park hyun-chae (korean), more known as honey, is a korean pop idol. she debuted in the south korean co-ed group, stray kids, formed by JYPE. the group consists of nine members, bangchan, lee know, changbin, honey, hyunjin, han, felix, seungmin, and I.N. they debuted on march 25th, 2018 with ‘district 9’ from their first mini-album, ‘i am NOT’.
𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ GET TO KNOW HONEY
profile kprofile social media what’s in honeys bag? solo projects
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪ pairing | platonic!ot6 x 7thmember!reader ༉‧₊˚.
synopsis | you've never felt like you were part of the group. no one seems to think you are, so you wonder why you're still here.
➻ requested by anon and anon!
𓆩⟡𓆪 note || guys, idk why this took me so long, this was the hardest angst i've written and its not even all that. i also fear its a tad corny but i hope its still palatable :')
You still remember the excitement you’d felt that day when they told you you’d be debuting in a group. It didn’t matter to you that it was with six boys; all that mattered to you was that you’d get to realize your dreams and you’d get to do it with a family. You’d no longer be alone like you had been through the grueling years of your training.
But that excitement lived short. It had quickly dwindled away when you saw the looks on their faces when you were introduced as their final member. They’d returned your beaming smile with shock, disbelief, confusion— and with silent ire in Jiung’s case. Your hope had started chipping away from day one.
You’d reasoned to yourself later in bed that night their reaction was only because of how sudden your entrance was. They were blindsided by the fact that they’d have another new member on top of Jongseob on such short notice before debut, and a girl at that. All you needed to do was to just work hard at integrating yourself with the group. You were good at making friends, at easing into new spaces. Surely it would be no problem and they could learn to be okay with having you. It's how most workplace relationships started, isn’t it?
But the seeds of division were sowed from the very beginning when you’d been segregated into a separate dorm. Obviously, it made sense why. But it created a physical barrier on top of the initial one; one that meant the boys would spend their nights living their youth outside of work together and you’d spend yours curled up on the floor and writing lyrics all by your lonesome.
It made it so that your only chances at connecting with them were during work. But the stress that came with preparing for a debut didn’t give you much opportunity to work with.
And by the time you could even attempt to try, they were already close from however many months or years they spent together before your transfer into the company. You’d watch them as they meddled around with each other from where you stretched on the floor of the practice room. They’d joke with each other during sessions in ways you would never be privy to given that you just weren’t there for it.
It was sweet to see they’d all bonded together. It was bitter that you weren’t part of it.
When you messed up choreography, you were on your own. No supportive claps on the back, no words of reassurance from them, no one to step in and help you fix your mistakes.
You’d watch them filter out of the room together as a group while you were left behind in defeat. But instead of moping, you stayed behind to fix your own mistakes. If no one had your back, you had yours. But it also meant missing out on their post-practice convenience store snack runs; not that they’d invite you in the first place anyway.
That’s how it all started. You locked yourself away in practice rooms and studios to put whatever extra time you had into your work rather than trailing after them and begging for attention. And they started to believe it’s what you’d preferred. It became a treacherous cycle.
You’d return to your dorm alone, go to sleep with no one to wish you goodnight, wake up with only the sun as your company, and get through work with only your own mind as a friend. You convinced yourself you were okay with it.
It only took a few months for you to start realizing how truly alone you felt.
Your ideas were never pushed during meetings. Well, none of theirs were either, but the upper staff at least heard the boys out whenever they had something to pitch in. You could barely get a word in before you were talked over.
You’d never felt so frustrated before. And no one ever fought for your voice to be heard. Somewhere along the way, you’d stopped fighting for it yourself.
You thought maybe you had to prove to everyone a little harder than the other members that you deserve every bit of your place in the group as the boys do. You’d come into this knowing you’d have extra work to do as the only woman in a den of wolves.
You just didn’t realize how much you’d have to prove yourself, not only to them, but to the fans as well.
Because after P1Harmony was shared with the world, you’d somehow felt even more isolated.
The company created a clear divide between you and the others. You were always placed to the side during interviews, you were given the least amount of lines in scripts, you never got to do duo shoots, your roles in content videos were always minimized, and your lives could only be solo unless it was with the whole group.
What hurt more was the fans. If your company held the key, it was the fans that built the cage.
