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spacing-out-101

May 26

How to Unbuild a Wall - Daniela Avanzini

Daniela Avanzini x 7th member!reader

Warnings: none? First person. Very, very long.

WC: 8.7k

A/N:

Wussup dear readers,

The name’s peach, as in…mama peach. Some of y’all may know me from @bloodredpeach, the mama of seven.

Below is a very poor attempt at a comeback, dedicated to my dearest @burnttoast7272 for passing her exams.

Please excuse any mistakes, I haven’t written a fic in over three years and I’m a bit rusty. Feedback is always welcome!

Happy reading <3

PS. Some things may sound weird af, that’s because English isn’t my first language and some expressions are like…lost in translation yk? Anyways have fun :>

The first time I saw her, I thought love was a punch to the chest. I was wrong. Love is much quieter than that. Love, as I've come to learn, is much harder to hold onto and much harder to walk away from.

It was a busy day. My mind was in a rush, my hands fidgety, my eyes darting everywhere, mapping faces, furniture, energy, anything I could grasp in the physical and emotional storm I had just walked into. I got gently shoved by a shoulder. A hand touched my elbow, urging me to a certain spot. A distant voice murmured directives. At least, they sounded like murmurs to my ears.

We were clustered together. Arranged unceremoniously in no specific pattern. I remember the strange feeling of being puppeteered. I was frozen, a cold sweat breaking as I felt eyes on me, feeling trapped under a gaze that had already judged me. As someone who always picks the back of every room, just to clock everyone's positions, to feel in control, I had never been as afraid as I was at that moment.

I told myself I was cataloging threats. That's why I noted the way she stood, relaxed but aware. Why I logged the sound of her voice, low and unhurried. Why, when she glanced my way for half a second, my stomach didn't flutter. It assessed. That's what I told myself.

Although looking back now, I wonder, wouldn't someone assessing a threat hyperanalyze their threat's words?

Later, I would learn, her words were a simple introduction. A name, a city, an interest, a goal. I remember seeing her lips move, her eyes subtly scanning the room as she spoke, her voice simple vibrations in the air. Sound waves that washed away the noise of the room, momentarily leaving nothing but her velvet tone in my mind.

I never got used to the rush. It was a race. A survival game. A room where you look for a safe corner to hide in, only to realize it is a circle.

Her presence stuck in my mind, not as an interest, but as another opponent in this war. She moved like droplets of morning dew swept by a soft breeze, landing in the crevices of my soul, filling the little spaces with a mist that cools my simmering core.

I watched her deliberately. She was not a friend; she was just a girl who wanted the same prize I was fighting for. She was a wall. An obstacle. A hurdle I was mapping with my unwavering gaze. Until she smiled in my general direction, and my head snapped to the side, blinded by the brightness of her joy. Or maybe I was pretending to look away, not wanting to be labeled a scrutinizer in her book.

I wondered, why did it matter what she thought of me?

The days we had jokingly called 'survival of the fittest' taught me two things: in wartime, I can have only one of two, a friend or a foe.

At least, that’s what we were told when we joined this circus.

That blinding smile flashed behind my eyelid. A friend. I wanted her to be a friend. I wanted to be her ally, her pillar, her unshakeable wall.

But I just stood there. Watching. She laughed at something someone else said, someone who told a joke faster, stood closer, already knew her name. I watched her turn toward them, watched her choose them, watched someone build courage faster than I could. Something twisted. Not jealousy. Just the cold understanding that her time was a currency I hadn't earned.

She didn't owe me her attention. I knew that. But watching her give it away so easily was a different kind of loss, one the Ringmasters never warned me about.

Then I opened my eyes, peeled back the layers of delusion. A new war had already begun. Two fronts now. And on both, I was losing.

I had accepted the fate I never chose. But fate is a funny thing. A turbulent, messy, unpredictable thing.

I don't remember the final days of the game. I vividly remember the aftermath.

Suddenly, I had a prize secured in my bag. Suddenly, I was in the limelight I wasn't sure I deserved. Six figures and I stood in a line, bathed with colorful spotlights and showered with praise. Six figures and I, the fittest who survived, given heavy crowns and heavier expectations. It was as if a weight had been lifted, and a bigger one was offloaded on our backs.

I found myself engulfed for a minute, drowning in the scent of desperation, relief, hope, and floral perfume. Different perfumes. Each one triggered an emotion I was unaware I could feel. But one of them, the faintest one, made my chest go quiet again. Just like her voice had on that very first day.

I found her in the crowd later. She was laughing with two of the other winners, already at home in this newfound 'family'. I wanted to walk over. I wanted to say something, anything, but my feet stayed planted. The same feet that had carried me through the game refused to budge when it mattered most.

Perhaps, she felt someone watching her. She turned. She looked right at me. And smiled. Not in my general direction this time. At me. She moved. I blinked, and there she was, with her magnetic eyes and pretty smile. She opened her mouth and talked. I caught wind of words that sounded dangerously close to 'excited', 'happy', and 'famous'.

I smiled back, for the first time since she looked at me like I might steal her gold, I smiled back. I murmured an unintelligible "Congratulations. You were... hard competition. I knew you'd make it. Talent like that."

I watched her tilt her head and smile like she knew she had the power to stop the beating of my heart. I wondered then, when did she learn to take up space inside my chest without asking permission?

She breathed in, ready to respond...

And then we were surrounded. Celebrations. Cheers. Bodies pressing in. Familiar perfumes and old perfumes.

