Prince. Iâve read it a hundred times, but I keep coming back to it.â
âThatâs the one with the fox, right?â
âAnd the rose,â you say. âAnd the boy who learns what matters most is invisible.â
She goes quiet again, thoughtful.
âI wish I was invisible sometimes.â
âNo, you donât,â you say gently.
A pause.
âYouâre right,â she murmurs. âI just want to be invisible to the wrong people. And seen by the right ones.â
âYouâre being seen right now.â
Thereâs a small intake of breath.
âBy who?â she asks, almost afraid.
You touch your fingertips to the wood again. âBy someone who remembers what you said last year. And whoâs listening now.â
The silence that follows is heavier, but softer somehow. Like a weighted blanket instead of a crushing stone.
 âMy members are good to me though,â she adds, almost as if sheâs reminding herself. âYena unnie gives me snacks when Iâm too nervous to eat. Eunbi unnie checks on me even when sheâs exhausted. Hitomi lets me nap on her shoulder during van rides. Theyâre not just teammates. Theyâre⌠safety.â
You smile at the way she says it.
âBut even with them,â she adds, âI still feel like Iâm performing. Like Iâm only real when Iâm in this booth.â
You rest your palm flat on the partition.
âI think youâre real all the time,â you say. âBut maybe here is the only place youâre allowed to be.â
Her breath catches again. She doesnât speak for a long time.
When she does, her voice is fragile but grounded.
âI missed this. I didnât realize how much until I was walking here.â
You nod. âI look forward to it all year.â
âSo do I.â
Then, almost shyly: âWould it be weird to ask what your favorite thing is right now?â
âLike a song?â
âAnything.â
You think.
âWarm socks. And old bookstores. And the feeling when someone laughs at something you didnât think was funny, but suddenly is.â
She laughs again, soft and genuine.
âAnd yours?â you ask.
She is quiet. Then:
âRolling down the car window after a long schedule. Letting the wind mess up my hair. For a second it feels like I could just⌠fly away.â
Another pause.
âAnd this,â she adds, so softly you almost miss it. âThis hour. You. Even if youâre just a voice in the wall.â
You take that in. Let it settle between you.
Thereâs a long pause, then she asks something she never has before:
âWhat do you want?â
You blink. âWhat?â
âYou always ask me questions,â she says. âBut I never ask you anything real. So⌠what do you want?â
You smile faintly. âFor you to feel like yourself again.â
âThatâs not fair.â
You laugh, quietly. âOkay. I want⌠a quiet life. Not small, just⌠intentional. A simple life, with people I love, doing what I love. A life where I can write. Or help people. Or maybe just be the kind of person people feel safe talking to.â
She breathes slowly. âYou already are.â
Your throat tightens a little. You cover it with a joke. âFlattery gets you an extra minute in the booth.â
She chuckles. âThen Iâll keep talking.â
You fall into easier conversation after that. She asks about your schoolâwhat classes you hate, which teacher you think might secretly be a robot. You tell her about the stray cat thatâs been living under the steps outside the cafĂŠ, how it only comes out when no oneâs looking. She tells you that sheâs starting to write poems. You tell her about how youâve been drawing recently, but not the faces, but only their shadows. She tells you about the weird food combos the other members tryâhow one of them puts strawberry jam on instant noodles.
She sounds like a teenager, finally.
Until the timer on the booth clicks.
She exhales, long and slow. âItâs always too short.â
âI know.â
âI hate that I have to wait a whole year,â she says, and her voice sounds thinner now, like something stretched too far.
âBut youâll wait?â you ask.
âYes.â
Then, quietly:
âWill you?â
You smile at the partition. âOf course.â
She stands. The booth creaks. The sound of fabric shifting.
âSame time next year?â she asks.
âSame booth,â you reply.
She hesitates, just like last year. Then, softer than youâve ever heard her:
âThank you.â
You donât say âyouâre welcome.â Not because you donât mean itâbut because the thank-you wasnât for this hour.
It was for every hour she survives until the next one.
And then sheâs gone
Chapter 4: 2020 â Isolation
Thereâs something different in the way the door opens this time.
The door creaks open and thereâs a pauseâlike sheâs unsure whether sheâs allowed to come in.
You donât say anything. You just wait.
Then you hear the curtain rustle and the faint sound of her sitting down across the wall.
âIs it you?â
You donât answer right away. The question is too heavy for just a name.
So you say, softly, âAlways.â
Thereâs a breathâquiet, shaky. Then:
âI wasnât sure youâd come this year.â
âI wasnât sure if you would either.â you say gently.
That earns the smallest huff of laughter from her. âTouchĂŠ.â
Thereâs a silence that follows, but not an awkward one. Itâs the kind of silence that happens when someone is searching for the right place to begin.
âItâs been⌠a year,â she says finally. âIâm not even sure where to start.â
Your throat tightens at how quickly she drops into the truth this year.
She continues, âEverything I say is filtered now. Not just on cameraâeverywhere. Even in the dorm, even around the girls. Itâs like Iâve rehearsed being myself so many times that I donât know where the performance ends.â
You close your eyes. âThat sounds lonely.â
âIt is,â she whispers.
You wait, letting her set the rhythm.
She lets out a breath, soft and shaky. âI thought about this all year. Not even just today. Some nights Iâd be lying in bed, scrolling through all the things people were saying about me, and Iâd think, if I can just make it to the booth again⌠maybe Iâll be okay.â
You stay quiet, giving her space.
âMy members say Iâm too online,â she murmurs. âTheyâre probably right. But when youâre home all the time, when the world just stops moving, your phone becomes the loudest thing in the room.â
You can imagine it too easilyâher in her room, lights off, screen glowing blue in the dark. Scrolling past the comments. The ones that dig into your skin, the ones that make you question the shape of your face or the sound of your laugh.
âThey say Iâm fake,â she whispers. âThat Iâm too perfect. That I donât deserve the center. That I must have done something to get this far. And I know I shouldnât care. I do all the right thingsâI rehearse until my body gives out, I keep my posture even when I want to collapse, I answer every question politely, I smile when I want to cry. But none of that matters when someone posts a screenshot of my face mid-blink and calls me a monster.â
You feel something coil in your chest.
Sheâs only sixteen.
But her voice is older than her age again, and not in a way that makes you admire her. In a way that makes you mourn what sheâs already had to become.
âI try to stay close to the girls,â she continues. âTheyâre kind. We still talk a lot. Minju unnie makes me tea when I canât sleep. Yujin does these bad impressions that make everyone groan. Sakuraâs gentle in a way that doesnât ask anything from you. They keep me afloat.â
You nod, then add softly, âBut they canât be everything.â
âNo,â she agrees. âAnd I donât want to burden them. Theyâre carrying enough.â
Thereâs a long pause. You wait.
âI started keeping a list,â she says, tone quieter than before. âOf all the things people criticize about me. Like maybe if I fix them one by one, theyâll stop.â
You speak before you think. âBurn the list.â
She laughs. Itâs a short sound, but thereâs something grateful in it. âYou always say the most reckless things in the calmest way.â
âI mean it,â you say. âBurn it. Tear it up. You donât need to shrink yourself into their idea of you.â
She stays silent, but you can imagine her, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose. âMinju unnie has been teaching me how to journal. She says it helps to write like no oneâs watching.â
âDoes it?â
âI tried. I wrote, âIâm scared Iâll disappear into her.â And then I stared at the sentence for ten minutes and couldnât keep going.â
You stay quiet.
âSheâs not me,â She says. âThe one on stage. The girl with perfect angles and fan cams and synchronized steps. Sheâs⌠manufactured. Beautiful, maybe. But not whole.â
âWhatâs the difference?â
âSheâs adored,â she says flatly. âIâm not sure I am.â
You want to reach through the wall. You want to undo every bad headline, every cruel comment, every whisper that followed her home through the screen.
âYou are,â you say. âYouâre just not allowed to believe it.â
Another pause. She breathes in. âThey love her. But they donât know me.â
âThey could,â you say.
âThey donât want to,â she replies. âPeople donât want girls to be complicated. They want us to be palatable. Aspirational. Not messy. Not tired.â
You swallow. âBut you are. Youâre tired. And complicated. And human. And you still deserve to be loved.â
The silence that follows is louder than anything either of you has said.
Then, voice trembling, she says, âYou always make it sound so simple.â
You smile faintly. âIt isnât. But I think sometimes we need to be reminded of the obvious things.â
Thereâs a shift in her voiceâsomething softer. âYou know⌠when I sit in this booth, I feel like Iâm allowed to just exist.â
âI think thatâs the point. For this talk to be specialâ
âIt shouldnât be this rare,â she murmurs. âFeeling like I can just⌠be.â
You nod even though she canât see it. âTell me something about you. Not the idol. Just⌠you.â
Sheâs quiet. Then:
âI like strawberry milk more than coffee. But I still order iced americanos because thatâs what everyone else gets.â
A pause.
âI love painting my nails. But Iâm not allowed to keep them long. Too impractical for choreography.â
Another pause.
âI hate high-waisted jeans. But stylists say they make my legs look longer.â
One more.
âAnd I used to love singing in the shower. But now I worry someoneâs always listening, judging how I sound.â
You say softly, âThank you. For sharing those.â
âI miss liking things for myself,â she says. âNot for how they look on fancams.â
Then, her tone lifts, ever so slightly: âYour turn.â
You blink. âMe?â
âYeah,â she says, a bit more teasing. âTell me something not-perfect about you.â
You think for a moment. âI forget birthdays. Even the ones I try hard to remember.â
She laughs. âRelatable.â
You add, âI talk to my cat when Iâm home alone. Like full conversations.â
âThatâs cute.â
âAnd I still sleep with my old pillow from when I was six. The one with faded stars on it.â
âNow thatâs sweet.â
Thereâs a longer silence this time, but itâs full of something warmer. Something settled.
Then: âI donât know your name,â she says.
You smile faintly. âThatâs part of the rule.â
âI know,â she says. âBut sometimes I wonder what it would be like⌠to look up and see you.â
You donât say anything. Neither does she. But something shifts. Deepens.
âI was painting last week,â you offer, trying to shift the mood just slightly. âJust watercolor. The cheap kind.â
âOh?â Her voice perks up, ever so slightly.
âThere was this cherry tree outside. The blossoms were halfway gone. I painted it anyway.â
âWhy?â
You think about it. âBecause it was still beautiful.â
Thereâs a long pause. Then she says, so quiet you almost miss it: âSometimes I think Iâm the tree without the blossoms.â
You donât hesitate. âYouâre the sky behind it.â
Another long, full silence. It stretches between you, gentle and warm.
âYouâre good at that,â she says eventually. âSaying things that make me stop hating myself, even for just a little while.â
âI donât want you to hate yourself.â
âYou barely know me.â
âStill.â
Then, even quieter: âYouâre one of the only people I feel like I donât have to earn.â
The weight of that sentence sinks into your ribs.
You donât know what to say. So you donât.
She fills the quiet instead. âDo you think Iâll ever be⌠just Wonyââ She stops. âJust me again?â
âI think you never stopped being you,â you reply. âBut I think the worldâs made it harder to hear your own voice.â
She whispers, âItâs quiet in here.â
You nod. âThatâs why I stay.â
âYouâre the only person who talks to me like Iâm not a symbol,â she whispers. âLike Iâm not a brand.â
âYouâre not.â
âTo you.â
âTo anyone willing to see.â
She sighs. âI wish I could believe that.â
âIâll believe it for you until you can.â
You donât know what sheâs doing on her side of the wall, but you imagine her hugging her knees to her chest. You imagine the exhaustion behind her eyes.
Another silence. And then:
âCan I ask another weird question?â
âGo ahead.â
âDo you⌠think about me? Between these visits?â
The question lands with a weight you donât expect. You donât speak right away.
Then: âYeah. More than I probably should.â
She laughs. âMe too.â
Something unspoken flickers between you. It doesnât need a name. Not yet.
Then she says, âI drew your voice once.â
You blink. âWhat?â
She laughs softly. âI know that doesnât make sense. But I sat down with my pencil and tried to sketch the way your voice feels. I ended up with something that looked like a candle in a snowstorm.â
You feel your breath catch.
âCan I keep that image?â you ask, smiling.
âItâs yours.â
You imagine what it would feel like to see her without the curtainâjust for a second. Not as the idol. Not as the center. But as the girl with chipped nail polish and late-night fears and too many masks.
You donât need to see her. Somehow, you already do.
Then she says, softly: âThereâs a person in my dreams sometimes.â
You tense.
She continues, âI never see their face. But I hear their voice. It sounds like⌠here.â
You donât say anything.
âThey doesnât ask for anything,â she says. âThey just listen. And when I wake up, I feel like I can breathe.â
âYou think itâs me?â
She pauses. âI hope it is.â
The timer buzzesâlouder than it should be. You both flinch.
Neither of you moves.
Then she whispers, âI wish I could stay.â
âYouâll come back.â
âI always do.â
But she hesitates by the curtain.