You knew going in that you wouldn’t be the fan favourite; you weren’t the visual, you weren’t the star rapper, you weren’t the vocal powerhouse.
Your merch was always the lowest sold and your banners were never held during fan events. Fansigns felt like a special chamber of torture for you, because you could practically see it in their eyes that they were itching to move onto the next member while they sat in front of you. It didn’t matter that you tried to connect, to make conversation. You were the cutscene before they got to meet their bias.
Fan content was never centered around you. You’d come across countless edits and compilations of the boys, none of which you were given spotlight in. On one hand, it was nice to see through everyone else’s eyes how much love the boys had for each other. You’d seen it with your eyes too, but to see it be documented by the world is something else entirely. And the fact that there was nothing to be documented for you told you more things than you’d liked to have known.
You told yourself you were okay with it because it meant none of the others had to bear the burden of being the least liked member. You could sacrifice a bit of yourself if it meant keeping them from feeling the way you did. It’s not a good feeling to have. You didn’t want that for them. Because despite everything, you did care about them.
But what hurt the most, out of everything? Your members never seemed to care about you.
How could they? You wouldn’t consider yourself to really be a part of them. You never spent time with them outside work. Not that it was by your choice anyway; even if Keeho tried to some extent, it was simply out of duty as the leader, no matter how clumsy he was with his role at the beginning. But you still denied his invites for dinner or otherwise, because whenever he asked you to join you could almost feel the tense air wash over everyone else in the room. You would just save them the trouble and excuse yourself instead.
Still, it meant something that Keeho could bear your presence enough to at least ask you. You couldn’t say the same for the others though. Jiung was always cold to you— well, he was cold to everyone in the first few years but you bore the brunt of it. His answers to your questions were short and clipped, underlying with a tone of ‘Don’t you know this by now?’ You’d learned quickly to go to someone else with your questions.
You’d directed them to Intak, but even he was stiff around you. Distant, like he’d rather be anywhere but having conversation with you. Eventually you landed on Jongseob, who was always polite, but so much so that it felt like you were talking to a stranger. And you might as well have been a stranger to Theo, who didn’t so much as look in your direction when he spoke to you.
Your only hope at something of a loose companion was Soul, who would give you a smile and a wave when you’d enter a room or head home for the night. But even still, he was a part of them before anything, not you.
All to say, you never had someone to fall back on. You never were part of a duo. Your existence in the group felt like an afterthought and at some point along the way, you’d started going to bed wondering why you were there in the first place.
You don’t remember when this heavy weight had settled permanently in your chest. Maybe it was after the hundredth interview you’d done where you couldn’t get a single word in. Maybe it was after the hundredth time your lines in songs had gotten cut short to mere seconds. Maybe it was after the hundredth time that the company had scrapped your ideas only to redress them as something they thought of themself. Maybe it was after the thousandth time you’d had to cry yourself to sleep with no one to notice.
Even after years of being part of the group, you felt no more part of it than you had when you’d debuted. Maybe even less so, somehow.
At some point the pain turned to nothing. You just felt numb. And the weight in your chest started feeling more like a void that started sucking the life out of you— your energy, your spark on stage, your passion in writing. Your willingness to get out of bed for another day of being reminded that you didn’t belong here.
The company started calling it a lack of commitment. The fans started calling it lazy. And your members, as usual, didn’t notice. Or care.
But Keeho did. At least, it seemed like he did. You still remember that day in the studio; the day that you realized it was never about you.
You were on the floor of the studio with your pen in hand and an empty page in your lap when Keeho had barged in unprompted.
He froze in step when he noticed you there. “Oh, sorry,” he said, blinking in surprise. “Didn’t realize anyone booked this one.”
“No, it’s okay.” You started hastily gathering your things. “I was about to leave anyway.”
“Wait, actually.” You paused, watching as he shut the door behind him and moved inside, dropping his bag by the door as he went. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.”
You followed him with your eyes as he settled on the floor in front of you. “Okay…?” You leaned back against the wall, dropping your books back in your lap. He’d never ‘meant to talk to you’ before, whatever that might have meant. Not in any context outside of a meeting. Your heart gave a pathetic little flutter that you didn’t want to quash down.
You tensed under the way he peered at you, like he was trying to find the right way to approach speaking with you. Four years together and he still didn’t know how to talk to you. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or to cry.