It hit me at that moment. The war wasn't over. It had just changed shape.

Since that day, life ran…different. A constant flood of adrenaline.

It’s like someone put me on a rollercoaster, without a seatbelt, and sent me on an endless ride.

There wasn’t enough time for me to dwell on what would’ve been her answer. I wonder sometimes, if my honesty was the key that opened up her eyes to my existence, or if it’s simply because we are now…coworkers, so to speak.

At least she smiled at me, right?

I’ve stood at the edge of her inner circle throughout this war. A shadow. Or a wall, depends on how you look at it.

Maybe not the wall I wanted to be.

I wanted to be her friend. I wanted to learn her.

‘But could I?’ I thought.

‘Could I stand in the face of my demons and ask her how she likes her coffee?’

‘Could I challenge our shared coworkers and snag a seat next to her?’

‘Could I offer to carry her bag when we’re getting out of a car?’

I could…But I can’t. I could because I know she is an angel. I can’t because I’m…unprepared.

If I asked her how she likes her coffee, she’d offer to go with me to grab all seven of us a couple of drinks.

If I somehow found myself sitting next to her, she’d ask me questions. Get to know me. Answer my questions. Laugh at my dry jokes.

If I offered to carry her bag, she’d refuse. She’d complain and giggle, refusing to be a burden on someone else. Even though I’d love nothing more than to carry her bag and follow her.

In my head, I sounded pathetic. Out loud, I sounded crazy.

But was I crazy when all I wished for was her companionship?

Funny enough, it was much more difficult to avoid my wishful thinking when she was sitting right in front of me 24/7.

I used to see her in shared spaces. In competitive rounds. In eliminations. Sometimes on our mutual acquaintances’ ‘close friends’ stories.

But after the final round, after she became an integrated part of my life, I saw her everywhere. I could not escape her.

She was everywhere.

On my mind.

On my phone.

At interviews and studio recordings and practice sessions.

At wardrobe fittings, where I admit I had my very own biased opinions about her appearances. Opinions that I would never dare say aloud. Opinions that perhaps the stylists would disagree with, but I was not to be trusted when she was involved.

A true war I was fighting. A battle that I couldn’t win no matter how strong my army was.

My army being my will. And my will…was very, very weak.

I was not to be blamed. Ask anyone she had ever smiled at.

I realized that after that fateful day, the day the tides turned, the day everything I’ve known since the beginning of this war flipped upside down, I found myself lost.

Lost in my own rule book. Lost in my maze of connections. Lost between my heart and my mind. Between what I wanted, and what I could do.

She consumed me. My mind a hurricane of thoughts. Every single one was about her.

Until she’s there. Sitting next to me. Breathing the same air. That giggle echoing in my empty head.

She shut them down. All thoughts of her, she just…turns them off.

I didn’t know how to handle that fact. I’ve never had anyone have such a paradoxical effect on me. The same thing that runs through my mind can easily make it freeze.

And it’s embarrassing, really. I was supposed to be more phlegmatic, serene. Speak when spoken to, answer only the question asked, not more, not less. Smile and wave. Do your job. Perform to a T. Earn your place. Day in, day out.

But then she asked me if the color of her shirt clashed with her eyeshadow and I froze, I froze, like some undignified idiot who forgot how to speak.

I remember thinking ‘fuck, you speak three languages, literally say anything! Hell just nod!’

It took me two whole minutes. A hundred and twenty seconds. Just to end up saying "uhhh no?"

UHHH NO? WHO THE FUCK SAYS THAT!

I do. I did. When my pretty friend asked for my opinion.

I recalled being labeled ‘The Useless Gay™’ once upon a time. Before all this glitz and glam.

But you know what? I'd do it again. The freeze. The 'uhhh no.' The dumbassery. All of it. Just to have her ask me anything at all. Just to have her laugh. At me. With me. Who cares? She’s laughing. She’s laughing and my heart is trying to leave my ribs. Probably to sit between her palms.

Huh.

I’ve never been this attached to a friend. Perhaps I’ve been lonely for too long. Or maybe she’s the perfect friend for me.

The one thing I pride myself in is my ability to mentally compartmentalize.

My life is split into cardboard boxes, each one labeled with a thick, black sharpie.

There’s one for my family. One for my closest friends. One for my high school friends. One for my exes. One for my cat. One for my job, my band mates, my fans etcetera etcetera.

And one more for…her. With an extra ‘FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE’ sticker on all four sides of the box.

Why?

Well…I’m not sure.

The contents of that box in particular are very delicate. In there is where I store anything that includes her or reminds me of her.

I mean, there’s a cute little beige puppy plushie in the box. Don’t know where that came from.

And like…a pink hoodie, from that time I learned how to make her favorite pasta when everything was too much. ‘A quick fix,’ she called it.

And um…the black hair tie I gave her when her hair was getting in the way in practice.

Oh, and the bracelet she wore in one of our shows, where we debuted a new song, and I had to twirl her. By the waist. Boy was that move a disaster to learn.

At least we nailed it in that show.

And every show after.

There’s also a readymade brownie packet. A new foreign brand we sampled while we were on tour. Just her and me. In my hotel room. On my bed. Eating brownies and talking.

She was kind enough not to leave crumbs where I sleep.

The most recent addition is a giggle. The weirdest giggle I’ve ever heard her do.

