annexe : Stage mirrors
summary :
The silence of Studio B is no longer an abyss, but a promise. Crossing the threshold of her old life once more, Jaeha realizes that SEVENTEEN never filled the void she left behind: they learned to dance around it. Between Woozi's stifled tears, DK's thunderous laughter, and Seungcheol's protective wisdom, she discovers that true home isn't a place, but the people who keep your place intact. This final chapter is one of forgiveness and wholeness, where music and speed cease to fight and become one single heartbeat.
Masterlist
The building's walls looked exactly the same. The slightly yellowed paint, the framed posters in the hallway, the familiar smell of cold coffee and waxed floors. And yet, everything felt different. Perhaps because she wasn't the same person anymore. Or perhaps because this place, after so many months of silence and distance, now carried the weight of things that had never been said.
Jaeha paused for a moment in the main studio hallway. Through the slightly ajar door, she could hear muffled voices, laughter, and the rhythm of an electronic drum. Her hand trembled slightly on the handle. She took a deep breath. It wasn't fear of returning, not quite- more that mixture of nostalgia and apprehension one feels before seeing beloved faces again after a long absence.
She pushed the door open.
The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights blinded him for a moment. The air smelled of sweat and disinfectant. Hoshi was in the center, as always, a bandana tied around her forehead, correcting her step with the obsessive precision she knew so well. Woozi, behind the console, tapped away on his computer. DK and Joshua chatted in a corner, while Jeonghan and Seungkwan stretched lazily by the mirror. Seungcheol, leaning against the wall, watched the scene with his arms crossed.
No one had seen her before.
For a split second, she remained there, invisible, watching them move, talk, laugh. It was like a dream frozen in time: the choreography, the jokes, the bursts of voices- everything seemed identical. Except that she, in the meantime, had crumbled a little.
Then Woozi raised his head. His gaze found her immediately. Silence fell abruptly.
The others followed his gaze. The laughter died away. The footsteps ceased. There was nothing left but the sound of the collective breathing of those who, for a moment, no longer knew how to breathe.
"Hi," she said finally, in a voice that was a little too calm.
DK was the first to move.- Jaeha…
He had breathed her name, as if pronouncing it were enough to break a spell. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. The sound of the latch echoed.
- I didn't mean to disturb you. I saw you were rehearsing.
Seungcheol uncrossed his arms and approached slowly. - You're not bothering him, he said simply.
A long silence followed. Woozi looked away, staring at the console. Hoshi wiped the sweat from her brow, feeling uneasy. Seungkwan fiddled with the drawstring of his sweatshirt. It was strange, she thought, to see those you love suddenly become strangers, just because you took too long to come back.
"We were waiting for you," Hoshi finally said. Her voice trembled a little, but her gaze did not waver.
She nodded. - I know. I took my time. Too much, perhaps.
Woozi quietly closed his computer. "We kept singing," he said calmly. "But it wasn't the same." "Me neither," she replied. "I didn't drive the same way."
He looked up at her, and for a brief moment, it all came flooding back: the nights in the studio, the arguments about arrangements, the laughter that arose amidst the fatigue.
DK approached, awkward but sincere. "Are you alright?" he asked softly. "I think so, yes. Let's just say I'm still learning to breathe differently."
Joshua gave a nervous little laugh. - That hasn't changed. Always the same Yoo Jaeha metaphors. - I have to have a style, she replied, giving a faint smile.
The atmosphere relaxed a little. Not completely - not yet - but enough for the silence to cease being a wall.
Hoshi nodded towards the mirror. - Do you want to try?
She hesitated. - It's been a long time. - Exactly.
She put down her bag, took off her jacket, and approached the mirror. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet. The music started again, softly, a simple, familiar loop. The opening notes of a song they had choreographed together years ago. Her muscles protested at first, then found their rhythm, almost involuntarily.
Hoshi watched her intently. - You still have that thing, he murmured. - What thing? - That way of dancing as if you're not trying to prove anything, but to understand.
She laughed softly, barely out of breath. - Maybe I have nothing left to prove, then.
Woozi returned to his place behind the console, observing the scene for a moment through the glass. Joshua tapped out the beat with his fingertips, DK hummed the chorus. Seungkwan, without realizing it, took over the harmonies. And little by little, the studio found its natural rhythm. Not the same as before. A new one. Different, but vibrant.