His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it when he did speak. “Are you okay?”
The words had your heart pounding in your chest. This was something you weren’t prepared for, and honestly, you didn’t even know how to answer the question. You can’t remember the last time someone asked you that.
Your answer came instinctive though, protective. Defensive. “I’m okay,” you answered with a smile, hollow and practiced.
He didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? Because we're a little worried about you.”
That had your heart stop entirely for a moment. Worried?
“Worried?” You whispered. You didn’t think they thought about you at all. Let alone worry. But the thought of them actually being concerned about you, caring to some extent, it had this feeling buzzing in your chest. Warm. Unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
“Yeah,” he said, then averted his eyes as his hand went up to rub the back of his neck in a nervous tick. “Well… We’ve sort of been noticing it in your performance. It just feels like you’re not totally at your best lately? I really don’t mean to sound like I’m attacking you or anything but it’s starting to affect some of the others’ performances too and I just thought…”
His words faded away as did your momentary delusion. They were worried about your performance. Of course they weren’t worried about you.
“…It’s just— You know,” he broke off with an awkward laugh. “Listen, if there’s anything—“
“I’m just tired,” you cut him off, because you really, really didn’t want to hear any more. You didn’t want to be in front of him right now. Not with the way your gut twisted and threatened a familiar dread-induced nausea. “I’ll work on it.”
He paused, staring at you quietly for a moment. “I… I get that. I do. But we’re all tired, you know. We’re still giving it our best.” And you’re not, his unsaid words told you.
You mustered up whatever caricature of a smile you could, digging your nails into your palm to redirect the ache from your heart. “I’ll try harder,” you assured him. “I promise.”
That was the first time you let yourself cry outside of the safety of your room, as soon as Keeho shut the door behind him as he left you behind. You didn’t care if anyone walked in to see how weak you really were. You actually kind of hoped someone would. Maybe then they’d care.
But if anything, that had been your wake up call to pull yourself together. It didn’t matter that the weight in your chest kept trying to drag you down with it.
And you’d gotten your answer; they did care about you. Only to the extent of your labour to the group. Nothing more.
So, you pushed yourself. You pushed yourself to work harder, and pushed yourself further away from them. You’d become more strict with yourself. You didn’t go home until you were worn to the bone from practice or recordings.
And you’d started pushing back on the others too. You let the anger bubbling in your chest over the years start to boil over. You were snappier with them. You didn’t sugarcoat your words. It felt good to tell them their technique was lousy, that their tone wasn’t right for the song, that their gestures were all wrong. It was misplaced vengeance but it was always honest. Your words— no matter how cutting, how harsh— were true. But they came from a place of anger instead of the goodness of your heart.
You were lashing out from years of being cornered, but wasn’t it inevitable? You couldn’t possibly think that your feelings would just lay dormant.
If they didn’t already hate you before, they surely did then.
But all that mattered was showing your worth in the next comeback. You made sure your voice was heard even if you had to yell and snap. That way they’d at least listen before they could ignore you. And it worked for a little while because your ideas were good. But that didn’t mean they were happy with you.
It took a turn during choreography for Pretty Boy. You’d pitched an idea; for you to dance with each member during their solos with the focus being on them so you weren’t completely left to the background of the song. It would keep you a part of the performance for a song you had no lines in besides backing, while also upholding the song's message for the boys. They couldn’t deny it was a good idea.
Mistakes didn’t go past you. You sank your claws into whoever was unfortunate to slip up. Tensions were high throughout that practice, you could tell. But that didn’t stop you.
Maybe you should have stopped. But if you had, you wouldn’t have learned what they truly think of your place in the group.
It happened while learning the bridge with you and Jiung. Jiung came in a step too early, and you’d made it known. His movements were sharper than you’d wanted, and you’d made that known too. He clearly didn’t like having to listen to you, you could tell. It was when you’d made the comment about him needing to just listen to someone else instead of yourself for a change that had pushed him right over the edge.
“What’s gotten into you?” He’d snapped, refusing to fall in place as you returned to your starting position.
You didn’t look at him, just checked on your positioning in the mirror. “What are you talking about?” Your own voice was similarly clipped, taut from frustration and the ice that had been steadily growing between you and Jiung throughout the practice.
You could feel the others’ eyes drift over to you both from where they were working on their solo gestures.