We were all hanging out after a recording session, snacking on instant noodles. I had a little avocado keychain sitting in my pocket, an impulse buy from a random souvenir shop.

Somewhere in the chaos of thirteen different conversations being carried on at once, a feat only seven girls can achieve, I caught her eye.

She was sitting to my left. Looking all perfect and flawless. Like nothing can touch her. I smiled awkwardly, my fork hanging from my fingers as I immediately glanced back to the nearest conversation for cover.

The cover fails, because she never looked away. Three heartbeats later, and I was looking at her again. I could never resist her. God she was so perfect. Those thirteen conversations all…muted. They didn’t matter when she looked at me. Nothing ever did.

I remembered the avocado and dug in my pocket to find it, getting a mini heart attack when my fingers found nothing but air.

Finally, I grabbed it with shaky fingers and…as usual…grinned awkwardly at her. I extended my hand forward, and she put her palm up. I dropped it in her hand. She stared at it.

A beat. Then two.

Then she giggled. My God, she giggled. Loudly. Head thrown back, fork dropped, a snort somewhere in there. So boisterous that the girls stopped to stare at her, a few confused smiles and giggles joining in.

Until she held up the avocado next to her face, and everyone burst out laughing.

My grin went from awkward to victorious.

It took her a solid few seconds to catch her breath. A great loss if you ask me, but then again, I am heavily biased.

“Girl is that…me?” She said breathlessly, stroking the avocado’s curls. Because yes, I saw an avocado with curly hair and my immediate thought was ‘yes! Perfect gift! That’s how you impress a girl! Buy her an inanimate fruit that looks like her! What a loser!’

But I nodded anyway. Then stopped. Then muttered, “I mean, unless you have a brown pit that can roll.” While twirling a noodle on my own fork.

And somehow that made the same giggle return, with an extra nose crunch and a dimple. The others laughed and teased me, but I heard absolutely nothing. I was busy internally celebrating.

I made her giggle.

HA. Take THAT.

My relationship with my bandmates is…complicated.

I’ve come to learn them. Their likes, dislikes, routines, certain tells, you know, things you learn when you live with someone for too long.

I also learned their coffee orders. Photographic memory, they said.

They just like being spoiled with free drinks.

I don’t mind, really. The six of them have carved their ways into all four chambers of my heart, each settling in a corner. Perhaps one took up a little more space than the others, but that’s because she had the advantage of being there first.

I was getting ready to leave for my hunt when I heard a tumble behind me. I turned around to find a pair of the most breathtaking eyes I had ever had the privilege to look at. The owner of said eyes was standing in front of me, smiling and slightly panting.

“So…where are we going?”

Excuse me? WE?

Cue signature freeze.

I really do live up to my title ‘The Useless Gay™’.

Will I ever win this war?

Unfortunately for me, it would be impolite not to respond. I had to use my words. Oh no.

“Um…I…we?…are going for a coffee run.” Yes. Full sentence. Thank the lord.

“Okay!” She smiled, all teeth and dimples.

Okay??? What now?

I guess we’re going then.

“Um…yeah.” I nodded with finality and opened the door, stepping aside for her to walk through first because I wasn’t raised an animal.

The coffee shop was a ten-minute walk and had almost no wait time at all. It’s one of those hidden gems you randomly find.

And hey, I liked their decor. Very minimalist with just enough potted plants to look alive.

We walked in silence. It wasn’t awkward per se, but it also wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable.

Not because I was uncomfortable around her. In fact, I learned that being in her mere presence dimmed the overwhelming noise and brightened the shadows in the dark corners of my mind.

But because I felt the need to impress her. Say something smart. Talk about something interesting. Or just form a full sentence without stuttering for once.

Alas, all my poor brain could do was execute the following actions: A- gently place your hand on her shoulder to move her to the inner part of the sidewalk. B- match her steps perfectly, not too fast, we are not superior. Not too slow, we are not lazy. C- do not stare. Do not stare. Do not stare.

I was too busy executing my three-step survival plan that I almost missed it.

“Can I ask you a question?” She hummed.

Well I am fucked. Anyways.

“Uh yeah.”

“And you promise to be honest? Like completely? I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…I was just…thinking.” She spoke so nonchalantly, I almost missed the nervous tone. Or maybe it’s the wind.

I nodded because I couldn’t trust my vocal cords.

She continued, “So I’ve been thinking…well actually I just wanna know your thoughts on something…”

Honestly? I respect this woman’s ability to stand my awkwardness.

I nodded again, an attempt at encouragement and deflection simultaneously.

She hesitated, I sweated, then she broke, “Do you think I’m…trying too much? With my face and all?”

Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so glad she can’t read minds because the mental sigh of relief I let out at that moment was so LOUD.

Then I processed her words. “What?” I spat out. I was honestly confused. What the hell was she talking about?

“I meant that…” she sighed, “the…the fans and everyone. They think I’m too…expressive with my face. Like, I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve been seeing online.”

D- Please. Please do not embarrass yourself.

“That is bullshit.” I started.

Oh no.

“Who says that kind of crap. What does that even mean?” I felt hot in all the wrong places. I went on a tangent, getting a bit worked up.

“Why would you even consider the possibility that their opinion is true? It’s just an opinion…it’s not a fact! And- and who the hell are these people to have that opinion, huh? Show me their faces, let’s see if it’s even half as attractive as yours! How abominable! How revolting! I can’t even…”

I pursed my lips, swallowing my words. I peeked at her to see her looking at me with an unreadable expression. Her lips parted. Eyes wide, scanning my face. I looked forward and “…oh. We’re here.”