When the song stopped, Jaeha leaned against the wall, panting. Hoshi approached, a tired smile on her lips. "See? We never erased you."
She looked at him for a long time. "I was afraid you had done it." "We tried," he admitted with a nervous laugh. "But it was impossible. You were there, everywhere. In our footsteps, in the silences, even in the moments when we wanted to forget you."
She felt her throat tighten. Woozi looked away again, but she saw his jaw tremble slightly. He had never been good at expressing things except through music.
Seungcheol approached in turn, placing a hand on her shoulder. - You're back, that's all that matters.
She nodded. - I came back. Not to take everything back. Just to be here.
A slight smile crossed Jeonghan's face, who had remained reserved until then. "Perfect. Because we didn't want you to take everything back either. We just wanted you to be here."
She burst out laughing, a real laugh this time. The kind she hadn't let out in months. And in that sound, in that mixture of fatigue, joy, and relief, something was quietly being repaired.
The music started again, a little louder, and the voices joined in naturally. The room filled with life once more, as if time had never truly managed to separate them.
The next day, the air in the studio seemed lighter. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting golden streaks on the wooden floor. The smell of disinfectant mingled with that of coffee and damp cloth. The day had barely begun, but the familiar hubbub of rehearsals already filled the room: the squeak of sneakers, ragged breaths, the sharp clap of hands marking the beat.
Jaeha had returned early, as before. She changed in the silence of the dressing room, not daring to turn on the main light. Her reflection in the mirror surprised her: her features a little harsher, the fatigue around her eyes, but the same sparkle in her gaze. The one she thought she had lost. She ran a hand through her hair, sighed, then went back into the room.
Almost all of them were already there. Hoshi was giving instructions, his back straight, his voice firm. He had that tone he adopted when he switched into choreographer mode- precise, demanding, almost military. Jun and Minghao were warming up in a corner, their movements graceful and controlled. DK and Seungkwan joked quietly, while Seungcheol watched the scene, arms crossed, focused.
"In position," Hoshi called out. "We're back on the bridge, and this time we'll maintain the same energy until the end."
They took their positions. The music started, and immediately the room filled with the sound of footsteps and mingled breaths. The floor vibrated slightly beneath their coordinated movements. Jaeha had slipped to the back, observing without intervening, her arms crossed. She knew every step, every transition, every rise in tempo. Her body moved almost involuntarily, a subtle echo of their gestures.
Hoshi realized this. Between counting, he raised his hand and gestured towards her with his chin. "You're not just here to watch, are you? Come here."
She gave a nervous little laugh. - Seriously? - You didn't come all this way to stay against the wall.
The others stepped aside to make room for her. She moved forward hesitantly, then joined the line between Jun and Minghao. The music started again, and for a few seconds, her whole body protested: her knees creaked, her muscles stiffened, her breath came in short gasps. But from the very first movements, her memory returned.
Each step, each beat, each glide on the floor seemed both foreign and familiar. Dance, she thought, never truly dies. It hides, waiting for someone to dare to call it back.
Around her, the boys followed the rhythm, focused. Hoshi, facing the mirror, marked the beat: - One, two, three - breathe! - four! Their reflections mingled in the glass: thirteen silhouettes, united by the music. And in the middle, hers, returned to its natural place.
At the end of the song, the room erupted in collective laughter. Seungkwan collapsed to the floor, DK threw his arms up in the air, panting. "We survived!" he shouted. "Barely," Joshua replied, laughing. "You're exaggerating," Minghao said. "It was... almost perfect."
Hoshi wiped his forehead with his towel, still breathless. He looked at Jaeha in the mirror, without turning around. "See? We never erased you."
She met his gaze in the reflection. The words touched her gently, like a caress on a scar. "Maybe," she said, "but I needed to find myself before coming back here." "You know," Hoshi replied, turning to face her, "you didn't have to be perfect to come back. We would have taken you back even broken."
Her voice barely trembled. She felt something crack inside her, like a lock being slowly opened. The others said nothing, but their glances were enough: there was relief, tenderness, and that modesty inherent in bonds one has never truly lost.
Seungcheol approached, slowly wiping the back of his neck. "We all have our mirrors," he said. "Sometimes they reflect things we don't want to see. But this morning, I think ours is finally showing us something true."
She nodded, unable to reply. In the mirror, their reflections formed a strange picture: faces marked by fatigue, yet illuminated by a new light. The light of forgiveness, perhaps. Or simply understanding.