Jiung stepped in front of you, blocking your view of the mirror, and you narrowed your eyes at him. “Your attitude,” he said, voice laced with vitriol.
You’d seen Jiung get angry with the members plenty of times before. But you’d never seen him look this… hateful, if that was the word you had to describe the way he looked at you. Like he’d intended for his words to hurt.
“My attitude?” You repeated in disbelief.
You remember the way it felt like the walls had started to close in on you with each pair of eyes that weighed down on you in similar provocation to Jiung’s.
“I’m just doing my job,” you said through grit teeth, trying to keep a hold on your composure. “Isn’t this what you all wanted though? For me to work harder?”
Keeho’s words had rung in your mind countless times a day ever since that conversation in the studio. The implication that they thought you were slacking. But even when you stepped up, it was too much?
Theo cut in from somewhere on your left, voicing what you could see Jiung rearing up to say, but wouldn’t. “There’s a difference between working hard and being a control freak.”
The words stung you more than you’d like to admit. A control freak. As if you were doing anything to jeopardize them.
“Hyung,” Jongseob tried to cut in. “Maybe don’t—“
“No,” Jiung snapped. His eyes hadn’t left yours. You remember wanting to crumble under their weight. Hide away from everything you saw in them, everything you felt about yourself reflected back in someone else you were meant to admire, to look up to. “He’s right. Maybe we don’t need you in the performance at all if you’re going to be like this.”
Your breath had stilled in your chest. You waited for someone to step in, for anyone to tell him he was speaking out of line. But nothing.
You were left on your own to suffocate in the truth that they all saw space without you. You found out that day in the dressing room what a panic attack felt like.
Pretty Boy was the first performance video you weren’t part of. The first song that you were actually dispensable in. And it did numbers without you.
You didn’t speak out of line ever since. You moved in silence, did as you were told, and worked just hard enough to not raise any questions.
You’d realized your true place in the years to come. The one to take the blame when performances fell short. The one to carry the weight of the least idolized member. The one to bear the pain no one else wanted. You’d realized they were okay with you carrying that weight.
Your world became quiet. Stadiums of people that didn’t scream your name. A discography with hundreds of songs that didn’t have your sound. Quiet nights where the only thing that lulled you to sleep were your silent tears.
You felt like a ghost; dead and buried and roaming a world that had no space for you.
So when it all came to this moment, pen in your hand, a fresh contract in front of you to renew your spot in P1Harmony for the next seven years, your choice came easy.
You just wish your escape wouldn’t be so quiet. You wish they’d say something, but they sit across from you wearing faces you can’t read. The absence of any surprise, any emotion, told you they were expecting it. Like this was inevitable. Maybe it was.
There’s no fight. But you find that this is the only battle you’ve ever wanted to lose.
“So that’s it,” Keeho finally says. His eyes don’t lift up from the table. The table that holds six inked contracts and a blank.
You don’t know what to make of the twisting feeling in your chest. Relief? Or was it grief?
“That’s it,” you answer. It’s the loudest your voice has been the past eight years.
You nearly break when they hug you goodbye. Even though you can tell it's perfunctory, even though they don’t even meet your eye, it’s the most contact you’ve ever had with them. Save for maybe Soul.
Soul, who stands in front of you with tears in his eyes.
“Are you really leaving?” He asks you. His voice is a weak thing, and his lips quiver around his words.
You place your hands over his where he’s twisting them together at his stomach. “There’s no space for me here, Shota. I’ll be better off where I’m going,” you lie. For his sake or yours, you don’t know.
But he accepts your hollow words as truth and wraps his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your shoulder. “You’ll keep in touch with me?” He mumbles into your sweater through sniffles.
You wind your arms around his waist and pull him close. “Of course,” you lie again, and hold him for as long as you can because it's your only chance to.
You leave without a whisper. More paperwork, more meetings where your say doesn’t matter, and one more night in your dorm. You cry yourself to sleep for the final time in that bed. And you’re gone the next day with the knowledge that your name would never be brought up again.
You spend the first few days in America hoping for— well, you don’t know what. A text, a call to ask if you’d landed safely. Something. Anything. Any small gesture that showed they were at least thinking of you. Nothing.
The news had broken a few days later that you wouldn’t be signing back with the group and the reaction was a resounding breath of relief.