Mama loves me.

I hurriedly opened the door and let her in first, trying to direct her attention somewhere else. She blinked twice, stepping into the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop. I followed after her, the smell of ground coffee hitting the right spot in my brain.

The lady behind the counter greeted me, probably too familiar with my existence at this point. She was nice, and her coffee was immaculate, never a wrong order, so you best bet I will greet her back with enthusiasm.

The lady took my usual order of seven drinks with the focus of an operator working a high-stakes hacking mission. I paid because mama raised a gentlewoman.

As we waited for the kind lady to do her magic, I quickly scanned the sweets on display and found something. I eyed the beauty to my left and weighed my options.

“Um, Dani…would you like a pastry? I won’t tell anyone…it’ll be our little secret.” I stammered a poor attempt at being charming.

She raised her pinky. “Promise?”

Oh.

I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that Thai food yesterday. That was definitely the Thai food. No more Thai for me.

I stared at her pinky. Then at mine. Then back at hers.

This was fine. This was normal. Friends pinky-promised all the time.

I hooked my pinky around hers. Her skin was warm.

"Promise," I whispered. Then immediately regretted it because my voice came out all wrong. Soft. Like I meant it. Like this moment meant something.

She grinned. "Good. I want the chocolate one."

For some reason, that coffee run was a turning point. Ever since then, she’s been everywhere. More than she already was. Occupying space- thoughts she had no right to. Stealing my oversized hoodies, which she basically swims in because I’m already a size or two over her. Tall people's problems. Makes shopping impossible.

She hops on the kitchen counter when I’m cooking something, expecting a spoon to be presented to her so she can taste-test my creations.

She leans against me during breaks between running routines. I find myself fetching two water bottles instead of one, no longer worried about overstepping with the gesture.

She teaches me Spanish words, then laughs at my poor pronunciation.

She naps on my shoulder whenever she gets the chance, in car rides, on planes, buses, waiting rooms, dressing rooms, literally any chance she gets. She says my shoulder is the perfect height for her to lean on without straining her neck, which is bullshit since I have at least three inches on her, and I have to slide down my chair a bit for her to reach. But I'll never tell her that. Who am I to complain anyway?

She taught me her hair care routine, simply because it made her feel adored. Now, every once in a while, she plops down on my bed with a couple of fat tubs and bottles, silently demanding I pamper her. So I scrunch the night away, shaping her curls like there's no tomorrow. It's a privilege. Her words, not mine.

She sneaks into my room when she’s supposed to be asleep, just to talk about dumb things. Pointless conversations. Existential crisis. The future of us. Her past, before the fame, before life on the fast lane.

The topic never interests me. At least, not as much as hearing her talk. I still stammer around her; that’s an everlasting curse, but I mostly listen and offer feedback when asked.

I find myself addicted to those memories. Meticulously storing them in that mental cardboard box. Occasionally revisiting them. Just to remind myself that little old me made it. I became one of her best friends. A thought that always shakes me to my core yet keeps me grounded.

I am absolutely, irrevocably, a useless gay.

It doesn't matter how hard I try to hide it. I will always be that. For as long as those ethereal hazel eyes remain branded onto the back of my eyelids. I also realized that reality will soon catch up with me.

Too soon if you ask me.

It happens on a random Tuesday. We’re in the back of a cramped van, somewhere on a highway between two city stops. The rest of the girls are knocked out in a tangle of limbs and travel pillows around us. The highway streetlights flash through the tinted windows every three seconds, painting her face in alternating streaks of gold and shadow.

She is currently asleep with her head tucked in my neck and her legs thrown over my lap. Her fingers tightly gripping my arm like she's trying to pin me there, leaving it entirely numb. Ha, as if I'd even think of moving. I'd have to lose that arm first.

My mind is screaming under the pressure of having her wound tightly around me, analyzing the exact angle of her head, the rhythm of her breathing, the sheer danger of this level of proximity.

Yet, my chest is completely quiet. Her scent quieted my thoughts, leaving me in an unmatched state of zen.

This is the part no one warned me about when I made the decision to dance for a living. You can win the game, you can secure the prize, you can build the perfect unshakeable wall to keep everyone out…and then you willingly leave the front gate wide open because she asked you to style her hair.

Silly me, I thought I was being subtle. I found out the hard way that I'm not the only one who thinks I'm becoming soft.

Out of the blue, a sharp, high-pitched buzz cuts through the quiet hum of the tires.

To my right, a silhouette stirs. A phone screen lights up, casting a stark, bluish glow over a groggy face. It’s Sophia. She blinks against the glare, her thumb scrolling lazily for a few seconds before she lets out a quiet sigh and lets her head drop back against the headrest.

She turns her head toward me, her eyes adjusting to the dimness.

"Still awake?" she whispers, her voice raspy from sleep.

"Yeah," I breathe back, barely moving my jaw so I don’t disturb the weight on my lap. "Can't sleep."

"Tsk, poor thing," Sophia murmurs, shifting her legs to avoid tangling with someone else’s travel pillow. "You're still buzzing, huh?" I nod once, humming in agreement. "It’s like the adrenaline from the show never actually leaves your blood."