Before she goes, she says, âYouâre the only place that still feels like mine.â
Then sheâs gone.
Chapter 5: 2021 â The Disbandment
You recognize her by the way she walksâcautiously, like the ground beneath her has been unsure for a while and sheâs still waiting for it to give out completely. Thereâs no rush in her steps. Only the kind of quiet that settles over someone whoâs had too much noise inside their head for too long.
She slips into the booth like someone returning to a familiar memoryâworn, soft around the edges, but safe. The same rustle of fabric. The same exhaleâlow and fragile, like sheâs finally letting herself breathe after a year of holding it in.
She doesnât speak right away. You donât either.
The silence between you hums differently this year. Not heavy like dread. Denser, maybe. Like grief thatâs grown roots.
Then, after a long beat, she speaks. âItâs really over.â
You nod out of habit, then remember. She canât see you. Still, she knows you heard her.
âIZ*ONE?â you ask, your voice just above a whisper.
She lets out a short, bitter laugh. âYeah. It feels like I died with it. Like that version of meâthe one with twelve sisters and a purpose and a schedule to hide behindâshe doesnât exist anymore. And I donât know if the new me is any better.â
You wait, letting the silence cushion her words. âYouâre not supposed to have it all figured out. Youâre seventeen.â
She laughs again, but this time itâs hollow. âEveryone keeps saying that. âYouâre still so young.â Like thatâs supposed to make it feel easier. But I never got to be young. Not really. My life has been measured in rankings and rehearsal hours since I was twelve.â
Youâre quiet for a moment, then your voice softens in a way it only does for her. âThen be young with me. At least for this hour.â
Thereâs a pause. Then a laughâfragile, but real. âYou always say things like that.â
âLike what?â
âLike the world hasnât crushed you yet.â
You smile, even though she canât see it. âMaybe it has. Maybe thatâs why I know how to spot it.â
She exhales through her nose. âI thought Iâd feel free when it ended. That when the last performance was over, Iâd sleep for a week and finally breathe. But now thereâs this⌠stillness. And itâs not peaceâitâs just empty. I miss the noise. The chaotic breakfasts, the staff yelling at us for sneaking snacks, the stupid pranks. I even miss our tiny bathroom with three people fighting for the mirror.â
You laugh softly. âSo it really was that bad?â
âWorse,â she says, then quieter, âBut it was ours.â
Thereâs a beat of quiet between you.
âI donât know where Iâm supposed to go now. The company wants me to start preparing again. Training. Probably for another debut. But for what? Another version of me, shinier, more polished, more⌠hollow?â
âYou could just⌠prepare to exist. Rest. Let yourself breathe before building something new.â
âThatâs not how it works for people like me,â she says, gently but firmly. âIf I stop moving, I disappear.â
You nod slowly. You donât push. You never do.
After a pause, her voice changes slightly. âHow about you?â she asks. âHowâs your year been?â
You blink, a little surprised. âThereâs still time. I can listen to you.â
âI know,â she says. âBut⌠I want to know. You feel like a constant in my life, and I realized I donât really know anything about you.â
You hesitate, then let yourself lean into it. âIâve been writing more. Mostly at night. Small things I never show anyone. Just⌠stories.â
âWhat kind of stories?â
âStories about people who are lost. Or lonely. Or quietly breaking. And how they find each other in strange places. Or maybe just in moments no one else sees.â
Sheâs quiet, then murmurs, âThat sounds familiar.â
Thereâs a small beat.
âAre any of them about me?â she asks, her voice soft, teasing around the edgesâbut not really joking.
You donât lie. âSome of them.â
The silence after is long, but not uncomfortable. It hums with recognition. Like youâve stepped into a truth you were both circling all along.
âI wish I could know what you look like,â she says suddenly.
You inhale, slow and steady. âWould it change anything?â
âI donât know,â she says honestly. âMaybe. Maybe it would ruin it. Or maybe it would make everything too real.â
âIt already is real,â you say. âIsnât it?â
Another pause. This one feels deeper.
âIt is,â she says at last. âBut it still feels like a dream I only get once a year. And when itâs over, I miss it for the next three hundred and sixty-four days.â
You feel something ache in you. Something thatâs been growing steadily for yearsâsoft and quiet, but stubborn. Like longing that doesnât know what it wants yet.
âWhat would you do,â she asks suddenly, âif you saw me on the street?â
âIâd pretend I didnât know you.â
âYouâd really walk past me?â
âIf thatâs what you needed.â
She breathes out. âThere you go again. Saying exactly what I need to hear.â
âThatâs why you come back.â
Thereâs a long pause. Her voice is different when she speaks again. Gentler. Tethered.
âI come back because⌠this is the only place I feel like me.â
The quiet that follows isnât empty. Itâs thick with all the things neither of you dares to name yet.
âDo you remember what you said the first time we talked?â she asks.
You think for a moment. âThat you sounded tired.â
âI was. I still am. But you never asked for anything. Not an autograph. Not a photo. Not even a piece of me I wasnât ready to give.â
âYou deserved a place where no one wanted to take.â
âI think I lovââI think I need this version of you,â she whispers.
Your breath catches. âThis version?â
âThe one who never asks me to be anything but myself.â
You almost say something recklessâalmost ask her to stay, almost beg her not to disappear for another year. But instead you say, âWho you are has always been enough for me.â
Sheâs quiet, but you hear her breathe.
âIâm glad youâre here,â she says finally. âI think Iâd fall apart if you werenât.â
âYou donât have to hold everything alone.â
âThen can I give you some of it?â she asks, half-laughing, but itâs not really a joke.
âAll of it,â you say.
Thereâs a long pause before she whispers, âIâll see you next year?â
âYou always do.â
And even as the hour starts slipping through your fingers, like it always does, she lingers. Not because she doesnât know the rulesâbut because this time, neither of you wants to let go just yet.
She doesnât say goodbye. Just lingers, like she doesnât want to leave.
Chapter 6: 2022 â The Re-debut
You recognize her before you hear her. Thereâs a rhythm to the way she movesâa quiet, practiced graceâbut tonight, itâs slower. Heavier. As if the months have added weight to her steps, to her breathing. She slips into the booth with the soft sound of her coat brushing against the wooden seat, and for a moment, she doesnât speak.
You donât either. The silence between you has never felt awkward. Itâs always been a kind of sacred prelude. A way of saying: Weâre back.
When she does speak, her voice is rougher than last yearâs. Not broken. But thinner. Pulled taut.
âThey call me a doll now.â
Thereâs a pause, and you hear her exhale, like sheâs been holding the words for too long.
âThatâs the compliment, apparently. Not âsmartâ or âtalentedâ or âkind.â Just⌠âperfect.â Like Iâm this thing people put on a shelf. Look at, admire, criticize, reposition. Smile more. Blink less. Donât gain weight. Donât show too much thigh. Donât look tired. God, Iâm so tired.â
You hear the faintest hitch in her breath. âI feel like a mannequin most days. Hollow.â
You lean forward slightly, even though she canât see you.
âBut youâre not,â you say, gentle but certain. âYouâre made of so much more than what they see.â
She lets out a bitter little laugh. âThey donât care what Iâm made of. They want flawless skin, long legs, a good angle. They want this version of me that doesnât cry, doesnât eat carbs, doesnât age.â
âAnd what do you want?â
Sheâs quiet.
âI want to be seen. Not watched. Not dissected. Seen.â
You nod. âI see you.â
You let the silence wash over the both of you.
âDo you feel like a person?â you ask softly.
She lets out a breath, more a laugh than a sigh. It sounds brittle.
âSometimes I donât. I feel hollow. Like Iâm only real when the cameraâs off⌠and even then, sometimes Iâm not sure.â
The sadness in her voice has changed over the years. Less shock now, more weariness. Sheâs growing used to the ache. That scares you.
âPeople think I have everything,â she continues, quieter now. âBut I donât know who I am half the time. They gave me a spotlight and took everything else.â
âWhat would you keep, if it were up to you?â you ask.
Sheâs quiet for a while. Thenâ
âThis. This booth. This hour. You.â
You close your eyes. Her voice has never felt closer.
âYou know,â she says, and thereâs a tremble now, âI had a fan call the other day. Just a regular fancall. Except it wasnât. This girlâshe looked like sheâd been crying before we even startedâand she just said⌠she said I saved her. That seeing me smile helped her through something. And I smiled for her, I really did. But then she thanked me, and I couldnât stop crying.â
âI tried to turn away from the camera so she wouldnât see, but it was too late. She told me sheâd never seen someone be so human on screen. And I justââ Her voice cracks. âIâm supposed to be a doll, right?â
âNo,â you say gently. âYouâre just someone who gave another person hope. And thatâs more than enough.â
âBut I wonder if theyâd still say those things if they saw me like this,â she whispers. âSad. Lonely. Tired.â
âThey donât get this hour of you,â you say. âI do. And I love this hour.â
Thereâs a breath, caught between silence and something more. You hear her shift on the bench, like sheâs curling inward, trying to disappear and hold on all at once.
âI think I do, too,â she says. âI think I need it.â
Thereâs something charged in the quiet that followsânot explosive, but intimate. Familiar. Youâve grown together across these years in a space untouched by lights or lenses. She doesnât have to be herself here. And you⌠youâve become the version of yourself who listens better than you speak, who offers comfort like itâs instinct.
âWhat about you?â she asks, softer now. âHowâs your life?â
âSteady,â you say. âI read more. I write. I stay in my head too much.â
âYou always say that.â
âBecause itâs true.â
âDo you ever think about me?â she asks suddenly.
Your breath stills.
âMore than I mean to,â you admit.
âDo you write about me?â
You pause. âEvery year.â
Thereâs a pause that feels longer than it is.
âWould you ever show me?â
âMaybe someday. If I thought youâd still want to read it when you saw your name written like that.â
âI donât think Iâd hate it,â she says. âI think I might keep it under my pillow.â
You laughâquiet, surprised.
âWhat?â she teases.
âYouâre cute when you say things like that.â
âYouâve never even seen me when we talk.â
âYouâve never even seen me,â you shoot back.
âMaybe I donât need to.â
She says it with a softness that makes your chest ache.
You breathe in. âIf you saw what I looked like, and saw me on the streetâŚâ
âIâd walk past you,â she says. âBut only because Iâd want to turn around.â
You smile, quietly. âThat sounds dangerously close to poetry.â
âDonât flatter me.â
You can feel how close the hour is to ending. Her voice lowers a little more, settling into something thatâs almost a whisper.
âYou know,â she says, âthis isnât just some silly ritual for me. I think about this all year. I count the days.â
âSo do I,â you say.
âI donât know what this is between us. I donât even know your name. But it feels like⌠home.â
âIt is.â
She doesnât speak for a while after that. You let her sit with it. Let it sink in like warm rain.
âPromise me something?â she asks finally.
âAnything.â
âNo matter where I go, or who I become⌠keep being this person. Keep being the one place I donât have to pretend.â
âI will. Always.â
Thereâs a pause, and thenâ
âSee you next year?â
âYou always do.â
She doesnât say goodbye. Just lingers, like she doesnât want to leave.
Chapter 7: 2023 â The Breaking Point
She doesnât rush into the booth this time. Thereâs no rustle of hurried footsteps or quiet laugh behind the curtain. Just a slow drag of fabric, and the softest exhaleâlike even breathing has become something she has to remember how to do.
You donât say anything. Youâve learned by now that silence is a kind of language with her.
When she speaks, her voice sounds smaller than usual. Like somethingâs collapsed inside it.
âI almost didnât come.â
Itâs only four words, but they land with a weight you can feel in your chest.
âI thought about turning around,â she continues. âRight outside the door. Just walking away. Pretending this place never existed.â
A beat.
âBut then I realized⌠I didnât know where else to go.â
You swallow hard, the ache creeping behind your ribs.
She sighs, the sound brittle. âI forgot what I used to like. What made me feel happy. Or safe. Or⌠me.â
Her fingers tap against the partition. Not idly. Desperately.
âI forgot what I used to like,â she murmurs. âLike, actually forgot. I was doing an interview the other day and someone asked me my favorite color, and I just⌠stared at them. I said pink. But I donât think thatâs true anymore.â
She pauses, then huffs a laugh that holds no humor. âI realized I donât even know if I like pink. I donât know what I like anymore. Not food. Not clothes. Not music. Everything I do is for someone elseâs idea of who I should be.â
You listen, careful not to interrupt. She always builds her way into the truth slowly, piece by painful piece.
âI still move like Iâm being watched. Even in my room, I catch myself posing without meaning to. My smiles donât reach my eyes. I only breathe deeply when Iâm here.â
Thereâs a pause. A different kind of silence. Then:
âSometimes I catch myself wondering what I would be if I wasnât an idol. But that thought scares me. BecauseâŚwhat would be left?â
You lean closer to the barrier, voice low and steady.
âThe girl behind the barrier. And sheâs more than enough.â
She exhales, and it catches like something inside her cracked a little too easily.