Cutting off deadweight, they call it. Stepping out of the grave, you call it.
You remain as a ghost for the next year, waiting for your name to become a phantom before you make your move. The group thrives without you. And you learn to live with just yourself.
You sign with a new label exactly one year after you leave P1Harmony. One more year passes before you release your first studio album, Ghost.
It does numbers for its vulnerable lyrics and captivating vocals. A cry for help, many called it. A call for attention, the ghosts of your past deemed it.
But none of that mattered to you because things aren’t so quiet anymore. You finally have sound and it’s of your own making.
And of course, controversy sparks when people start to question if your album is about the mistreatment you faced in your old industry. If your songs were about them. They’re not wrong, but you’ll never speak their name again, just as they’ve refused to speak yours in the past two years.
But you do wonder if they’ve heard it. And if they did, do they finally realize how much they’ve hurt you?
You find yourself falling back to thoughts of them, the hiraeth you can’t shed, even though you’d promised yourself you’d leave them behind with Ghost. It’s harder said than done.
But as the months pass, as the crowds start to call your name, as you meet people you can actually call your friends, as your fans seek you out in public, you slowly come to learn that it was never you that was the problem.
You can blame it on a million things, but it’s easier to just let it be. You’ve spent years pointing fingers and it found you nothing but misery. Your past trails behind you like indelible shadows— present but something you can simply turn away from as you move forward.
While that weight remains buried in your chest, things don’t feel as suffocating anymore. It becomes easier to live with.
It all comes crashing down one night with a simple, “Hello?”
You were on your couch, hours past midnight, music sheets scattered around you and your guitar abandoned by your side in favour of Stardew Valley on your phone. It was some semblance of a peaceful night until you’d gotten a call and Jiung’s voice on the other end had thrown your being back to all those years ago.
“Jiung?” You whisper. That same ache in your chest comes alive again, that same twist in your gut, that same cold dread prickling at your skin.
“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice is a little deeper than you remember, but it’s got that same rough, careful edge to it. As poised as he ever was. “I’m sorry to call you out of nowhere.”
A million possibilities flash through your head. But all you can settle on is a simple, strained, “Why?”
It’s like the sound of his voice alone brings back the feeling of walls closing in on you. Your chest feels too small for your heart and your lungs feel too shallow for your breaths.
There’s a long silence that follows from the other line and you start to wonder if you’re hallucinating.
“I—“ He starts, then stops, a mirror of the stutters that are happening in your chest. “We wanted to check in on you.”
You swallow down the bitter taste that rises in your throat. “Two years later?”
There’s a sharp exhale from the other side and you nearly find yourself flinching at the sound. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to erase the flash of irate eyes and pinched brows looking down at you.
“I know,” he says. But his voice is quiet. Tired. Not sharp like you remembered it. “We… We weren’t allowed to contact you.” He hesitates, like he’s not sure if he should be saying these things.
You’re not convinced what he’s saying is true. Even if it was, would they have tried to contact you in the first place?
Your nails dig into your palms, an instinct reawakened from being long buried. “Is that all that was stopping you?”
Another silence follows. This one has your skin itching to run away and hide from an answer you don’t want. But you’d done plenty of that before.
“I wish I could say no,” he answers quietly. “But I think you deserve better than being lied to. Especially after everything.”
You bite down on your lip to keep it from quivering. Crying right now is the last thing you want. You’d shed enough tears over them already.
“What changed?” You find yourself asking. Your voice is a weary thing, thin with emotion.
“Your album.”
Your breath rushes out. “You’ve listened to it.”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “We all have. It’s… It’s good. Really good.”
Just those simple words have tears prickling at your eyes. Words you’d kill to hear back then feel like prying open old wounds now.
“But—“ His voice breaks, and you hear a shuddered breath on the other end. “It was about us wasn’t it?”
The waver in his voice, the shaky edge like he just can’t hold back his emotion, the weakness— you’ve never heard that from him before. He was all restraint and hard exteriors; never this raw, never this vulnerable.
It makes the cage around your heart feel tighter. To know that you’ve affected him in that way. Hurt him maybe. It doesn’t feel like retribution.
You let out your breath, and with it, your tears. “It is.”
All those years you spent refusing to show them emotion, all those walls come crashing down and you’re helpless to stop it. That restraint in you is weak from disuse. So you cry.