Jun, with his usual gentleness, approached her. - You always move as if you're breathing in a song, he said. - And you always seem to float above the ground, she replied with a smile. - That means we're balanced, right?
She laughed, a real laugh this time. The tension subsided.
The music started again, louder, clearer. DK clapped his hands, Joshua called out an enthusiastic “one more,” and they all resumed their positions. The first notes resonated, familiar, powerful. Their bodies moved together, perfectly in tune, not because they were synchronized, but because they trusted each other.
As the minutes passed, the studio seemed to fade away. Only the music, their breathing, and their heartbeats remained. The mirror reflected everything- the smiles, the gestures, the sweat- but above all, this silent unity, rediscovered without them needing to name it.
When the song ended, Jaeha remained motionless for a moment. Their panting reflections still overlapped in the window. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn't afraid to meet her own gaze.
Night was gently falling on Seoul. Through the studio windows, the city lights formed a sea of golden points, stretching to the horizon. The muffled rumble of cars mingled with the steady bass rumble filtering from the floors below. The building vibrated softly, like a living organism.
Jaeha entered without knocking. She knew the way by heart- the narrow corridor, the slightly worn steps, the padded door of Studio B. Inside, the air was heavy, thick with sound and coffee. Woozi was there, of course, his eyes glued to his computer screen, headphones around his neck. DK dozed on a sofa, an empty water bottle in his hand, and Joshua tuned a guitar, staring into space.
When the door opened, the three of them looked up almost at the same time. "Oh," said DK, her voice still sleepy. "I thought it was a hallucination." "Not this time," she replied with a small smile.
Joshua gently placed the guitar on the floor. "You chose your moment," he said. "Woozi just finished the mix." "Oh yeah? Perfect timing then."
Woozi stood up without a word, rummaged through the cables, and then pressed play. The music slowly filled the room, like a tide. Simple chords, a soft, melancholic melody. Then came the lead vocal- DK's, full and vibrant- followed by Seungkwan and Joshua.
But it wasn't the words that struck Jaeha. It was the silence between them. Those slight, almost imperceptible pauses, as if something was missing from the balance.
She closed her eyes. Listened. The words spoke of absence, of promises kept despite the distance, of light rediscovered. In each note, there was a beat she recognized without wanting to admit it.
When the song ended, no one spoke immediately. The silence that followed was not empty. It was full, charged, vibrant.
Woozi, arms crossed, was still staring at the screen. "That's the one we were supposed to record the year you left," he said simply. "I remember. You wanted a bridge in Korean and English because you said it sounded 'more universal'." "Yeah. And in the end, I left the bridge blank."
She looked up at him, surprised. - Empty? - Just the music. No lyrics.
DK sat up on the sofa, his voice softer. "We didn't know what to call you in the song. So we left you in silence. Like a note we're still waiting for."
She felt her throat tighten. Her gaze slid over the instruments placed here and there, the annotated scores, the half-full mugs. Everything here bore the traces of their work, their sleepless nights, of what they had continued to build while she, elsewhere, tried to survive.
"Are you angry with me?" she finally asked.
Woozi paused before replying. - No. We just… missed you. And we didn't know how to say it without it sounding like a reproach.
Joshua, sitting on the edge of the sofa, crossed his arms. "You know, we often wondered what it was like for you over there. The circuits, the lights, the pressure." "It was… everything," she replied after a silence. "Beautiful, exhausting, terrifying. I thought I'd found my place. But sometimes, I just wanted to come back here." "Then why didn't you call?" "Because I was afraid my voice would tremble."
Joshua gave a sad smile. - Even trembling, we would have listened to you.
She laughed softly, a little embarrassed. DK had stood up. He approached her, his hand on his heart. "Look," he said, pointing to her chest. "That's where you were all this time. We didn't replace you. We just kept you here, waiting for you to come back."
Woozi looked away, but she saw his lips move, imperceptibly. "You weren't a hole in the song," he murmured. "You were the silence that held it together."
She felt her eyes burning. Her hands were trembling a little, but she was smiling. "If you continue, I won't be able to sing," she said, her voice breaking. "Then sing before we start talking again," DK replied with a wink.
Woozi started a new track. The microphone lit up, the red light flashed. She hesitated for a second, then put on her headphones. The sound of the music filled her ears. The bridge appeared, the one they had left empty.