"Yeah, that happens sometimes." Sophia shifts closer, leaning her elbow on the armrest between our rows, looking out the front windshield at the empty highway ahead. "It’s weird, isn't it? Feels like just yesterday I was sleeping in a trainee dorm, panicking about getting cut. Now we're jumping cities in a van, and our faces are on billboards in the middle of the city we just left."

"Mhm…still feels unreal," I whisper, looking down for a brief second with a small smirk.

As I do, the van hits a slight bump on the road. The cool air from the overhead vent drafts downward, and Dani stirs minutely against my thigh, a tiny crease forming between her eyebrows. Her fingers tighten a fraction more around the fabric of my sweater.

Without thinking, my free hand reaches down. I grab the edge of the kuromi-printed throw blanket I got her and gently pull it up, tucking it snugly around her shoulders, blocking out the draft. I linger for half a second, ensuring the fabric covers her arms properly, before resting my hand back on the seat.

When I look back up, Sophia isn't looking at the highway anymore.

She’s looking at me.

The blue glow of her phone is gone, but the passing streetlights catch the slow, knowing curve of her lips.

"You know," Sophia hums, her voice dropping an octave lower, practically a whisper, "for someone who looks like they want to punch a wall every time I look at you, you’re surprisingly domestic."

My internal alarms go off all at once. Code Red. I repeat, code red. This is not a drill.

"Ehem. Uhm. She was shivering," I say, my voice flat, aiming - and failing miserably - for that serene, phlegmatic tone I’m supposed to possess. "Hypothermia lowers performance levels. I’m protecting our brand."

Sophia lets out a muffled, silent laugh, burying her face in her hand for a split second so she doesn't wake the others. When she looks back, her eyes are sparkling with pure mischief.

"Right. The brand. Of course," she whispers, prodding my shoulder lightly with her finger. "Is that why you let her steal your favorite hoodies, too? Because of the thermostat in the practice rooms?"

Crap. CrapCrapCrapCrap-

"The hoodies are oversized. They provide warmth. Optimal temperatures for a main dancer."

"Uh-huh." Sophia leans back, her grin widening. "And the fact that you always slide a good four inches down your seat just so her neck wouldn't get strained? Is that a team strategy, too, Captain?"

I stare straight ahead, my jaw locked, refusing to break under interrogation. Fuuuuuck. She noticed the chair thing.

"I was adjusting my posture," I mutter. "For my lower back."

"You're a terrible liar," Sophia whispers, her tone turning softer, losing the sharp edge of the tease but keeping all of the warmth. She looks down at Dani, who has completely settled again, her face soft and relaxed in her sleep. "But it's sweet. Really. The way you know just what she needs. It’s nice seeing the unshakeable wall actually take care of someone."

My heart does a weird, heavy thud against my ribs. I look down at the pretty Latina snoozing away in my lap, then back to Sophia.

"We're just best friends," I say.

It's not the first time I've spoken those words out loud. In fact, I usually revel in them, but for some reason, the words feel heavy this time. Like a weight settled on my shoulders.

Sophia just stares at me for a long moment, the amusement in her eyes shifting into something a little more perceptive, a little more knowing. She reaches over, taps my knee gently, and settles back in her seat.

"Whatever you say," she murmurs, closing her eyes and resting her head against the window. "Just don't let your arm fall off before the morning rehearsal."

The van rolls on into the dark, leaving me alone with the quiet, the numbness in my arm, and the sudden, terrifying realization that…I'm not as slick as I thought I was.

That conversation with Sophia looped in my head for hours. I haven't slept a wink. Any hopes of catching a single Z flew out the window. The cogs turning in my head, over and over.

If Sophia noticed, what if the girls did too?

What if Daniela did?

Oh no. Oh no no no no. If Dani noticed…

No. I don't think she suspects anything. She would've said something, right? Or thrown a hint here or there.

But she doesn't. I need to make sure she doesn't.

Ok, new plan. Operation: Absolute Professionalism.

Phase 1- Stop acting like a human mattress. Phase 2- Keep a mandatory two-foot radius of personal space. Phase 3- Treat her exactly like I treat the other five. No special water bottles. No extra attention. Strictly business.

It was a foolproof plan. A masterpiece.

Except I forgot to consider the fact that I, a fully grown adult with free will, refused to move an inch, just so a pretty girl could sleep peacefully on me. By the time we reached our destination, my left arm was so profoundly dead that it felt like a heavy, useless piece of overcooked pasta hanging from my shoulder. I sacrificed an arm and my sleep for her. Just…Daniela Avanzini.

When Dani finally blinked open those hazel eyes, stretching her arms above her head with a soft, sleepy yawn that should honestly be classified as a weapon of mass destruction, I couldn't even help her up. I just sat there, my face frozen in a grimace of pure agony, staring straight ahead as the rest of the girls groggily grabbed their bags.

Sophia stood up, throwing me a look of such immense, unadulterated amusement as she moved to descend the van that I wanted to launch my travel pillow at her head.

"Morning, Captain," Sophia chimed breezily, her eyes dropping to my limp arm. "Nice posture."

"Shut up," I grunted, trying to nudge Dani off my lap with my working right limb without looking like a total jerk.

Dani blinked up at me, her curls a wild, beautiful mess around her face, entirely oblivious to the sirens currently bouncing around my skull. "Are you okay? Your face is red."

"Fine! Perfectly fine! Ready to perform to a T!" I stammered, scrambling out of the seat the second Daniela moved out of the way, actively executing Phase 2. Two feet of space. Mandatory.