âYou always say the right thing.â
You smile, even though she canât see. âThatâs only because you already know the truth. I just remind you.â
She laughs, barely. A small sound that sounds more like heartbreak than joy.
âIâve been performing so long I donât know how to exist outside of a spotlight. I donât know how to sit still without wondering whoâs watching me. If my smile looks okay. If my legs are too thin. Or too thick. If I blink too much.â
Her voice breaks on the next line.
âI read the comments. I know I shouldnât. But I do. They talk about my body like it belongs to them. They say I look like a mannequin. That my eyes are too wide, or my face is too bland. That Iâm overrated. That Iâm faking every moment I try to be kind. That Iâm not real.â
She inhales a sharp breath.
âAnd the worst part is⌠sometimes I believe them.â
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. Then, softly:
âYouâre amazing. I just think you donât see it.â
She lets out a laughâsharp, hollow, almost angry. âYouâre just saying that to make me feel better.â
âNo. Youâre not amazing because I said it. Youâre amazing. Iâm just reminding you.â
She doesnât respond, but something shifts. Not reliefâjust exhaustion. The kind that doesnât go away with sleep. The kind that feels like surrender.
âI come here and I try to remember the girl I used to be,â she whispers. âBefore all the cameras. Before they decided I was only valuable if I was perfect.â
She leans closer to the barrier. You can hear it in the way her breath hits the surface between you.
âSometimes I think this is the only hour Iâm not pretending.â
Your voice cracks when you answer. âThatâs why Iâm here.â
Another silence. But this one doesnât feel safe. It feels like sheâs unraveling behind it.
âDo you ever wonder what would happen if this wall wasnât here?â she asks suddenly. âIf I could see you? If you were just⌠a person?â
You close your eyes. âI do.â
âI think Iâm starting to hate this wall,â she says, so quietly it sounds like a secret. âBut Iâm terrified that if I know who you are. If youâre not just a voice in the wall, everything would change. And thisâŚI need thisâ
You try to keep your voice steady. âIâll still be here. No matter what side youâre on.â
She laughs again, but itâs wet this time. âYou donât understand. I need this. I need you. And I hate how much I do.â
âI know.â
âI tell everyone Iâm fine. That Iâm strong. That I love what I do. But when I come here, I donât have to lie.â
You lean your forehead gently against the divider. âYou never did.â
She exhales shakily.
âI think if this place disappeared, I would too.â
Your heart breaks a little, even though youâve been bracing for it all year.
âThen I wonât let it disappear.â
âI know we pretend we donât know each other,â she says after a while. âAnd maybe that makes it easier. But sometimes I wonder⌠if I met you on the street, would I recognize your voice? Would I stop and turn around?â
You donât answer. You canât.
She laughs softly through what sounds like a tear sliding down her cheek. âI probably wouldnât. And maybe thatâs a good thing.â
You speak through the ache in your throat. âYou deserve to be seen as more than what the world tries to take from you.â
âI think the only version of me that feels real anymore,â she says, âis the one who sits in this booth.â
âYou donât have to hold everything alone.â
âCan I give you some of it?â she asks, almost like a plea.
âAll of it,â you say.
When the hour begins to close, neither of you moves. The silence stretches out, not comfortable, but necessary.
âI donât want to leave,â she admits. âI donât want to go back to pretending.â
âIâll be here,â you promise, âwhen youâre ready to come back.â
She lingers for a long moment, fingertips brushing the wood between you like itâs the closest she can come to touching something real.
And then, in a whisper: âThank you for remembering me. Even when I forget myself.â
She doesnât say goodbye.
She never does.
But this time, you hear her crying as she leaves. And it sounds like the kind of pain only the quiet can hold.
Chapter 8: 2024 â The Confession
The booth door creaked shut, and for a moment, all you could hear was the soft hitch in her breathing. She always took a second before speaking, like she had to put down whatever mask she wore outside before she could even begin to be herself here. But tonight, she didnât just seem tiredâshe seemed undone.
You could feel it in the air. The kind of stillness that only came after someone had spent too long holding it all in.
When she finally spoke, her voice was almost unrecognizable.
âI think Iâm in love with a voice.â
You blinked. Not because you were surprised. But because somewhere inside you, youâd been waiting for that sentenceâdreading it, hoping for it, needing it.
âIt sounds ridiculous,â she added, trying to laugh, but it came out thin, frayed. âI mean, I donât even know your name. Iâve never seen your face. And yet⌠this hour⌠every year, itâs the only time I feel like I can breathe. The only place Iâm not performing.â
You leaned forward, the wooden partition between you and her more solid than ever.
âItâs not ridiculous,â you said softly.
She exhaled, like sheâd been waiting for you to say that.
âI keep thinking,â she said, âif we ever saw each other outside this roomâreally saw each otherâwould it feel the same? Or would it break whatever this is? Because I donât want to lose this. I really, really donât.â
You didnât answer right away. Because youâd thought the same thing. In the quiet moments before sleep. In the middle of crowded places, wondering if she was nearby and youâd never know. The barrier protected you both, but it had started to feel like a cage.
âMaybe the wallâs the only thing keeping us safe,â you said. âBut maybe itâs also the only thing keeping us apart.â
She was quiet for a long time.
âWhat would you do,â she whispered, âif I crossed it?â
You opened your mouth, but no words came. You didnât know the answer. Or maybe you did, and it scared you too much to say it out loud.
She shifted in her seat, her voice steadier now, but no less vulnerable.
âIâm doing okay,â she said, as if to change the subject. âAt least, thatâs what I tell everyone. The girls and I⌠weâve grown a lot. IVE is bigger than we ever expected. We just finished a tour, and everyoneâs saying weâre doing great. ButâŚâ
Her voice caught. You waited.
âThe cameras are never off,â she murmured. âEven when they are. Thereâs this⌠constant pressure to be the âcenterâ. To be perfect. People say it like a complimentââSheâs like a doll.â But dolls donât get to have bad days. Dolls donât cry. Dolls donât grow tired.â
She laughed bitterly.
âSometimes I look at myself in the mirror and I forget who I am. I donât remember what food I liked before I debuted. I donât know what music Iâd listen to if no one else could hear. I forgot my favoriteâŚeverything.â
You swallowed. There was nothing easy to say to that.
âBut here,â she said, her voice trembling, âwith you, I feel like Iâm still someone. Not an idol. Not a product. Just⌠a girl. A girl who still remembers how to feel.â
You drew in a breath, slow and deliberate.
âJust because you carry something well,â you said gently, âdoesnât mean it isnât heavy.â
She was silent again. You imagined her, curled against the wooden wall, staring at nothing. You could almost feel her heartbeat through the grain.
âThere you go again.â she whispered.
âI think Iâm scared to need you,â she said suddenly. âBecause I do. I really do. I think about this booth when Iâm thousands of miles away. I replay your words when Iâm smiling for people who want something from me. And sometimes, I forget that youâre just a voice. That you might not even think about me when Iâm gone.â
You couldnât stop the ache in your chest.
âI do think about you,â you said. âMore than I should.â
There was a long pause. You werenât sure if youâd said too much, or not enough.
âDo you?â she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
âEvery day.â
She didnât speak again for a while, but the silence wasnât empty. It was full of all the things neither of you were quite ready to say.
âI wish I could see your face,â she said eventually. âNot because I want to ruin this. But because I want to know what kind of eyes can see me so clearly when no one else can.â
You swallowed hard.
âMaybe someday.â
âWould it be wrong,â she asked, âif I said I wanted to cross the wall, but not yet?â
âNot wrong,â you said. âJust honest.â
âThen Iâll stay here. For now.â
And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.
But you stayed in that silence with her. You let it wrap around you both like a blanket neither of you wanted to lift.
Because even though you were still pretending not to know each otherâstill clinging to anonymity like a raftâyou both knew the truth:
She wasnât just a voice behind a wall anymore.
She was your voice.
And you were hers.
Chapter 9: 2025 â The Door Between Us
She enters the booth with a different kind of quiet.
Youâve memorized the sound of her arrival over the yearsâalways soft, a hesitant shuffle, the sigh of someone whoâs been holding in too much for too long. But this time, itâs lighter. Not weightless, not without pain, but less like sheâs collapsing under something invisible.
You donât speak right away. Neither does she.
For a while, itâs just breathing. Shared air. Familiar silence.
Then her voice, a little raspier than you remember. âYou still remember.â
âI remember a lot of things,â you say gently.
You can hear the smile in her voice. âYou always do.â
She pauses, as if waiting for the rest to settle. âI almost didnât come this year.â
Your breath catches. âWhy?â
âI was scared it wouldnât be enough anymore,â she says, honest. âThat just hearing your voice would make me want more. Or that Iâd feel like Iâd outgrown this.â
âAnd did you?â
âNo,â she whispers. âIf anything, itâs worse. Youâre still the only place I can exhale.â
You donât reply right away. Thereâs a heaviness in your chest that words donât quite reach. So instead, you say softly, âIâm glad you came back.â
âI always do,â she says, a little too quickly. âEven if part of me hopes youâll say something reckless one day. Something that makes this fall apart.â
Thereâs silence again. Not cold, but charged.
âHowâs everything?â you ask finally. âI saw the comeback. Itâs good. You seemed⌠good.â
She lets out a small laugh. âThatâs what Iâm supposed to look like. Thatâs the whole game, right? Appearances. But yeah⌠this year was different.â
âHow so?â
âI stopped trying to be palatable,â she says. âFor the first time, I said no to things that made me feel like glass. I started writing in a notebook again. Took dance classes for fun, not for stage. I even told a fan on a fancall last month that I was strugglingâand she cried. And I cried. Because she said I helped her. And I didnât know I was still helping anyone.â
You donât realize youâve clenched your fists until your nails dig into your palms. âYouâre still helping me.â
You doesnât answer at first. Then softly, âEven after all this time?â
âEspecially after all this time.â
She exhales, shaky. âItâs weird, isnât it? You know the version of me that no one else does. But I donât even know what your face looks like.â
âWould it change things?â
âI donât know anymore,â she admits. âLast year, I think it terrified me. Now I think⌠I think itâs the not knowing thatâs killing me.â
Youâre quiet for a long time. Then you say itâthe thing youâve held back for too many years.
âYou say I always say the right thing. But thatâs because I see you clearly. Not the version everyone edits and filters and picks apart. Just you. The one who laughs when sheâs tired, who whispers when sheâs scared, who shows up every year even when she doesnât know why. Youâre amazing. I just think you donât see it.â
She goes quiet.
Then: âYouâre just saying that to make me feel better.â
You donât flinch. âYouâre not amazing just because I said it. Youâre amazing. Iâm just reminding you.â
âGetting lazy, are we? Reusing words of wisdom now.â She jokes, but you feel something beneath the surface, trepidation, fear, even.
Silence again. But it isnât empty. Itâs trembling with something.
âYouâve been my secret,â she says suddenly. âLike a little piece of the world no one else knows about. But I donât think I want you to be a secret anymore.â
You swallow. âWhat are you saying?â
She takes a breath. âI donât want to wonder anymore. I want to know what your eyes look like when you say things that make me feel whole. I want to see if your hands shake when you speak. I want to step outside this booth and still feel brave.â
You donât speak. You canât. Your heart is beating too loud.
âI think Iâm going to wait outside⌠for five minutes,â she says.
You sit still, listening like her words are something fragile and alive.
âIf you want this to stay just what it isâan hour, a memory, something you tuck away againâIâll understand. I will, and Iâll see you here again in a yearâ she says, almost like sheâs trying to convince herself. âBut if youâve ever⌠if any part of you wants to know what this is outside these wallsâŚâ
She trails off. You hear her swallow.
âThen come out before those five minutes are over.â
She doesnât say âplease.â She doesnât have to.
A breath. A silence.
Then the soft sound of the door creaking open and then gently closing.
And sheâs gone.
The room feels hollow without her voice. It always does, but this time the silence has teeth. You sit, frozen, her words ringing in your head louder than anything sheâs said before.
Five minutes.
You think of every version of her youâve met through that barrier. The broken one. The exhausted one. The one who laughed in defiance. The one who whispered things no one else got to hear. You think of her voiceâthe way it always trembled when she was trying not to cry, and the way it steadied when she said something that mattered.
You stand.
Your hands are shaking.
The door groans open, and outside, thereâs the hum of life again. But just a few feet awayânear the alley wall, hugging her arms closeâis her.
She turns slowly when she hears you.
Wonyoung.
No barrier. No booth. Just her.
Sheâs wearing a hoodie, hair pulled into a loose bunâeyes darker and softer than you remember, though youâve never actually seen them since that fateful day. And yet, it feels familiar. Almost too familiar.
Thereâs a stunned kind of stillness between you. The world hushes.
Her lips part in disbelief, and she lets out a tiny laughâpart surprise, part relief, part wonder. âYou.â
You smile, nerves and warmth tangled in your chest. âMe.â
 âI didnât want this to stay just a dream.â You continue, looking at her with a small smile
She takes a few small steps forward, hesitant, like sheâs afraid youâll disappear if she moves too fast.