“It is,” you repeat. You don’t bother to hide your emotion this time. “Do you get it now? Why I was the way I was?”
“I’m sorry,” he surrenders softly and you can tell he means it.
But all you can do is laugh, cold and mirthless. “I’m afraid you’re a few years too late, Jiung.”
“I know,” he admits. “I wish I wasn’t. I really, really wish I wasn’t. We had no idea.. I didn’t realize what you were going through.”
You take a breath to the bottom of your lungs, leaning your head back against the cushion as you let it out. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You didn’t realize. You didn’t even try to understand. None of you did. You just assumed I was okay.” You don’t recognize your voice as you speak. It sounds faraway, like it’s coming from somewhere out of your body as you talk up to the ceiling. “I wasn’t.”
You let the words linger in the silence that follows.
“Do you remember that day in the practice room?” You ask. “During Pretty Boy?”
You can almost hear the flinch in his uneven breath. “I do.”
“I think that was when I realized I couldn’t stay.” The moment comes back to you in sharp spikes of pain in your heart. The panic from that day brews distantly somewhere in your ribs like a mirage as you recall the memory. “I think I’ve always known you guys would do well without me. That was the first time I realized you felt the same way too.”
Jiung doesn’t answer, so you continue. You lay yourself open to him like you’ve never done with anyone.
“It still hurts, Jiung,” you whisper. “All of it. I thought I was over it. And now you’re here and now I feel like I’m right back where I was.”
The sniffle that sounds from the other end is quiet but clear as day. Your heart twists at the sound despite it all.
“So what is it then?” You ask, desperate to leave this awful feeling behind. “What do you want from me here? Forgiveness? Because I don’t think I can give that to you.”
“No,” he answers and you can hear the way his breath hitches around a silent sob. “No, we don’t deserve that. But can we just…” He pauses to take a breath to even out his shaky ones. “Can we come see you? Please?”
You squeeze your eyes shut. The thought of having to face them— the people they are now without you, better than before— fills you with a new sense of dread. You’re not sure if you have what it takes to go back to fixing old wounds that have already healed over in nasty scars.
“How’s Shota?” You ask instead. You don’t think you could physically deny them even if every bone in your body begs you to.
You hear him exhale slowly. You can almost hear the defeat in the sound. He takes another moment to recover before he answers. “He’s okay. He misses you. A lot. He was the one who got our contact ban lifted.”
A smile rises to your lips, one that you can’t fight, as you recall sparkly eyes and tinkling laughter. “Well I knew it wouldn’t be Theo.”
A sharp breath comes out by way of laughter and the sound eases the cage around your heart just a little. “Right. He’s…” He stops and redirects. “I had to pry the phone away from Shota. Keeho and Jongseob are laying on him in the living room.”
You scoff lightly at the image. “Bad call. If it was him calling I might have said yes.”
“Probably,” Jiung agrees lightly. But he sounds careful again.
What follows is a silence from both ends, one of acknowledgment. You know you can’t go back, and you think he understands why you can’t. At least you hope he does.
You’re about to pull the plug, to hit the final nail in the coffin, before he speaks up again. “I hear you’re up for a Grammy.”
The reminder has a short burst of excitement flutter within the confines of your chest. “I hear you guys are too.”
The global rise of P1Harmony was one that took everyone by surprise— everyone except you. It wasn’t a matter of if to you, but when.
It’s nearly poetic that it’s happening with you, but without you.
“We are,” he affirms softly and you don’t miss the proud lift in his voice. “I guess… Well, we’ll see you there then.”
“Yeah,” you say, and the thought of that doesn’t feel so daunting. “I’ll see you there.”
You fall asleep on the couch that day feeling that weight in your chest, the one you’d buried away under new memories and forced optimism, start to lift just a little.
You win your first Grammy on your own, on the same night that P1Harmony wins their first.
It’s kind of poetic, isn’t it? You’d told Keeho as you handed him the award with a smile on your face, if a little teary.
And as much as you felt like a ghost with them, you feel unbalanced now at the podium without them to your right. You meet Keeho’s eyes in the crowd and the smile he gives you is mournful. But it’s understanding. Understanding that you were always meant to make it on your own with no one else to hold you back.
Being a ghost wasn’t the end for you. It just meant you had your own plane of existence to make yours.
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