I didn't carry her bag. I didn't hold the hotel elevator door for her. I stood in the corner of the lift, staring at the digital floor numbers like they held the secrets to the universe, ignoring the slight, confused pout she threw in my direction.

See? I told myself. Slick. You are a vault. An unshakeable wall.

A couple of hours of restless sleep later, we were standing under the brutal, unforgiving fluorescent lights of the rehearsal studio.

Our track was blasting through the massive speakers, the music vibrating through the floorboards. We were running choreos for some of our old and new releases, a series of high-energy routines where every movement had to be sharp, synchronized, and aggressive.

This was my element. When I’m dancing, the hurricane in my mind usually shuts off. I don't have to think about eyes, or smiles, or the way someone looks in an oversized pink hoodie. I just have to execute.

Until we reached THAT song. The one with the twirl.

After the formation shifts, I'm supposed to step forward, catch Dani by the waist, and twirl her into the center line.

Phase 3, my brain screamed as she spun toward me. Strictly business. Just a bandmate. Don't fuck it up.

I stepped in. My hand went to her hip- but instead of the firm, supportive grip I usually gave her, the one that kept her perfectly balanced every single time, I kept my palm completely flat, barely brushing the fabric of her crop top, trying desperately to minimize contact.

It was a disaster.

Without my usual leverage, her center of gravity wavered. Her foot caught on the edge of her sneaker, and she stumbled, her shoulder colliding heavily into my chest as the music continued to blast through the giant speaker.

"Cut! Cut!" the director yelled over the microphone, the music cutting out into an echoing silence. "Girls, what was that? Your timing was off. Let's fix the grip on the transition. Again!"

The other girls took a collective breath, stepping back into their starting positions. But Dani didn't move.

She stayed right in front of me, panting slightly from the cardio, her hazel eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my entire plan completely crash. The soft, sleepy girl from the van was gone; this was the main dancer. The girl who fought through the same war I did.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice low enough that only I could hear it over the murmurs in the back.

"Adjusting my grip," I muttered, looking anywhere but her face. "Trying a lighter touch for more fluid motion."

"Bullshit," Dani whispered, stepping closer, completely obliterating my mandatory two-foot radius. "You didn't even grab me. You're acting like I'm covered in spikes. Did I do something?"

Breathe. Please breathe. Please do not collapse right now.

"No," I said, my voice cracking slightly before I forced it back into a flat line. "You're fine. We're fine. Just… focusing on the performance."

Dani tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she scanned my face, looking for the tell she always seemed to find. Then, her expression softened, a tiny dimple peeking out on her left cheek.

"Okay," she mumbled, "just try not to break my legs while you're being creative."

I freeze, eyes wide at her words. Is she crazy? I'll get fired! If they fire me, I'll never see her again!

"Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry," I break, unable to stay stoic when she looks at me like that. "I'm- I'll fix it."

"Right," she huffed. She reached out, her fingers brushing against my wrist for a split second before she turned back to the formation line. "Grab my waist properly next time, cabrona. I don't like falling."

I stood there, my army completely defeated, my rule book set on fire. My brain stuck in statics. Cabrona.

Sophia caught my eye from across the room, raising her eyebrows with a look that said: What the hell is wrong with you?

I don't know woman. I don't know. Just end me right here.

The music started again. Dani was already in position, her back to me, waiting.

I stepped forward. This time, I didn't think. I just grabbed her. Firm, steady, the way she needed.

She didn't stumble. She spun perfectly, her hair fanning out, and when she landed, she glanced back at me. Just for a second.

Her lips moved. No sound. I just nodded dumbly, unable to hear anything over the sound of blood rushing to my ears.

A break was called soon after. Sophia magically appeared at my elbow. "You're staring."

"I'm not."

"Liar." Manon threw over her shoulder as she passed by. I gape at her, turning to Sophia to see if she heard Manon too, or if I was imagining it.

Sophia was smirking at me. "Don't look at me like that."

I roll my eyes, not having the energy to argue.

So…Manon knows too.

I gulp, the room feeling stuffy, suffocating me. I spin around and leave Sophia in the dust. I walk towards the elevator, my hand reaching for the panel when a 'hey!' sounds from behind. I spin and find…

Fucking hell, woman. Daniela Andrea Avanzini Lorente. I swear to-

"Hey Dani," I plaster a smile on my face, one that turns into a real smile when hers stretches wide, teeth and sunshine and all. Pathetic. If my mama saw me, she'd whack me for being so weak.

"Coffee run?" She asks as I press the arrow down. I mumble a small, "No. Just going for a walk. Fresh air and all."

She looks away for a second, then asks, "Do you mind if I join?"

Eeeeeehhhhhhh say no, I dare you.

The elevator dings and the doors open. I hold it for her to step in first, quickly schooling my face when I realized I just gave her 'please marry me' eyes. So much for a foolproof plan.

We walk in silence, basking in the afternoon breeze. I didn't realize so much time had passed in the studio. I'm so deep in my thoughts, recalling the day when something soft lingers against the back of my hand. I look down and find the back of her right hand grazing against mine. I peeked at her face to find her staring straight ahead, looking unbothered.

Should I do it? What happens if I do? Will she hate me? Will she think I'm weird? Or worse, will she think this is completely platonic and not care?

I want to hold her hand. I want it so bad. But we're just friends. Best friends. I'm not even her type. It's not like I'm the only one she's close to, too. She hugs all the girls like that.