âI used to imagine this moment,â she says softly. âYour face. Your smile. Iâd replay your voice in my head on the hard days. You were my anchor, even when I didnât know your name, or how you looked.â
You meet her gaze and feel the weight of everything unspoken settle gently between you. âAnd you were always the only one I waited for. Every year.â
She blinks, and the tears are closer now, but she doesnât look away. âI donât want to pretend anymore,â she whispers. âBut Iâm still scared.â
You reach for her handâslowly, carefullyâand when your fingers brush, she exhales like sheâs been holding her breath for years.
âI am too,â you say. âBut maybe we can be scared⌠together.â
A pause. Her hand curls around yours.
Then, with a small, shy smile, she tilts her head and says, almost playfully, âSo⌠what now?â
You smile back. âNow? We find out what happens when the hour doesnât end.â
She squeezes your hand gently, grounding herself in the contact. Then she lifts her gaze, and her eyes soften, filled with something tender and bright and unmistakably hers.
âCan I still pretend,â she whispers, voice trembling just slightly, âthat I donât know you?â
You laugh, brushing your thumb along her knuckles. âOnly if I get to pretend Iâm not half way there alreadyâ
Thatâs when the tear finally slips down her cheek, but sheâs smiling.
And thenâlike itâs the simplest thing in the worldâshe lifts her hand, just a little unsteady, and holds it out to you.
âHi,â she says, voice barely above a breath, eyes never leaving yours. âItâs nice to meet you. My name is Wonyoung.â
You smile, the kind that rises slowly, like something long-held and hard-won.
You take her hand a little tighter, just enough so she knows youâre not letting go anytime soon.
âHi,â you say, voice soft and certain. âItâs really, really nice to meet you, Wonyoung. My name is Y/Nâ
You pause, heart stammering in your chest, then addâ
âIâve been waiting a long time to say that.â
She laughs, and this time thereâs no hesitation. Just joy. Just relief. Just her. Jang Wonyoung. Not the idol. Not a doll. Just the girl behind the barrier.
Warnings: angst!!! NO MORE SEQUELS! After thisđ
A/n: love this songđ and Iâm gonna dip again! Baiiii
The venue smelled faintly of salt and cedar, a reminder that the ocean wasnât far. You stood beneath the stage lights, your guitar resting comfortably against your hip. The crowd swayed, humming along and their attention drew to the soft strum of your fingers.
You leaned toward the mic, your voice warm but fragile.
*"Please tell me not to go
Weâve been here long before
I live under your eyelids
Iâll always be yours"*
Each word felt like a hand reaching back through time, trying to touch the moments you and Jennie thought youâd have forever.
(past)Â Â
The winter air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of salt as waves roared against the shore. You and Jennie sat side by side on an old wool blanket, your fingers wrapped around a shared thermos of hot chocolate. Â
âI want kids with you one day,â she said suddenly, her voice almost lost in the sound of the tide. Â
You turned toward her, your heart swelling against the cool bite of the breeze. âReally? I would love kids with you,â you told her fondly, your words puffing into the cold air like a promise. Â
She grinned, cheeks pink from both the cold and her excitement, she leaned on your shoulder. âImagine how cute theyâd be.â Â
You laughed softly, brushing your gloved hand against hers. â If they looked like you they would be the cutest, but let me put a ring on you first, then we can have as many kids as youâd like, my love. Okay?â Â
Her eyes lit up, brighter than the fading winter sun. âIâm so excited, Y/n, I can't wait for our future.â Â
You leaned in, pressing a kiss to her chilled forehead.â Me too.â The ocean roared behind you, but in that moment, all you could feel was the buzzing of her happiness. Â
~~~
It was another cold evening weeks later when Jennie brought it up again. You were both curled up in her apartment, the window fogged over from the heater humming in the corner. She had her head in your lap, scrolling through baby photos on her phone.
âOkay, hear me out,â she said, tilting the screen toward you. âIf we have a daughter, I want to name her Sienna.â
You blinked, the name rolling around in your head. âSienna?â
She nodded eagerly. âItâs cute! It's also warm and soft, but also strong. I donât know⌠it just feels like us and I really love it.â
A smile crept onto your face. âThen I hope she looks just like you,â you teased, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Jennie giggled and rolled her eyes playfully. âObviously. Sheâs my kid.â
You laughed and leaned down to kiss her, tasting both her smile and the quiet certainty that this was the life you were building together, their future .
~~~Â
One summer afternoon, you were both at her parentsâ pool, music floating from a small speaker nearby. Jennie was splashing you mercilessly, laughing every time you squealed.
âYouâre so stubborn... and have a temper!â you shouted, wiping water from your eyes.
Jennie gasped dramatically. âExcuse me, I do not have a temper.â
She glared at you, eyes narrowed, but you could tell she was just teasing, her lips twitching with a smile.
âOh, you do,â you said with a smirk. âRunning around, jumping in pools, singing to all the pets⌠being sensitive about everythingââ
She cut you off with a kiss, her smile breaking against yours. âThen I hope sheâs exactly like me.â
You laughed softly, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face. âOur baby is soooo getting your temper.â
âFine, maybe a little. But only a little,â she said, rolling her eyes but still smiling.
âCan't wait,â you whispered. And in that moment, you meant it.
~~~
The light from the streetlamps spilled across your bedroom wall in thin golden slants. Jennie lay beside you, your hands loosely linked. She was quiet tonight.
âYouâve been gone a lot,â you murmured, staring at the ceiling.
âIâve been busy,â she replied softly, almost defensive. âYou know music isnât forever, Y/n. I⌠I need to figure out what I really want.â
You turned to look at her. âI thought you wanted this. Us. Sienna. The whole dream. Come on baby talk to meâ
She hesitated, her lips parting before closing again. âMaybe I just wanted the idea of it.â
Your chest ached at the words. In the silence that followed, you knew something in her had already started to leave.
~~~
(present)
Back on stage, your voice slipped into the pre-chorus, the words painting images that only you and Jennie knew the truth behind. Â
*"Iâll lay on your rooftop in the freezing cold Â
And Iâll watch the sunset, wearinâ all your clothes Â
I can feel you with me, like I did before Â
Like when I sang you a love song by Norah Jones"*Â Â
The crowd swayed gently, unaware that somewhere among them, Jennie stood near the back, scarf pulled tight, watching the girl she once called hers. Â
Your voice carried into the chorus, soft but laced with something heavier. Â
*"Ooh, Sienna Â
Wouldâve been cute Â
Ooh, Sienna Â
Would look just like you"*Â Â
Your fingers trembled slightly against the guitar strings, the lyric hitting harder than youâd expected. You could still picture it: a little girl with Jennieâs eyes, Jennieâs laugh. It had been a silly dream whispered in the middle of winter, but it had felt real back then, it was real to you. Â
Then you reached the bridge â the part you had almost cut but couldnât bring yourself to. Â
*"With a temper like you, run around like you Â
Jumpinâ in the pool like you Â
Sing to all her pets in the way I did Â
Be sensitive like you"*Â Â
You felt your throat tighten. Every line was a longing memory, and every memory was yours and Jennieâs. Â
By the outro, your voice was almost a whisper. Â
*"And I smile when I think of all the times we had Â
On the beach in the winter, when the waves were mad Â
Down by the water, crystal clear
See her face in the forest, then it disappears"* Â
The final note faded, and the room erupted in applause. You thank your fans and stepped off stage, your fingers still tingling from the strings, and scanned the backstage area.
There she wasâJennie.
Jennieâs scarf was pulled tight, and a soft smile lit her face as Lisa, your drummer, wrapped an arm around her. The two of them laughed quietly, the kind of easy, intimate laughter you and Jennie once shared.
For a moment, yours and Jennieâs eyes met. Time seemed to pauseâthe beach in winter, the blankets, the dreams of a daughter named Sienna all flashing in your mind. Jennieâs gaze was soft, a little sad, but it couldnât reach you through the space between the two of you .
Your chest tightened. The bridge of the song echoed in your head, memories of Jennieâs temper, her laugh, her warmthâand the life that could never be and will never be.
You swallowed, letting a small, sad smile escape, then turned your back to them. Without a word, without a backward glance, you walked away, the applause fading behind you, leaving only the cold sting of what had been and what would never come.
In a dimly lit bar, the ambient sounds of clinking glasses and murmured conversations blended with the soft strumming of a guitar. Y/n, the lead vocalist of a local band, stood on the small stage, her fingers lightly grazing the strings of her guitar. The crowd hushed as she began to sing, her voice filled with raw emotion.
"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember," Y/n's voice resonated through the venue, capturing the attention of everyone present. The lyrics were a reflection of her own heartache, a melody that echoed the pain of a love lost. As she continued, memories of a past romance surfaced in her mind.
~~~
(past)
"What are you writing about, my love?" Jennie, her girlfriend, asked, her fingers gently caressing Y/n's shoulders. Y/n sighed contentedly at Jennie's comforting touch, looking up to meet her eyes, which were filled with adoration for the girl before her.
"I'm working on a song about you, actually. I'm calling it 'About You'," Y/n replied, a soft laugh escaping her lips. Jennie joined in, their laughter intertwining in the warmth of the moment.
"Can I hear it when you're done?" Jennie asked, her curiosity blending with a genuine interest in Y/n's creative expression.
"Of course, babe. Once I perfect it, I'll let you be the first to hear it," Y/n assured her, a radiant smile illuminating her face.
"Anything you write, Y/n, is perfect in my eyes," Jennie whispered sweetly, her words carrying a sincerity that melted Y/n's heart. The air between them filled with an unspoken understanding, a connection that went beyond the words shared. In that intimate exchange, the love they felt for each other was beautifully woven into the fabric of the moment, creating a tapestry of affection that lingered in the air.
Weeks passed, and the song "About You" evolved into a beautiful melody that resonated with the emotions Y/n harbored for Jennie. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm hues across the sky, Y/n invited Jennie to their cozy apartment to share the finished piece.
The room was filled with the soft strumming of Y/n's guitar as she began to sing. Jennie sat on the couch, captivated by the heartfelt lyrics that seemed to paint a vivid picture of their love story. Y/n poured her soul into every note, and as the final chord resonated, a profound silence enveloped the room.
Jennie looked at Y/n with tears shimmering in her eyes. "That was beautiful, Y/n. It's like you've captured the essence of us in every word and melody," she said, her voice filled with genuine emotion.
Y/n smiled, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and satisfaction. "I'm glad you think so. It's all about you, about us."
As the last notes hung in the air, Y/n set the guitar aside and moved closer to Jennie. Their eyes met, and in that shared gaze, the unspoken connection between them deepened. Jennie reached out, tenderly wiping away a tear from Y/n's cheek.
"You have a way of turning the ordinary moments into something extraordinary," Jennie confessed, her fingers gently tracing the contours of Y/n's face.
Y/n leaned in, capturing Jennie's lips in a sweet and lingering kiss. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the soft melody of their love lingering in the air. The song had not only become an ode to their journey but also a bridge that reconnected their hearts.
After the kiss, they held each other, savoring the warmth of the moment. "I love you, Y/n," Jennie whispered, her words echoing the sentiment expressed in the song.
"I love you too, Jennie," Y/n replied, a profound sense of completeness settling between them.
~~~
"I don't get it," I asked, confusion and heartbreak intertwined within my words. Jennie's revelation felt like a sudden plunge into icy waters, a shock that left me breathless.
"Y/n, get it in your head. You and I have different dreams," Jennie declared, her words hitting with punctuated finality.
"But... but, I thought we were each other's dream?" I stammered, my voice barely audible as the weight of her words pressed upon my chest.
"I lied. I can't be a low-ball artist's girlfriend. You won't make it out there. You've been playing in the same five bars for the past three years, and there has been no movement," Jennie uttered venomously, her words cutting through the air like shards of glass. Each syllable felt like a blow, a relentless assault on the dreams I had nurtured and believed in.
My heart shattered into fragments. Being an artist was not just a career; it was my soul's yearning. Being a singer wasn't merely a profession; it was the rhythm of my existence. And Jennie... she was my dream personified. Yet, here she was, dismantling them all with ruthless precision.
Tears welled in my eyes, betraying the depth of the pain coursing through me. Jennie noticed, her gaze faltering for a moment, a fleeting acknowledgment of the devastation she had just unleashed. "Y/n, Iâ" she began, an apology clawing its way out.
"No. Just leave, Jennie. Never come back," I interrupted her, my voice devoid of emotion, each word a struggle to push past the lump forming in my throat. My lips quivered as I turned away, unwilling to let her see the extent of the devastation she had wrought.
The air between us hung heavy with the shattered remnants of dreams, the echoes of love, and the profound ache of betrayal. As I walked away, the weight of her words clung to my every step, a haunting melody of heartbreak playing in the silence she left behind.
~~~
(Present)
"It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender," she continued, her eyes closed as she poured her soul into the song. The lyrics unfolded the story of her love for Jennie, the only woman who had left an indelible mark on her heart.