She closed her eyes, and her voice rose. Soft, a little husky, but true. The words weren't written; they came of their own accord, simple and sincere: “I'm home again, but I never left you. Every road I took led back to your sound.”
When she opened her eyes again, Woozi was watching her through the window, motionless. DK had his hands clasped, as if he were praying. Joshua, head bowed, was smiling.
The song ended slowly. No one applauded. There was no need to.
Woozi entered the cabin and placed his hand on her shoulder. - There. Now it's complete.
Jaeha nodded, her throat tight. "Thank you. For saving my seat." "We didn't save it," Joshua said. "It was here. You just had to come back to see it."
She laughed through her tears. And in that laughter, mingled with breath and music, there was no more resentment, no more distance. Just the quiet beat of a bond rediscovered.
The restaurant was small, tucked away at the end of an alley near Gangnam, a place they'd frequented since their early days. The light was soft, filtered through paper lampshades, and the walls still bore traces of their old signatures- scribbled one euphoric evening after an impromptu concert. The owner greeted them as usual, with a warm smile, as if nothing had changed.
Nothing, except them.
The dishes were already piled high on the table: steaming kimchi jjigae, assorted banchan, rice, bulgogi, and that comforting aroma of grilled meat that made you forget your fatigue. Jaeha sat down between DK and Seungkwan, while Hoshi struggled to serve everyone at once. Mingyu, of course, had proclaimed himself master of the barbecue, watching over the pieces with almost religious seriousness.
"If you turn them over again, they'll end up charred," Jeonghan said, amused. "That's the technique," Mingyu replied. "Grilled, but not burned." "Like your ego," Seungkwan muttered, triggering a burst of general laughter.
The tension of the previous days had dissipated, replaced by this familiar warmth, this joyful cacophony where conversations overlapped without anyone noticing. Jaeha observed the scene, silent for a moment, absorbed by the simple pleasure of seeing them laugh.
DK leaned towards her. "It's strange, isn't it?" "What is it?" "All of this. You here, with us. It seems like nothing has changed, but at the same time, everything is different." "That's normal," she replied softly. "We've grown up. Even if we pretend we haven't."
Seungkwan, who had heard everything, looked up from his bowl. "Me, I haven't grown. I've just gained weight." "It's experience," Joshua joked. "Wisdom weighs a lot." "Or dessert," DK added.
The bursts of laughter started again, louder than before. Hoshi almost knocked over a plate while gesturing wildly, Jun caught him just in time, and Seungcheol simply shook his head, half-despairing, half-touched.
When calm gradually returned, Minghao poured hot tea into chipped cups. Steam rose between them, forming a light veil. Jeonghan was the first to break the silence, his voice calm. "I never thought we'd experience this again. All together, without any tension." "Me neither," Jaeha admitted. "I was afraid it was too late."
Seungkwan put down his chopsticks, his expression serious for once. "I was afraid you wouldn't come back at all," he said simply.
The words fell silent. Jaeha felt her chest tighten. "I almost did," she murmured. "There were times when I was tired of fighting against everything. Against the judgments, the contracts, the cameras." "And what made you stay?" Hoshi asked.
She paused before answering. - The memory of you. And the promise I made to myself. That if one day I lost everything, I would at least have this left: this table, these laughs, and the music.
A murmur of emotion rippled across the table. Woozi looked down, Seungcheol tapped the table with his fingertips. DK, for his part, smiled gently. "You know," he said, "even when you weren't there, we included you in the discussions. Like, 'What would Jaeha say about this choreography?' or 'She'd scream if she saw that move.'" "I hope I was right, in your imaginary debates." "Not always," Mingyu replied. "But you were funny, even in our heads."
The laughter resumed, lighter this time.
Jeonghan, thoughtful, observed the scene before calmly saying: "What matters is not that we doubted. It's that we persevered."
No one answered immediately, but everyone nodded silently. He was right. They had doubted, wavered, sometimes even nearly broken up. But they had held on. Each in their own way.
The evening continued in a quiet hubbub. Plates were emptied, glasses were refilled. Hoshi threw absurd challenges at Mingyu, DK hummed softly, Seungkwan imitated managers, provoking uncontrollable fits of laughter.
Jaeha, for her part, let herself be lulled by the noise, the familiar chaos. She realized how much she had missed it: the human warmth, the presence, the way they had of transforming fatigue into tenderness.