'It's not like I'm the only one who wants to hold her hand', I think bitterly.

I feel something crawl up my chest. Like my stomach blew up and burned my insides. Fuck.

Dani's hand brushed mine again. This time, I didn't look down. I just… let it happen. Let my pinky drift, just a fraction, toward hers.

She didn't pull away.

My heart stopped. Then restarted at twice the speed.

"You're quiet," Dani said, still not looking at me.

"Thinking," I managed.

"About what?"

About how your skin feels against mine. About how much I want you. About whether you'd scream or laugh or cry if I told you the truth. About how I'm going to survive the next five minutes without doing something stupid.

"Choreography," I lied.

I feel her slow to a stop.

I stop a single step after, because my body apparently responds to her before my brain can process.

She turned to face me, her head tilted, those hazel eyes searching my face in that way that always made me feel like she could see straight through every wall I'd ever built.

"Don't lie to me," she said. Not mean. Just…sad. Offended. A small, soft smile played at the corner of her lips. "Do you think I'm that clueless?"

My heart dropped to my ass. What. The. Fuck. I opened my mouth to say something. Anything. Nothing came out.

She stepped closer. The two-foot radius was dead. Murdered. Gone.

Her scent invades my senses. She smells like heaven, if heaven smelled like her perfume and body spray, and a bit of clean sweat from the intense six-hour dancing session we just did.

"Is it really so hard," she asked quietly, "to just tell me what's going on in that head of yours?"

Yes. It's impossible. Because if I tell you, everything changes. Or nothing changes, and that would be worse.

"I don't know what you mean," I finally whispered.

Dani's hand found mine. Not brushing this time, but fully holding it. Her perfectly manicured fingers laced through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Liar," she said. But her voice was warm. Her thumb traced a small circle on the back of my hand.

Why is everyone calling me a liar today?

"You don't have to say it," she added, so quiet I almost missed it. "Not yet. But… don't hide from me. Okay? I hate it when you hide."

I stared at our intertwined fingers. At how perfectly they fit. Oh, if only.

"Okay," I breathed.

She smiled, that real, crinkly-eyed smile that picked me apart and put me back together, and squeezed my hand once before letting go.

"Good. Now get me a snack, I'm hungry and tired of your brooding."

And just like that, she started walking again, leaving me frozen on the sidewalk, my hand still tingling, my chest a mess of terror and hope.

We got back from our snack run to find everyone waiting for us. It was weirdly funny, watching their eyes follow us all the way from the door to our spots.

The rest of the practice is a test of my endurance. Every time I look at her, she looks back. Every move she makes, I stare, hypnotized by the way she moves. Even the furrow of her brows is perfection. I mentally thank her mother for gifting us with a miracle, smiling at my ridiculous thoughts.

One chance. Just one chance.

After the session ends, Sophia pulls me aside. "You sneaky bitch, what did you guys do?"

I flick her forehead, drawing out a "Nothing" to hide my grin. She eyes me and opens her mouth to rip me a new one, before a giggly "Liar" sounds from our left. I jump at Megan's jab, thankful my eyes can't set her on fire with how hard I glare.

"Not you too…" I run my hand down my face, exasperated at how fucking exposed I felt. "What is wrong with you people today? Is it 'bully the giant' day today?"

The two chuckle, side-eyeing each other while I drown in my misery.

"Nooo…you're just extra…you, today," Megan admits, like it's a top secret she's been trying so hard to keep.

I bristle, "Excuse me?"

Megan grins, undeterred. "You know what I mean. You're all smiley. Did something happen on your walk?"

My face? Hot. Flaming. On fire. Call 911. "No."

Sophia snorts. "She flicked me and then smiled about it. She's so lying."

"I smiled because I flicked you," I say. "It was satisfying."

"Mmhm." Sophia crosses her arms. "And the staring? Was that satisfying too?"

I freeze. "What staring? I'm not staring." I chuckle nervously, attempting to deflect.

Manon's hand snakes around my torso in a side hug, "Aw, come on, you were eyeing her like she's your salvation." The two nod in agreement.

FUCK. This is next-level embarrassing. "You saw that?"

"We all saw that," Megan says cheerfully.

I need to move to a different planet.

Before I can start planning a new identity, a familiar voice cuts through my spiral.

"What's so funny?"

I whip around. Dani is standing there, water bottle in hand, head tilted, looking between the four of us with curious eyes. Her gaze lingers on me for a second longer than the rest.

My soul leaves my body.

"Nothing!" I say. Too fast. Too loud.

Sophia saves me…sort of. "We were just teasing the Captain about her dance face. Very intense today. Very… focused."

Manon nods, her arm still around me. "Yeah. She's been staring at the mirror like it owes her money."

I could kiss them. I could also strangle them. The line is blurry.

Dani's eyes flick to me. A small smile plays on her lips. "Oh yeah? Focused on what?"

My brain blanks. "Choreography," I manage. "Just…counting the steps. In my head."

"Mmhm." Dani takes a sip of her water, not breaking eye contact. "You should probably watch your feet, then. You almost tripped over the speaker cable twice."

Megan snorts. Sophia buries her face in her hand. I feel my entire face ignite.

"That was on purpose…" I grumble, almost pouting. Almost.

Dani's smile widens. "Sure." She turns to the others. "Anyway, I'm heading out. You coming?" She glances back at me.

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

"She'll meet you there," Sophia says, shoving me forward. "She just needs to grab her bag."