"I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning," Y/n's words hung in the air, expressing the ache of loneliness that accompanied Jennie's departure. The crowd listened intently, drawn into the narrative woven by the heartfelt lyrics.
In the midst of the audience, unbeknownst to Y/n, Jennie stood watching. Her gaze fixed on the stage, she felt a mix of emotions listening to the song inspired by their past. The lyrics resonated with her own journey, the sacrifices she had made to chase her dreams, leaving Y/n behind.
As Y/n continued to sing, the intensity of the moment reached its peak. The bar was silent, captivated by the emotional performance. That's when Y/n opened her eyes and, to her surprise, locked eyes with Jennie. A bittersweet realization washed over them both.
The song reached its poignant conclusion, and the crowd erupted into applause. Y/n, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected gaze, collected herself and graciously acknowledged the audience.
After the performance, as Y/n made her way off the stage, she noticed someone waiting for her backstage. It was Lisa, the new drummer of the band, accompanied by a familiar faceâJennie. Y/n's heart skipped a beat as the two approached.
"Y/n, meet my girlfriend," Lisa grinned, introducing Jennie to the bandmates.
Y/n and Jennie exchanged glances, the unspoken words of the past year hanging in the air. In that moment, surrounded by the music that once united them, they felt the possibility of a new beginning. The echoes of the song lingered, serving as a reminder that sometimes, the most beautiful melodies emerge from the symphony of life's unexpected twists and turns.
đŹ 2  đ 0  â¤ď¸ 1 ¡ Would've Been Cute ¡ Jennie x F! Reader
Word Count: 1.2k
Sequel to About You
Warnings: angst!!! NO MORE SEQUELS! After t
genre â gxg, non-idol x non-idol, heavy angst, arranged marriage au, fluff
â in which, myoui mina and lee y/n, are forced into an arranged marriage in order to combine both their families and family companiesÂ
The conference room was too quiet for comfortâits silence polished like the marble table stretching between them. Myoui Mina sat at one end, posture perfect, eyes blank behind a pair of rimless glasses. She looked every inch the CEO her reputation promised: cold, elegant, and untouchable.Â
At the other end sat Lee Y/n, in a stiff navy blazer that didnât quite hide the tremble in her hands. She wasnât meek by any meansâtop of her MBA class and sharp-tongued when necessary, but this? This was a different kind of battlefield, one where silence was sharper than words.Â
Between them lay a single document.Â
A marriage contract.Â
âI assume you've read through everything.â Mina said, voice quiet but firm, like the steady ticking of a luxury watch. âThereâs a clause regarding public appearances, monthly charity events, and press releases.â she flipped a page like it was nothing, like it wasnât her life being stitched to a strangerâs with legal thread.Â
Y/N exhaled slowly, âAnd in exchange, the Lees and Myouis merge shares. Our parents shake hands. Investors celebrate. Everybody wins.â
Mina finally looked at herâreally looked at her and it stung, her eyes were glassy but sharp, like they saw right through Y/N. âNot everybody.â
It was the first thing sheâd said that wasnât dipped in business casual coldness.
Y/N blinked. âSo we agree. This is a formality.â
Mina leaned back in her chair, lips pressed into a line. âYouâre not here for romance, are you?â
âDo I look like Iâm here to be swept off my feet?â
That almost got a reactionâa twitch of the eyebrow, maybe but Mina was already closing the folder. âThen letâs sign. Our parents are waiting.â
Later that evening, in the backseat of a luxury black car, Y/N glanced at the woman beside her. Mina sat with her hands folded in her lap, wedding band catching the streetlights. Like it meant anything.
âYouâre quiet,â Y/N murmured, more to herself than anything.
âSo are you,â Mina replied, voice laced in velvet, not warmth. âI suppose thatâs the point.â
And just like that, the rest of the ride was silent. Tied in silk and impossible to escape.
The penthouse was immaculate. Not warm. Not homey. Just...pristine.
Like no one lived in it.
Y/N stood in the foyer, designer heels echoing off the imported Italian tile. The walls were white, the furniture was minimalist and the only sign of personality was a single orchid on the windowsillâwhite, of course.
"Guest rooms down the hall to the left," Mina said, already slipping out of her blazer, voice barely above ambient noise. "Bathroomâs stocked."
Y/N blinked. âNo tour?â
Mina didnât look back. âYouâre not a guest.â
The jab landed soft but bruised hard. Y/N didnât reply, just set her bag down with a sigh and trailed her fingers over the cool glass of a display shelf. No photos. No dust. No trace of the woman she was legally bound to now.
They werenât strangers. Not entirely. Their families had crossed paths at every formal gala since they were kidsâboth daughters in pearls and tailored dresses, fake smiling for cameras. Mina had always been the poised oneâsilent and distant. A ghost in Givenchy.
But thisâŚthis was something else.
They had married in a courthouse that morning. Signed their names on the line like it meant nothing, exchanged rings under fluorescent lights. Their parents clapped, champagne popped, stocks soared.
And now, they were home.
Married.
Y/N found the guest room. Everything was high-endâdraped in creams and greys, all the warmth of a luxury coffin. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. Was this how the rest of her twenties would look? Gilded, loveless, and quiet.
A knock on the open door startled her.
Mina.
Hair pulled up, silk robe on and glass of water in hand.
âI signed us up for a press shoot next week,â Mina said, leaning on the doorframe like it didnât cost her anything. âYouâll need to get fitted. The studioâs in Gangnam.â
Y/N arched a brow. âPlanning our outfits already? Should I swoon?â
Something flickered across Minaâs faceâa crack, barely.
She stepped inside, set the glass down on the nightstand.
âIâm not asking for love, Y/N,â she said softly. âBut I expect discretion. Cooperation.â
âAnd youâll get it,â Y/N shot back, standing nowâcloseâŚtoo close. âBut donât expect silence. I may be here in name, but Iâm not going to play house just because you need a trophy wife.â
That made Mina pause, her gaze locked onto Y/Nâs like it was a challenge.
âI donât need a trophy,â she murmured. âJust someone who knows how to stay out of my way.â
Ouch.
Y/N smiled, tight. âThen this should be a perfect match.â
She didnât sleep much that night and neither did Minaâdifferent rooms but same silence.
â
The ballroom shimmered with gold and flattery, crystal chandeliers dripped above them like icicles, soft jazz floated through the air like it belonged in a dream. The cameras were already flashing before Y/n could blink, the photographers practically frothing over Koreaâs newest power couple.Â
Mina stood beside her, hand resting against the small of her back like it belonged there, like she wasnât ice in human form.Â
Y/n smiled for the cameras, sheâd been trained for thisâsmile at the right angle, tilt your head just enough, let them believe youâre in love. Let them eat it up.Â
And god, did they.Â
A reposter leaned in, all polite shark teeth. âMs. Myoui, you two look stunning together. How has married life been so far?âÂ
Mina didnât flinch. âProductive.âÂ
Y/n bit her lip, âRomantic,â she added sweetly. âWeâve really learned a lot about each other.âÂ
Mina turned slightly to her, and Y/n could feel the chill in her gaze but she didnât stop smiling, not even when Minaâs fingers subtly tensed against her back.Â
They worked the room like they were scriptedâlaughs that never touched their eyes, touches that looked intimate but felt like paper cuts.Â
Until Y/n excused herself, she had found refuge on the balcony, the cold night air hitting her harder than expected. The city sparkled belowâglass towers, rivers of headlights, and so much noise.Â
She didnât realize she was gripping the railing so hard until she felt her knuckles ache.Â
âYouâre doing that thing,â came Minaâs voice from behind her, soft and unreadable. âThe trembling.âÂ
Y/n didnât turn to look at her. âMaybe Iâm just cold.âÂ
âYou wore a backless dress to a winter gala.âÂ
âYou picked it.âÂ
A pauseâŚthe silence between them stretching.Â
Thenâ
âYouâre not made for this world.â Mina said, voice lower nowâhonest, maybe. âYou smile too easily and flinch when people lie.âÂ
Y/n turned to face her then, and the ache in her chest cracked something open. âAnd you donât flinch at all. Not even when your wife walks away from you in front of every shareholder we just impressed.âÂ
Mina blinked, slightly taken aback by Y/nâs words. âItâs not personal.âÂ
âThatâs the problem.âÂ
And with that, she walked away.Â
Mina didnât follow, not that night.Â
â
Y/n wasnât trying to open old wounds, but the ribbon drawer did it anyway.Â
Sheâd been hunting through one of the penthouse closets for a charger when she found itâtucked in the back drawer, nearly hidden. A small bow and inside were satin ribbons, perfectly folded: lavender, rose, and pale blue.Â
Y/n picked one up, lips parting slightly as she stared at it.Â
It wasnât just a ribbonâŚit was the ribbon.Â
The summer gala. Years ago, she was fourteen and Mina was fifteen, their parents had forced them into a charity photoshootâmatching pastel dresses, soft lighting, and too much perfume. Y/nâs hair had come loose, and sheâd cried in the dressing room, embarrassed, tugging at the frizz with shaking fingers.Â
And then Mina walked in, silent and careful. Sheâd pulled the lavender ribbon from her own braid and tied it into Y/nâs hair, no words, just the softest touch and the memory of Minaâs fingertips brushing her ear still burned Y/nâs memory like candle wax.Â
She stared at the box now, breath caught in her throat.Â
âYou kept them?â she whispered to herself, running her thumb over the satin ribbon.Â
âI donât throw things away.â Mina said from the doorway.Â
Y/n spun around, she hadnât heard her.Â
Mina walked in slowly, robe tied, and hair down, looking more like a person and less like a statue.Â
âYou were so proud of that ribbon,â Mina added, eyes unreadable. âYou wore it for weeks, even when your mom said it clashed with your uniform.âÂ
Y/n swallowed. âI didnât think you remembered.âÂ
âI remember everything,â Mina said quietly. âEspecially the things I regret.âÂ
That silenced the roomâthick, heavy, and strange.Â
Y/n didnât move or breathe.Â
Mina reached into the drawer and picked up the ribbon again, her fingers ran over the silk like it meant somethingâŚlike it still did.Â
âI donât want to fight.â she said finally.
Y/n blinked, a bit shocked from the Japanese womanâs words. âThen what do you want?âÂ
Minaâs lips parted, then closed again like she didnât have the words or maybe she did, but saying them would shatter the last piece of armor she had left.Â
So instead, she held out the ribbon. It hung between them, soft and shaking slightly in the air.Â
âLet me braid your hair again.â she said, barely above a whisper.Â
And somehow, that was the beginning of something new.Â
â
The morning was usually quiet, no clipped heels against marble, no rattling of Minaâs papers or the buzz of early emails, just soft light pouring through gauzy curtains, brushing gold across their bedroom floor.Â
Y/n didnât expect Mina to be home this late in the morning, she didnât expect to find her in the living room either, barefoot, in a loose knit sweater and reading glasses, looking far too domestic for someone whose usual expressions could slice boardrooms in half.Â
âYour hairâs a mess.â Mina said calmly, not even looking up from her tablet.Â
Y/n blinked from the hallway. âI just woke up.âÂ
âCome here.âÂ
It wasnât a command, not really, just a gently offered sentence that Y/n could have ignored but didnât.Â
She walked over slowly, still in one of Minaâs oversized button-downs, barely buttoned. The couch dipped as she sat on the floor in front of her wife, cross-legged and heartbeat uncertain.Â
âTurn around.âÂ
Y/n hesitated, but obeyed.Â
She hadnât sat like thisâat someoneâs knees, between their legs, and vulnerable in the quiet, in years. Not since childhood and not since she braided her younger cousinâs hair to calm herself down during panic attacks.Â
She flinched slightly when Minaâs fingers touched her scalp.Â
âYou donât have to have to do this.â Y/n said, unsure why her voice sounded so small.Â
âI want to.â Mina replied softly.Â
And that was new.Â
Minaâs fingers were surprisingly gentle, she separated strands slowly, threading them with a quiet kind of care that didnât match her usual clipped toneâevery loop and fold felt like a whisper. It was domestic and terrifying.Â
Y/n found herself staring at the ring on her hand.Â
âYou used to wear lavender in your hair.â Mina said suddenly.Â
Y/n stiffened, slightly surprised âWhen?âÂ
âIn middle school. First day of your internship shadowing your mom, you were nervous and wore lavender and lip gloss, then you wanted to be taken seriously.âÂ
Y/n swallowed, surprised that Mina even remembered that.
Mina braided slower now, âI wanted to pull your pigtails so badly, cause you looked like trouble.âÂ
âYou hated me.âÂ
âNo,â Mina said, knotting the braid with one of the old silk ribbons from the box. âI hated how much I liked you.âÂ
Y/n turned around then, her breath caught. Mina didnât smile, but her eyes had lost some of their frost.Â
âI still remember how you cried when I beat you in that mock merger,â Mina added, lips twitching slightly. âYou hated losing to me.âÂ
âI still do.â Y/n says softly.Â
âThen donât make it a competition.â Mina murmured, voice barely audible.Â
Later that afternoon, Y/n walked down the west hall to grab a book from the library and paused at the door when she heard Minaâs voice.