When the time came to leave, they all went out into the street together. The night air was fresh, the city still vibrant around them. Their footsteps echoed on the sidewalk.
"When are you hitting the road again?" asked Seungcheol. "Tomorrow morning. I have tests in Barcelona." "Of course," he replied with a smile. "You always have a start to make."
She smiled in turn. - But this time, I know where to return.
They stopped at the street corner, where their paths diverged. Seungkwan raised his hand in farewell, Hoshi ruffled his hair like in the old days, and Woozi called out a simple "see you later" in a low voice.
And as she walked away, she could still hear their laughter behind her. Genuine laughter, not the forced kind for the cameras. Laughter of belonging.
She walked slowly towards the taxi stand, a quiet smile on her face. One step after another.
The room was plunged into semi-darkness. Technicians adjusted the lights, dancers warmed up, and the chords of an electric guitar rose, breaking the morning silence. It was the last rehearsal before the tour. A day like any other, and yet, Jaeha felt something shifting within her- a new peace, a slower breathing.
She stood at the back of the stage, hood up, watching the band rehearse. The golden morning light filtered through the openings in the curtain, tracing clear lines like trajectories across the floor. Hoshi counted aloud, Seungcheol gave directions, Woozi checked the monitor mix, and DK rehearsed a vocal passage over and over.
They were beautiful, she thought. Not beautiful in the aesthetic sense of the word, but beautiful because they were alive. Every movement, every breath, every effort had a weight, a sincerity that made the heart of the room beat.
"How long do you plan to stay hidden?" Seungcheol's voice called from behind her.
She turned around with a smile. - Just enough to enjoy the show. - Or to judge our synchronization? - Both, she admitted.
He laughed softly. "It's good to see you like this again. Without fear." "I think I needed it," she murmured. "To see that it all goes on without me. And that it's okay that way."
He nodded, looked at the group rehearsing. "You know, we never tried to fill the void left by your absence. We just learned to dance around it. And now that you're back, it's like everything has fallen back into place." "Maybe my place isn't to come back into the spotlight," she said. "Maybe it's just to be here, somewhere between the spotlights and the road."
Seungcheol placed a hand on his shoulder, a simple but meaningful gesture. - No matter where you go, you are part of who we are. And you know it.
She lowered her eyes, moved, unable to reply.
The rehearsal ended shortly after. The boys left the stage one by one, waving to the technicians, still laughing at their mistakes. Jaeha remained for a moment, alone in the center, watching the spotlights slowly fade. The stage was bathed in a soft, almost unreal, orange light.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The silence after the music felt familiar. It resembled the silence of racetracks before a race: that electric emptiness, that suspended anticipation where anything is still possible.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. A message from her engineer: “Flight confirmed. Meet at the airport at 10 p.m.” She smiled. The road was already calling her.
A few hours later, night had fallen on Seoul. At the airport, artificial lights cast reflections on the floor. Suitcases filed past, announcements followed one after another, and Jaeha walked slowly, headphones around his neck, ticket in hand. His flight to Barcelona was scheduled for midnight.
Before boarding, she took out her phone and scrolled through her messages. The last one was a voicemail from Hoshi, received barely an hour earlier: “We’ve finished rehearsal. It was good. We already miss you. We promise we’ll send you a video of the concert. And when you come back, you’ll dance with us. Even if it’s just one step.”
She listened to the message twice. Hoshi's tone, a mix of tenderness and energy, brought a smile to her face.
In the departure lounge, a television was showing a sports report. She instinctively looked up. The images showed the Barcelona paddock, the Red Bull mechanics, the cars gleaming in the Spanish sun. And, amidst the images, her own face appeared for a moment. Caption: “Yoo Jaeha – The Korean driver who is redefining speed.”
A quiet laugh escaped her. She turned off her phone screen, tightened the strap of her bag, and walked towards the boarding gate.
Between the stage and the road, she thought, there was no longer a border. There were no longer two lives, no longer two worlds to reconcile. There was only her - whole, at peace, ready to go on.
As she boarded the plane, she cast one last glance through the window. The city still shone, a gleam of neon lights and memories. And in the reflection of the porthole, she thought for a moment she saw the studio, the stage, the mirror.
Between the stage and the road, she no longer chose - She simply moved forward, carried by the same beat.