Dani nods, already walking toward the door. "Don't take too long."

And then she's gone.

I round on Sophia. "What the hell Soph-"

"You're welcome." She grins. "Now go. Before she changes her mind."

My feet are already moving.

I'm so, so screwed.

Months later, we're back in LA. The tour is over. So many billboards with our faces on them, which still makes me do a double-take every time I drive past one.

You'd think the chaos would have settled by now. It hasn't. If anything, life has gotten louder. More interviews, more photo shoots, more talk show appearances where I have to pretend I'm not constantly aware of exactly where Dani is standing and how out-of-this-world she looks.

But there are quiet moments, too. Moments I store in my mental cardboard box, the one dedicated to her, the one that only ever seems to grow, bigger than any other box. I store the ones between the noise. Late nights in the studio when everyone else has gone home. Early mornings at the dorm when the sun is barely up and she's still in her pajamas, hair a mess, squinting at her phone.

That's where I notice it.

She's texting someone. A lot.

More than usual.

At first, I don't think anything of it. Dani has friends. Family. A whole life outside of Katseye. But then I catch the smile. The small, private one she gets when her phone buzzes and her eyes flick to the screen.

It's not the same smile she gives me, or any of our bandmates. This one is softer. Quieter. Like a secret she's keeping from the world.

I tell myself I'm imagining things.

Then I see a name. A name that circles around TikTok and gossip accounts. A name that I see on her phone- accidentally, of course, because I'm not that kind of person.

Jonah.

My stomach drops. My heart clenches. My throat closes. My eyes burn.

I get restless, fidgety, snappy. I become somewhat of an asshole, and I'm not proud of it. I hate it. I hate the clipped answers I give her. I hate not being near her, or holding her hand, or carrying her bag, or making her laugh with my dry humor.

She's sitting across from me on the couch, scrolling through her messages, and I'm pretending to watch a show while my eyes keep drifting to her screen like a traitor.

Jonah. Jonah. Jonah.

Her phone keeps pinging with a new text.

She grins. Types back. Laughs under her breath.

I feel something hot crawl up my chest. The same thing I felt that day on the sidewalk when I thought about someone else holding her hand. The same thing I feel every time someone gets too close to her.

Jealousy. Actual, ugly, irrational jealousy.

Fuck.

I don't even know what she likes. We've never talked about it. I've never asked, because asking would mean admitting why I want to know, and I'm not ready for that conversation. I'd rather swim in a pool of jellyfish than ask her that question.

But if I had to guess, based on the way she's smiling at her phone right now, I'd say Jonah is more than a friend.

And I'm just… here.

A best friend. A bandmate. A useless gay who can't even hold eye contact without combusting.

I should give up. I should accept that I missed my chance, assuming I ever had one. I should focus on the music, on the job, on literally anything else.

But I can't.

Because every time she laughs at something Jonah said, I want to be the one making her laugh. Every time she types back too fast, I want to be the reason her thumbs can't keep up.

So I do the only thing I can.

I try harder.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing embarrassing. Just… small things.

I bring her coffee before she asks, and if I'm feeling extra, I have it waiting for her every morning.

I offer to drive her around to her destinations, calling her my passenger princess, which, kudos to me, makes her blush and giggle. I pretend it's on my way. It's almost always not. I add twenty minutes to my commute and don't say a word.

I start leaving little notes on her mirror. Dumb things.

You're gonna kill it today.

Don't forget to hydrate.

Your hair looks nice.

That new lipstick is doing things. (That one I almost didn't leave. I left it anyway.)

She smiles at the notes. Tucks them into the edge of her mirror like they're keepsakes.

I ambush her more often, offering to do her hair routine and adding an extra massage here and there.

I take her on what could pass as a date or an outing. A lunch, a nail appointment, a shopping spree, a brunch with friends.

Once, I got her flowers. When she asked why, I said, "Just because."

It took me a long time, but I started to initiate touch instead of just receiving it from her.

The girls noticed, of course. They grilled me about it. A wink here, a jab there. But under all the teasing, I feel the support. They're silently rooting for me.

Lara corners me in the kitchen, urging me to confess, or at least make it clearer.

"I know it's hard. I know you're scared. But if you don't make a move now, you're gonna lose your chance. She won't be available forever, you know?"

I swallow thickly, tears brimming in my eyes, "I know that, Lara. But what if she's…not into me? I don't want to lose what we already have."

Lara grabs my shoulders, trying to physically shake some sense into me, "You're not gonna know unless you ask! Or at least try! But don't fumble just because you're worried. You love her, right?" I nod.

I admit it. I love her. I’m in love with her. "I love her, Lara." My voice cracks, a tear escaping, no matter how hard I tried.

"Then go get her." The finality in her tone is the sledgehammer to the last wall.

I know I can't keep hiding forever. And I know that every time she looks at me, my heart flutters the way it always has. I know she'll always have a hold on me. Always. Even if I lose her to him.

But I don't want to live like that. I don't want to know what it's like. I want her. In my life, and every life I'll ever live.

So I start planning. Quietly. Awkwardly. Pathetically.

Because the alternative is doing nothing, and I've done nothing for too long.

I'm not about to just sit there and watch someone take her away from me.

Not her. Not my Dani.

My inbox is open for all!

#katseye x reader #katsblr #Daniela Avanzini x reader #manon bannerman x reader #Megan Skiendiel x reader #Sophia laforteza x reader #Lara Raj x reader

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