She didnât mean to eavesdropâŚokay, maybe she did.
Inside, laughter bubbled through the room, Minaâs friends, voices familiar from gossip pages and luxury retreatsâPark Jihyo, Im Nayeon, Hirai Momo, and even Son Chaeyoungâs husky sarcasm echoed.Â
âYou braided her, what?â Nayeon gasped, shocked by the words that Mina just said.Â
âShe did her hair,â Yoo Jeongyeon muttered. âMina braided a girlâs hair.âÂ
âSheâs my wife.â Mina replied flatly.Â
âSince when does that mean anything to you?â Minatozaki Sana, teased. âYou donât even let me hug you for more than five seconds.âÂ
âSheâs not like you.â Mina snapped.Â
Silence filled the room after the Japanese woman had snapped.Â
Chou Tzuyuâs voice was soft, âYou like her.â Â
Mina didnât deny it which made Y/nâs heart lodge itself somewhere near her ribs.Â
âI think Iâm falling for her again,â Mina said eventually. âOrâŚmaybe I never stopped. Maybe I just hated how I felt and buried it but nowâŚshe makes coffee how I like it, she leaves her charger in every room just in case I need one, she rolls her eyes when Iâm late, but never complains, and she keeps showing up.âÂ
âSheâs making it easy for you.â Kim Dahyun said kindly.Â
âSheâs making it impossible not to want her.â Mina said, leaning back onto the couch she was on.Â
Y/n backed away before they noticed, she felt her throat tighten and lungs squeezing from too many emotions crashing in at once.Â
It wasnât love yetâŚnot completely, but it wasnât silence anymore either and as Y/n walked away, braid bouncing down her back like a ribboned promise, she didnât feel quite so alone.Â
â
Rain hammered against the penthouse windows like a warning, Y/n sat curled up on the far side of the couch, knees to chest, and eyes glued to her laptop but the words on the screen hadnât changed in over an hour. Mina was lateâŚagain and dinner sat cold on the counterâŚagain.Â
âDonât take it personally,â her therapist had said once. âSheâs not emotionally avoidant, she was just emotionally trained to survive.âÂ
Y/n hadnât known there was a difference until Mina became colder towards her.Â
The front door finally clicked open at 10:14 p.m.Â
Y/n didnât look up, keeping her focus onto the document she was working on. âDid you eat?âÂ
Minaâs heels paused mid-step. âNo, I had a client dinner.âÂ
Y/n closed her laptop slowly. âYou couldâve said something, I cooked dinner.âÂ
âI didnât ask you to.â Mina replied, voice cold and blunt.Â
Ouch.Â
Y/n stood, heart slamming against her ribs. âRightâŚyou didnât ask me to make dinner, wait up for you, or braid my own hair this morning so I wouldnât cry in the mirror after you left without saying goodbye.âÂ
Mina froze halfway out of her coat at Y/nâs words, not expecting them at all.Â
âI didnât think it mattered.â she said, too quietly.Â
âThatâs the problem,â Y/N snapped, voice cracking. âI do matter. Iâve mattered this whole time, and you just keep pretending Iâm part of some merger checklist you forgot to untick.â
Minaâs eyes finally met hers, and they werenât cold this time. Just... tired. Worn down like cliffs over time.
âI never asked for any of this,â she whispered.
âAnd I did?â Y/N said, voice rising. âYou think I wanted to marry someone who treats emotions like landmines? Who only touches me when itâs convenient or performative orââ
âI braided your hair because I wanted to!â Mina shouted suddenly, shocking them both.
The silence that followed was ugly. Raw.
âI wanted to,â Mina repeated, quieter now. âI wake up and I listen for your footsteps. I sit through meetings and I catch myself thinking about how you hum when you water the plants. I try not to look at your mouth when you laugh. I try, Y/N. And itâs exhausting.â
Y/Nâs throat burned. âWhy does loving me have to feel like survival?â
Mina opened her mouth, closed it again and then she sat down, like her legs couldnât hold her weight anymore.
âI donât know how to do this,â she said. âMy parentsâŚthis marriageâŚeverything Iâve been taught is about control, image, winning and youâre the only thing I canât...manage.â
Y/N walked over slowly, unsure if she was going to scream or cry or fall apart.
âYouâre not supposed to manage me,â she said, sitting beside her. âYouâre supposed to show up, to try, and to fail sometimes. I donât want perfect, Mina. I want real.â
Minaâs hands trembled.
So Y/N reached out, slowly and gently, and held them.
No performance and no cameras, just handsâshaking and holding.
And for the first time since their vows, Mina didnât pull away.
She got sick two days later.
Y/N found her slumped on the bathroom floor, hair matted, face pale, soaked in sweat and too exhausted to lift her head.
âMina, oh my god,â Y/N breathed, dropping to her knees.
Mina cracked one eye open. âI think I died.â
âNo, but you look like shit,â Y/N muttered, checking her foreheadâŚburning hot. âJesus, youâre running a fever.â
âI have a merger call at nine.â
Y/N rolled her eyes. âYouâre about to merge with the tile floor. Shut up.â
She got her into bed, finally, stripped her out of her damp clothes, wrapped her in blankets, and sat by her side like something ancient and loyal.
Mina drifted in and out for hours, she mumbled half-apologies and called her sweetheart once in her sleep.
Y/N didnât cry.
Not until she whispered, âDonât leave.â
It was barely audible, but it broke something open in Y/Nâs chest.
âI wonât,â she whispered back, brushing hair from Minaâs flushed cheek. âIâm here. Always.â
And for the first time, Mina believed her.
Not because of a contract and not because of family expectations.
Because of lavender ribbons, burnt dinners, and one person who kept showing upâquietly, stubbornly, again and again.
The fever broke by morning, but something else had broken too. Not shattered, just shifted, like fault lines beneath the surface-level ice and Y/n saw it everytime Mina looked at her and didnât immediately look away.Â
She wasnât warm, not yet, but she was tryingâŚand trying from Mina, was like love in another language.Â
Later that week, they were invitedâno, expectedâto attend a charity gala hosted by Mr and Mrs. Myoui, their first official public appearance as a couple since the wedding.Â
Hair curled and jewelry on, Mina was in a black suit and Y/n was wearing a black dress.Â
Y/nâs heart thudded as they stepped out of the car, arms linked more for the cameras than for comfort but as the flashes started and the crowd leaned in, Mina didnât let go.Â
If anything, her grip tightened.Â
âSmile a little.â Mina whispered under her breath, lips not moving.Â
âI am,â Y/n muttered, âYouâre just blind.âÂ
Minaâs shoulder twitched like a laugh mightâve almost escapedâalmost.Â
Inside, everything smelled like money and champagne, Y/n tried not to look out of place, even as the whispers startedâsoft and sharp, woven through clinks of crystal and polished performances.Â
âThatâs the Lee girl?âÂ
âSheâs not exactly refined.âÂ
âPoor, Mina. Such a waste of potentialâŚâÂ
Y/n felt her smile freeze mid-sip, she took a step back from the crowd, trying to breathe through it, until Minaâs hand slid across the small of her back, possessive and certain.Â
âIs something wrong?â she asked cooly.Â
Y/n just shook her head in response, âYour family hates me.âÂ
Mina looked down at her. âThey hate everyone who makes me human.âÂ
Before Y/n could process that, Mina turned to a nearby table, where her parents were holding court with shareholders and board members like royalty.Â
Her motherâs gaze flickered towards them, sharp and assessing.Â
Mina didnât wait, she walked Y/n straight up to them, ignoring every unwelcome glance.Â
âMotherâŚfather,â Mina said, âI assume youâve met my wife.âÂ
Her father smiled thinly. âWeâve met. I trust things are going... smoothly?â
Minaâs jaw clenched. âDefine smooth. Do you mean: Are we legally married? Yes. Do you mean: Is she bending to fit into your idea of worthiness? No.â
âMina,â her mother warned quietly.
But Mina was done playing. âY/N is intelligent, grounded, and more emotionally mature than anyone in this room. You should be thanking her for putting up with me.â
Y/Nâs eyes widened and her stomach twisted.
Mina continued, voice clear and cold. âIf your concern is reputation, let me be clear: she is my reputation now. So speak carefully. Especially around me.â
The silence that followed couldâve broken glass.
Y/N reached for Minaâs hand under the tablecloth, tentative and Mina didnât pull away.
Back at home, the silence wasnât icy, just thick with things unsaid.Â
They stood in the entryway, shoes half-off, tension unraveling from their shoulders like coats they didnât want to carry anymore.Â
âYou didnât have to defend me.â Y/n said quietly.Â
Mina looked at her, tired but honest. âI did, because you didnât deserve that.âÂ
Y/n hesitated, âAnd do I deserveâŚyou?âÂ
That cracked something wide open.Â
Mina stepped forward, slow and deliberate, stopping just close enough for her perfume to wrap around them both.Â
âI donât know if I deserve you,â Mina said. âBut I know I want to try.âÂ
She reached up hesitantly and brushed a strand of hair from Y/nâs face, the touch was light and careful, but her eyes? Her eyes were burning with emotion.Â
Y/nâs breath caught in her throat, âAre you gonna kiss me?âÂ
Minaâs gaze dropped to her mouth. âDonât tempt me,â she whispered. âNot if you donât mean it.âÂ
Y/n leaned in half an inch and then stopped because the air was too thick, her heart was too loud, and the space between them had never felt this loaded.Â
Mina didnât close the gap either, she just stepped back, gently.Â
âWeâre not ready,â she said, voice thin. âNot yet.âÂ
And for once, Y/n didnât feel rejectedâshe felt respected and seen, because wanting could be soft and healing didnât need to come with a kiss, sometimes it started with standing in the hallway breathless and staring at someone who finally chose to stay.Â
â
Mina hated birthdays.
She didnât say it aloud, but Y/N could tell from the way she barely acknowledged the date, the way she brushed past the well-wishes from staff like they were just another meeting, and the way her shoulders stiffened when Y/N casually mentioned a dinner plan.
âItâs just my friends,â Y/N had said, voice breezy. âThey wanted to cook. You donât have to pretend to like it.â
Mina didnât argue. That in itself was the answer.
The apartment was warm by seven.
Soft jazz filtered through the speakers. The dining table had mismatched plates and too many wine bottles. Momo was already tipsy and trying to teach Tzuyu how to fold napkins into swans. Sana kept sneaking strawberries from the kitchen, and Nayeon was busy lighting candles like they were summoning romance.
Y/N was in the kitchen, slicing cake with Jeongyeon, when she felt itâthe shift.
The silence behind her wasnât casual.
She turned.
Mina had walked in quietly, in a fitted navy suit with her hair slightly mussed from wind and not quite enough sleep. She looked like the contradiction she always wasâsharp lines and soft eyesâtired and wary.Â
Out of place and trying.
Mina blinked at the chaotic warmth in the room. âThis is...a lot.â
Y/N walked over slowly. âYou okay?â
Minaâs gaze flicked across the room, then back to her. âYou did all this?â
âWith the chaos brigade? Of course.â
A pause.
âYou hate birthdays,â Y/N said softly.
âI donât hate them,â Mina replied. âI just didnât have many that felt like this.â
Y/Nâs chest squeezed. âLike what?â
âLike someone wanted me to enjoy it.â
The sentence was said so quietly, so naked, that it stunned Y/N into stillness. Mina had been unraveling thread by thread since the fever, since the fight, but this was the first time she offered her truth so openly. Without defense.
Y/N reached out and brushed a crumb off her lapel.
âWell,â she whispered, âyou better start getting used to being wanted.â
Dinner was loud, Momo spilled wine, Chaeyoung brought out shots, Tzuyu laughed at every joke like she hadnât heard human humor before and MinaâMina just watched.
Not coldly and not critically.
She just observed the way Y/N lit up in a room, how she leaned in when Jeongyeon teased her, how she scolded Sana for eating frosting straight off the knife. Mina watched her like a secret she had the privilege of knowing first.
At some point, Y/N sat beside her, wine in hand, cheeks flushed.
âYouâre staring.â
âI am,â Mina admitted. âDo you mind?â
Y/N smiled. âOnly if you stop.â
Mina blinked, and thenâbarely thereâa smileâhonest and small, but real.
It was later, long after the others had trickled out and the apartment had fallen into candlelit quiet, when it happened.
Y/N stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the city glittering like spilled glass.
Mina walked up behind her, hesitant.
âThank you,â she said.
âFor what?â
âFor showing me that birthdays can feel like...this.â
Y/N turned slightly. âMessy?â
âWarm.â
Y/N didnât say anything, just tilted her head, watching her.
Mina stepped closer. âYouâre always this soft with people you care about?â
âNo,â Y/N said, voice low. âOnly the ones I fall for.â
Mina exhaled shakily. âYouâre falling for me?â
Y/N smiled sadly. âI think I already did.â
Mina didnât respond. She just staredâat Y/Nâs mouth, at her eyes, at the curve of her neck where vulnerability clung like perfume.
And then she kissed her.
Not like a CEO. Not like a woman with walls built sky-high.
Like someone finally letting herself fall.
It wasnât perfect, a little hesitant, a little too long coming but it was honest and when Y/N kissed her back, softly cupping her cheek like she was something worth holding onto, Mina let out the smallest soundâa breath, a gasp, a surrender.
When they pulled away, Mina rested her forehead against Y/Nâs.
âIâm terrified.â
Y/N smiled. âSo am I.â
They didnât fix everything with one kiss but they started something real.
A/N: First of three parts is here! This one covers the very beginning, what we mostly go through during the first few days after leaving the comfort. The pacing might feel a bit slow while reading, but in person, itâs like youâve already been there for weeks⌠and your body definitely isnât thanking you.
The aircraft swayed just slightly with turbulence, but you barely noticed. You were sitting straight-backed in a seat along the right wall, harnessed in, hands resting atop your gear bag like you were afraid to let go of it. Your fingers itched with nerves, not the kind that made you panic, but the kind that made you wait. Watch. Think too much. You werenât afraid. Not really. You were justâŚaware. Of everything.
The soldier across from you had his eyes closed, music bleeding faintly from one side of his headset, something with guitar, low and steady. Two others sat a few rows down, murmuring to each other over a bag of sunflower seeds, occasionally laughing too loud before catching themselves. One guy was bouncing his leg fast, his helmet tipped forward like a makeshift blindfold.
Everyone had a way to sit with their nerves. You just stayed still.
You watched the red glow of the overhead light paint everything in harsh shadow, hard edges on uniforms, tight lines across tense mouths. You could smell oil and canvas, gunmetal and worn leather. The air was dry, and warm. Somewhere far ahead, you knew the pilot was calling out distance markers. They were close.
And out there, already on the ground, already waiting..was her. Staff Sergeant Natasha Romanoff. Your new commanding officer. And the one woman you werenât sure you knew how to impressâŚbut desperately wanted to try.
Four Weeks Earlier
You stood stiffly at the desk, file in hand. The officer on the other side, some square-jawed sergeant you barely knew, was looking at you like heâd just broken bad news and didnât want to say it twice.
âIâm sorry.â he said, âAplha-One didnât select you. High marks, yes. But theyâve got their own standards.â
You stared at the floor. Your mouth was dry. It wasnât fair to cry, this was part of the game, you knew that..but still. Youâd killed yourself for this unit. Two years of discipline, sweat, tests, sacrifices. Aloha-One was the goal.
âHoweverâŚâ he continued, sliding a second file toward you. âYou scored extremely high in tactical reasoning and zero-error protocol under stress. Another team saw your data.â
You looked up slowly. âThey want you in Echo 9. SSGT Romanoffâs division.â
Your fingers twitched on the edge of your folder. âEcho 9?â
âThey donât recruit often. But when they do, itâs for a reason. You caught someoneâs attention.â
You hesitated. Youâd heard the stories, Romanoffâs unit was covert, fast-moving, low profile. Their ops were real, and rarely spoken about.
Alpha-one had been the dream. But Echo 9? That wasâŚsomething else. You blinked back the sting in your eyes and nodded. âIâll take it.â
Back to Present
You rolled your shoulders gently. You kept looking at the door, the one that would open and spill you into dust, hot wind, and the start of whatever came next. Youâd land near an isolated base camp in a desert region, you knew that much. Some recon op tied to sensitive cargo and possible extraction. High alert. Your first true deployment outside the wire.
Your chance to see her.
Youâd only met twice, once during evaluation, and once during the fastest, coldest briefing youâd ever been through. Romanoff had scanned you like she already knew everything, your past, your stats, your tells. Like youâd already said enough by standing in front of her.
Two Weeks Ago
You were sitting cross-legged in the middle of your paper mess, balancing your tablet on one knee and typing with your thumb. A to-do list bloomed across the screen:
⢠Cancel lease
⢠Storage unit rental
⢠Forward mail to Mom
⢠Emergency contact
⢠Get tactical gloves (broken stitching)
⢠Sell old field jacket
Your fingers paused. You looked around the space, still half-lived in. Walls still had photos. Fridge still had magnets. The place didnât feel like it was missing you yet. But you were already halfway gone.
A few hours later, your best friend Harlow came over to help you pack. You stuffed gear into crates and duffels, argued over which mugs to leave behind, and finally just collapsed onto the couch, still sweaty from lifting boxes.
âI canât believe they picked you..â Harlow teased, nudging you.
You smiled faintly. âIf I come back with stories, it means I didnât mess it up.â
Harlow looked at you. âYou wonât mess it up. Youâre meant for this.â
Back to Present
You let out a slow breath, fogging the air just slightly. Someone nearby tightened a strap; someone else cracked their knuckles.
Almost there. And somehow, in the middle of all this..the adrenaline, the altitude, the silence between heartbeats, you felt something else rise in your chest.
Pride.
With a sharp hiss, the hydraulic doors cracked open, and in the same instant, it hit you- The heat. It slammed into your face like a physical wall, dry, thick, pulsing with sun-baked intensity. Your breath caught for a moment, involuntarily. Not from shock, but from the weight of it. It wasnât just hot, it was the kind of heat that crawled down the back of your neck, sat in your boots, and stole the moisture from your lungs.
You blinked, eyes adjusting to the brutal midday glare. The light was white. So bright the sand looked like it was glowing. A wasteland of tan and beige, mountains ghosting in the distance, like mirages wavering in the heat lines. Your boots clunked against the ramp as you followed the line of soldiers off the aircraft, dust already collecting around your ankles.
âWelcome to hell.â someone muttered behind you. You didnât reply. You just kept walking, adrenaline mixing with sweat.
The group gathered in formation just beyond the landing zone, sweat already beginning to pool beneath gear not meant for this kind of sun. The tarmac shimmered. A breeze kicked up, hot and sharp with the scent of sand, diesel, and sweat. A tall man in a scorched tan uniform approached, clipboard in hand, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses hiding his eyes.
âListen up!â he barked. The chatter died instantly. âTodayâs the twelfth. Itâs 122 degrees out. Thatâs forty-nine Celsius for you metric-lovers. Hydrate, donât pass out. Youâre not heroes if you collapse on Day One.â
Someone coughed behind you. A few nods. The air was too hot for anything more. The man paused, then added with a dry smirk, âRomanoffâs waiting at Command. Youâll meet her shortly.â
And just like that, the atmosphere shifted, not from the sun this time, but from the name. Romanoff.
You felt a twinge in your chest. Sharp, curious, alert. âShe really as hot as they say?â someone to your left whispered under his breath. His voice was low, but not low enough.
âOh, sheâs more than hot..â another guy replied, cracking a grin. âThey say she can kill a man and give him a boner at the same time.â
Several soldiers chuckled, their laughter quick, dirty, laced with the kind of bravado that only came when they thought they were out of earshot. Your jaw tensed. You didnât know Natasha well, yet..but something about the casual, sexual tone made your stomach twist. This wasnât the kind of place you joked like that. Not about your people.
Then, a silence. It didnât come slowly. It snapped into place like a rope pulled tight. You turned just slightly. There she was.
Natasha was walking toward you, slow and composed, each step measured, boots kicking up puffs of dust in her wake. Her uniform fit like it was cut for her alone, sleeves rolled up, tags tucked in, not a wrinkle on her. She carried no visible weapon, but no one needed proof.
She was the weapon.
Every soldier in the group straightened, even those who didnât realize they were doing it. And her eyes, flat, cold, and controlled, landed directly on the man whoâd made the joke.
âName?â she asked, voice like ice under fire.
The guy swallowed. âUhâŚPrivate Miles, maâam.â
She walked up to him. Close. Too close. Their boots were almost touching. You couldnât see her eyes anymore, but you saw his. They widened a fraction. His shoulders stiffened. The grin was gone.
âPrivate Miles..â Natasha said softly, voice barely above a whisper, âif I ever hear you speak about another soldier that way again, especially one in my command, I will personally make sure your transfer home includes a medical dishonorable discharge, and a broken jaw to explain it.â
The air around you didnât move. Even the breeze seemed to stop. Miles stood like a statue. No response. No breath.
âAnd if youâre wondering whether Iâm âas hot as they say,ââ she added, stepping just slightly closer, her tone a thread away from venom, âI suggest you test your theory in a combat scenario. Iâd love to see how long you last.â
Then she stepped back. âEyes front.â
The entire group snapped to attention. You felt your pulse in your throat. You hadnât moved, hadnât blinked. It was like watching lightning strike just beside you. Romanoff turned to face everyone now, still calm, still unreadable.
âIâm Staff Sergeant Romanoff.â she said, tone level, eyes scanning the line. âYouâre now part of Echo 9. That means your record matters less than your performance. You are responsible for each other. If you want to act like civilians, I suggest you turn back now.â
No one moved.
âTraining begins tomorrow at 0500 (5:00am). Briefing starts at 0430 (4:30 am) sharp. Youâll receive bunks and assignments from base command in the next ten minutes. Hydrate. Unpack. Do not be late.â She paused. âDismissed.â
Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked back toward the base structure, heat swirling behind her in shimmering waves.
No one spoke for a long time. You swallowed, throat dry as bone. You couldnât tell if your heartbeat was from the sun, or from her.
The base wasnât much to look at, a sprawl of beige and metal, containers turned into housing, makeshift fences, worn banners catching the wind like tired flags. The ground was cracked and sun-bleached, the heat radiating off the concrete like an invisible second sun.
You followed the thin trail of other soldiers toward the housing row. A clipboard had been shoved into your hands moments after Romanoffâs departure, listing your bunk number and clearance ID. A container near the outer edge. Far enough from command to feel temporary. Close enough to hear the weight in every bootstep.
When you reached it, you paused. The container was basic, standard military housing. Matte green. Bolted shut with a manual handle. But it was yours. At least for now. You lifted the latch and stepped inside. Cooler air hit your face immediately, not cold, but not scalding either. A cheap mercy.
Inside, there were two narrow bunks, one metal locker each, a shared footlocker in the center, and a cracked mirror bolted above a dented sink. Sparse, lived-in, but clean. And someone was already unpacking on the left side.
She was bent over her duffel, sorting through rolls of gauze, small vials, medical wraps, her dark hair pulled into a messy low bun. She looked up when you entered and grinned.
âYou must be Y/l/n.â
You blinked. âYeah. Thatâs me.â
The girl stood, wiping a smudge off her cheek with the back of her hand. âIâm Rae. Rae Bishop. You snore, you die.â
You laughed, tension bleeding out of your shoulders almost instantly. âFair enough.â
You shook hands, firm, quick. That unspoken military rhythm already forming. You tossed your bag onto the right bunk and began peeling off your outer vest, already feeling a small pool of sweat at the base of your spine.
Rae slid a canteen across the small desk toward you. âYou look cooked. Drink.â
You did. It was warm, but water was water. âYou infantry?â Rae asked, hopping up to sit on her bunk, boots still on.
âCombat operations.â you replied, settling on your own bunk and unlacing one boot. âSupport and recon for Exho 9. You?â
âMedic.â Rae said, tapping the red cross patch on her shoulder. âSecond rotation. Got here three weeks ago.â
You raised a brow. âSo youâve already survived Romanoff?â
Rae grinned. âBarely. Sheâs not as scary when sheâs not slicing you open with her eyes. But yeah..sheâs the real deal.â
You nodded. You knew that already. The image of Natasha walking through the dust, silencing that joke with only a look and a sentence, it was burned into you.
âWhat made you volunteer?â Rae asked.
You hesitated for a second. âWasnât my first choice. But this unitâŚfeels like it might be the right one after all.â
Rae smiled knowingly. âSame.â
A knock at the metal door broke the moment. Three short raps. You exchanged a quick glance.
Rae swung the door open. Three guys stood outside, dusty, still geared-up, grinning. You recognized two of them from the aircraft. The third held a dented pack of cards in one hand and a pack of instant ramen in the other.
âY/l/n..â the tallest one said, âweâre playing cards in the rec tent. You in?â
Rae raised an eyebrow and muttered, âWow, no invite for me?â
âYou donât lose gracefully.â one of them shot back.
You hesitated. The memory of that crude joke on the tarmac flashed in your head. Your mouth tightened slightly, and you crossed your arms, thoughtful.
âI donât usually hang out with people who make sex jokes about our CO.â
The smiles wavered, just for a second. One of the guys, younger than the rest, rubbed the back of his neck. âYeah. That was Miles. HeâsâŚwell. Heâs eating dinner alone tonight.â
The third guy nodded. âLook, no pressure. But you seemed chill. No oneâs looking to mess around or anything. Weâre justâŚunwinding.â
There was a beat of silence. The hot wind pushed dust across the open door. Inside, the cool air hummed. Then you sighed. âAlright. But if you deal me crap cards, Iâm walking.â
Laughter broke out immediately, easy and welcome. Rae grinned and flopped back onto her bed. âTell âem I taught you everything.â
The rec tent was barely lit, strings of mismatched bulbs hung along the corners, buzzing softly. Folding chairs surrounded a center table, already cluttered with cards, crumpled wrappers, and one old speaker playing lo-fi beats someone swore helped with morale.
You took a seat, your body still adjusting to the tempo of the place, the slight vibration of generators, the scent of old coffee, the shift in your nerves from edge to ease. You played three rounds. Lost one. Won two. Someone made fun of your poker face, or lack thereof, and you shot back with a sarcastic quip that made Rae snort water through her nose.
They didnât talk about Romanoff again. They didnât talk about war, or blood, or fear. Just music. Home. The taste of actual food. The way sand got everywhere. Laughter felt strange at first â awkward and too loud in the open air, but then it settled in like warmth.
Before you knew it, the sky outside the rec tent had turned from gold to steel blue. Then to black.
0500 Hours
The alarm pierced the air like a bullet. You flinched upright in your bunk, adrenaline kicking before your brain caught up. Your heart was hammering. For a second, you had no idea where you were.
The room was still dark, bathed in faint blue light from the small LED clock bolted to the wall. Your eyes tracked across the plain metal ceiling. The thin sheets twisted around your legs. The sound of Rae breathing across the room. Dust floating through a stream of early light filtering between the blinds.
Then, heat. That dry, ever-present warmth, already crawling in through the containerâs thin insulation. The heavy scent of sand and sweat. The sound of footsteps, boots outside the wall. A voice barking out a name. A door slamming.
Camp.
Deployment.
It came back all at once. You exhaled and scrubbed a hand over your face. The ache in your spine was from the unforgiving bunk. The itch on your skin? Dust. Always dust.
You dressed quickly, muscle memory already forming after a single day. Tactical undershirt. Lightweight fatigues. Boots laced to regulation tightness. Canteen clipped, ID tags tucked, comm unit ready.
Rae stirred behind you. âTell Romanoff Iâm alive..â she muttered, voice rough with sleep.
You smirked. âNo promises.â
You stepped out into the early dawn air. The sky was a hazy pink, sun just starting to rise over the distant ridges. Heat was already forming, like a warning curled around the horizon.
The training yard was a square of cracked earth and sandbags. Half the unit was already assembled, some stretching, others checking weapons or reviewing briefing notes on slim tablets. Conversations were low, sparse, and cautious.
You spotted Martinez, Johnson, a few others. Miles stood off to the side, arms crossed, avoiding everyoneâs eyes. A knot of anticipation hung in the air.
Then.. âSheâs here.â
Every head turned. Natasha walked across the yard with zero wasted movement. Black tactical vest over sun-bleached fatigues, combat boots spitting dust behind her. Hair tied back. Calm, controlled. Not out of breath. Not rushed. She stopped dead center.
âMorning.â she said. One word. It hit harder than any shout. Everyone straightened.
âYouâll be split between physical combat, strategy, survival theory, and behavior conditioning. Yes, itâs hot. Yes, itâs early. No, I donât care. This unit doesnât carry excuses.â
She turned toward a group of soldiers. âFirst pair-up. Hand-to-hand.â She scanned them once, then landed on her target.
âMiles.â
He stepped forward stiffly. She waited.
ââŚMaâam?â
âI said combat sparring. Step up.â
He did. Hesitant. You felt the buzz ripple through the unit. Everyone knew exactly what this was about. Then Natasha looked at you.
âY/l/n. Youâre with him.â
Your stomach flipped, but not in fear. Your fingers twitched at your sides. Excitement, fire, something warm rising in your chest. You stepped forward, facing Miles.
He frowned. âWeâre doing this for real?â
Natasha tilted her head, expression unreadable. âUnless youâd prefer to sit this out.â
He flinched, barely, but got into a ready stance. Defensive. Hesitant. His center of gravity too high. You didnât wait. You stepped in, low and fast. A feint to the right, testing him. He flinched. His hands came up late.
Then he swept under, pivoted his foot..And stopped. He didnât finish the strike.
But Natasha did. In a blink, she stepped in from the side, grabbed Miles by the collar with one hand, and drove her knee hard between his legs. The sound he made wasnât even a word. He crumpled, knees buckling, face contorting in shocked pain as he hit the dirt.
A beat of silence. Natasha turned, looking directly at the rest of the men. Voice like ice melting on steel. âWomen are underestimated in combat more often than I can count. Happens in the field. Happens in training. But do it in my unit, and youâll learn the difference between cocky and unconscious.â
She didnât smile. Not exactly. Just a slow, razor-edged smirk as she turned to you. âWell done. Switch partners.â
Training settled into a brutal rhythm. Mornings began with sparring and PT, climbing walls, crawling through obstacle courses, sprinting under the punishing heat. By midday, it was tactical theory. Sand-tables, holographic maps, mission simulations. Natasha drilled you on terrain advantage, split-second decisions, blind recon.
âEnemies donât come at you clean.â she said once, pointer hovering over a digital battlefield. âThey come when your boots are stuck in mud and your comms are down. Think beyond perfect conditions.â
Afternoons were dedicated to behavior conditioning. How to read a room. Spot a liar. Break a pattern. It wasnât just about physical training, it was mental warfare.
One session was held in a metal container rigged with sound loops and flashing lights. Designed to simulate chaos. You had to complete logic tests under pressure.
You nearly failed the first time, until Natasha stood behind you and said, calmly, âBreathe slower. Find the rhythm. You control your mind, or the mission controls you.â
By the third day, you were keeping pace. Faster. Sharper. And more confident. The soldiers around you began to notice. Some nodded as they passed. Rae snuck you protein bars and coffee tablets. Even Martinez, cocky and sarcastic, offered to swap gear tips.
Miles? Still avoiding eye contact. You didnât mind. Not when every sunrise started with that burst of nerves, and every night ended with sore muscles, heavy lungs, and the knowledge that you belonged here more than you ever did anywhere else.
DAY 6
The room was built to look like an alleyway. Cracked walls. Sandbags. Smoke machines filling the air with grit and haze. Speakers embedded in the ceiling blared distant gunfire and shouting, sirens wailing in timed bursts. The simulation chamber was used for high-stress ops training, strategy under pressure, team maneuvering, and live tactical decisions. Everything tracked. Every shot. Every step. Every second.
You crouched low, rifle to your shoulder, sweat soaking your collar. Your breath was fast, lungs burning. You moved with your unit through the mock-up street, Rae trailing you with med gear, Martinez and Johnson flanking either side.
Target: secure a civilian in the âhot zoneâ evacuate to the south extraction point. Simple, on paper. But nothing ever was.
You breached the second corner, cleared the breach, and..You froze.
Two silhouettes appeared behind a scrim of smoke. Civilian or hostile? You hesitated. Your fingers tensed on the trigger. Your brain tried to assess. The figures move-
And then everything went to hell. A simulated blast went off. Too close. Too loud. Martinez dropped, âwounded.â Rae got separated. A red strobe light flashed across the chamber, symbolic of a âcritical failureâ in evac timing.
It was over. Simulation terminated. The smoke cleared slowly, the lights steadying. Soldiers blinked in the false dawn of debrief lighting as the system powered down. You ripped your goggles off, chest heaving. Your hands were shaking. Not from fear.
From frustration. Natasha walked in, tablet in hand. Her expression unreadable. She let the silence linger. Then she looked up, eyes slicing through the group like scalpels.
âEveryone out.â she said flatly, not looking at anyone but you. âExcept Y/l/n.â
The others filed out silently. Rae gave you a small glance. Not pity. Just understanding. When the door closed, Natasha walked closer. Not looming. JustâŚpresent. You stood straighter, trying to lock your jaw. Waiting.
âI want you to explain what happened.â Natasha said.
You hesitated. âI hesitated at the corner. I.. I didnât want to misfire. The shapes werenât clear-â
âThey werenât clear?â Natasha repeated, voice cold. âYouâve run that drill four times. You know the shape of that alley. You know what cover looks like from thirty meters. And you froze.â
You swallowed. âYes, Staff Sergeant.â
âWhy?â
You opened your mouth. Closed it. âI.. didnât trust myself.â you admitted. Quiet.
Natasha nodded once. A slow, deliberate motion. Then she stepped forward until you were almost eye to eye.
âIf this had been real..â she said softly, âMartinez would have bled out before Rae could get to him. You wouldâve lost your right leg to that blast. And your hesitation wouldâve put your entire team in body bags.â
Every word was a scalpel. No yelling. No rage. Just cold truth. You didnât speak.
âYou donât get to be unsure out there.â Natasha said. âNot when people are counting on you. Not when seconds mean survival. If you doubt yourself again, do it on your own time. Not mine.â
She turned away. Walked two steps. Then stopped. âButâŚâ
You blinked.
ââŚyou still identified the pattern before the system ended the sim. You saw the angle of the shooter. You started moving to block Raeâs exit. That means your instincts are right. You just didnât trust them.â
Another long pause. âI want you in my class this afternoon. Behavioral split-second response training. Two hours.â
You nodded. âYes, Staff Sergeant.â
âAnd Y/l/n?â
ââŚYes?â
âIf you ever freeze like that again, Iâll personally send you back home with a thank-you card and a slap for wasting my time.â
Your mouth twitched. The sharpest edge of a grin. âUnderstood.â
DAY 11
The room buzzed with quiet suffering. The overhead lights flickered in that sickly yellow way that only military bulbs seemed to manage. Dust drifted lazily through the stale air. Everyone was slouched somewhere, against the walls, over the table, heads resting in hands, boots half unlaced beneath chairs. Not a single soul was upright by choice.
You sat near the end of the long table, chin propped in one hand, trying to pretend you werenât blinking longer than you should.
Your thighs still burned from morning PT. Your knuckles were bruised from combat drills. Your brain was a fog of unfinished sleep and half-digested ration bars. Even your boots felt heavy. Like theyâd been dipped in cement.
Rae, sitting next to you, looked dead-eyed at her half-full notebook. Johnson was using his own notepad as a pillow. Martinez had a cold pack wedged under his shirt, muttering something about âinhumane training lawsâ under his breath.
You were wrecked. And no one dared to say it out loud.
The door opened. And just like that, the room snapped into shape. Natasha walked in with a slow, unreadable expression. She didnât bark a command. Didnât speak. She didnât have to.
Her presence alone was a straight line drawn through chaos. Her expression unreadable, calm, but not soft. Alert. A storm in waiting. She walked past all of you without a word and hoisted herself up to sit on the table directly in front of the class , boots planted wide, elbows on knees.
The silence grew dense. Then, slowly, she looked at you. One by one. Not judging. Measuring. You sat straighter. Your heart, despite exhaustion, thudded once. Hard.
She reached for the remote and pressed a button. The screen behind her flickered to life. A drone shot filled the screen, a wide, aerial view of an arid landscape. Cracked land. A village reduced to fragments of stone and splinters. Roofs caved in. A single road, broken with impact craters, carved through what used to be homes.
Everything changed in the room. The fog of exhaustion evaporated. Spines straightened. Eyes locked forward. No one moved. Not even to breathe.
âThis..â Natasha said, her voice low, âis the village of Qasira. Forty-seven clicks east of this base. Population, formerly nine hundred. Current? Unknown.â
She let that sit for a second before continuing. âThree days ago, an insurgent convoy passed through the area. They were hit mid-transit. Likely an airstrike from a local faction. Civilians were caught in the crossfire. Local med teams are moving in now. Youâre going with them.â
The screen shifted to a satellite map. Pinpoints. Movement indicators. Roads. âThis isnât a combat op. Itâs a secure-and-monitor. Your job is to escort, establish perimeter, and provide overwatch while the medics assist the injured and collect survivors.â
Her voice was firm, but there was something in her eyes , a warning, subtle but sharp. âYou will be met with three types of people.â she continued. âThose who are glad to see you. Those who resent you. And those who hate you outright. All of them will be scared. Some will be armed. Some wonât.â
Rae swallowed softly next to you.
âYou do not fire unless fired upon.â Natasha said. âYou do not engage unless absolutely necessary. If someone spits at you, you walk. If someone screams at you, you listen. You are not here to escalate. You are here to protect the people doing their jobs.â
Another click. A street-level image filled the screen, caved-in houses, burnt-out windows, children standing in the rubble, watching the drone.
Your throat tightened.
âThis is what real missions look like.â Natasha said, quieter now. âItâs not always bullets and body armor. Sometimes itâs holding a perimeter while someone bleeds out two feet away from you. Sometimes itâs walking past a woman crying over what used to be her kitchen.â
She looked at all of you. And this time, there was no cold edge. Just steel. Steady and unwavering.
âYou need to be better than your instincts. You need to be professional, even when itâs hard. Especially when itâs hard.â
A pause. âWe leave at 0700 (7am).â
With that, she stood, clicked off the screen, and stepped down. Then, she turned back.
âGear up. No mistakes.â
The silence lingered after she left. It wasnât fear. It was something sharper. Something real. You exhaled, slow, as if the weight of the next phase had finally landed on your chest.