Discover Top Posts Tagged with #katseyex7thmember

Quiet Gravity.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Request: here :)

Summary: You may not be the loudest, but you are the steady heart that everyone leans on. Between performances, family visits, and late-night laughs, you quietly hold the group—and their hearts—together.

Pairings: Katseye x 7th member

Warning(s): mentions of stress / exhaustion / fluff / comfort / mild language

A/N: apologies if the translations arent fully accurate - blame google

sending hugs to anyone that needs one🩷

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Before debut lines were drawn. Before rankings split friendships into 'safe' and 'at risk.' Before the name Katseye meant anything at all, there were dozens of girls.

Different accents echoing down hallways. Different time zones calling them home at night. Different dreams clashing gently in mirrored practice rooms.

You weren’t the oldest in the building. Not even close. But you were the one who noticed things.

The dorm kitchen light was almost always on after midnight. Some girls stress-baked. Some girls cried quietly over instant ramen. Some just stared at their phones, refreshing comments.

You didn’t insert yourself loudly. You just… existed nearby.

If someone skipped dinner, you remembered. If someone said they weren’t hungry three nights in a row, you knocked on their door on the fourth night.

Not accusing. Just soft.

'Hey. I made extra. Want some?'

Sometimes they said no. You’d leave the bowl outside anyway. By morning, it was always empty.

Practice Room 3 had a broken speaker that only worked if you hit it on the side. You learned that on day two.

By week two, you were the one fixing it for everyone.

Girls you rarely spoke to would peek in. 'Does it still cut out?'

You’d smack it once. It would buzz back to life.

They’d grin. 'You’re a lifesaver.'

You’d shake your head. 'It just needs patience.'

You could’ve been talking about the speaker. Or the people.

There used to be a line at the water cooler during breaks. One day you noticed half the girls were too tired to wait. So you started filling bottles in advance.

Not just for the ones you were closest to. But for whoever left theirs near the mirror.

Soon it became a quiet joke.

'Don’t worry, she’ll refill it.'

'Who?'

'You know. Her.'

You never announced it. But when elimination week hit and tensions rose, people unconsciously looked to see if you were still doing it.

You were.

The nights before eliminations were different. The dorm was quieter. Nobody wanted to be the first to cry. You’d hear doors open and close softly. Footsteps pacing.

One night you found two trainees sitting in the stairwell whispering about going home.

You didn’t interrupt. You sat one step below them.

After a while you said gently, 'No matter what happens tomorrow, you still did something brave.'

They didn’t answer. But one of them slid their hand into yours, so you held it. Until their breathing evened out.

It wasn’t that you only took care of the future line-up. It’s that certain bonds formed naturally over time.

Manon gravitated toward you during high-stress days. Sophia ended up next to you at meal times without planning to. Daniela argued with you about overworking — and then listened anyway.

Lara stayed late to practice — and you stayed too. Megan started stealing your hoodies. Yoonchae followed your pacing before interviews because it calmed her down.

But there were others, too.

Girls who braided your hair absentmindedly during breaks. Girls who vented in French, Japanese, English, Korean — and you listened even when you didn’t fully understand yet. Girls who didn’t debut. Girls who went home.

And when they did, you were the one hugging them last. Not dramatically. Just tightly. As if imprinting them into memory.

You soon built up a reputation. It happened slowly.

You’d walk into a room and someone would say, 'Did everyone eat?'

And someone else would answer, 'She already checked.'

You’d sigh quietly. 'I’m not monitoring you.'

'Yes, you are.' Daniela would grin.

But even girls outside your close circle started seeking you out.

'Can you watch my run once?' 'Can you tell me if this sounds okay?' 'Can you help me practice this line?'

You never said no. Even when you were tired. Especially when you were tired.

When Lara first mentioned you to her parents, it wasn’t framed like, 'This is the one who will debut with me.'

It was, 'There’s this one trainee.'

That’s it. Just that. Another trainee. Someone who made sure she drank water. Someone who stayed after practice. Someone who didn’t compete loudly — but supported quietly.

When they finally visited during filming, you weren’t introduced as 'future member.'

You were introduced as, 'This is the one I told you about.'

And that meant more.

---

When the final seven were called, Yoonchae smiled. She bowed. She thanked everyone politely. She held it together.

And then backstage, when the cameras cut and the noise turned into distant ringing— She froze.

You noticed immediately.

The others were hugging, crying, laughing in disbelief.

Yoonchae stood a little apart. Not because she didn’t care. But because it suddenly felt very real.

She was the youngest. In a global group. In a language that wasn’t her first. With six other girls who all seemed so strong.

You didn’t make a scene. You just stepped beside her. 'Breathe.' You said softly.

She inhaled. Held it. Exhaled shakily. 'Y/N…' She whispered.

And that was it. That was the beginning.

At first, you learned casually. Basic phrases. Polite endings. Just enough to greet her parents properly one day.

But then you started noticing things. During interviews, she would search for English words and get frustrated.

During rehearsals, if feedback came too quickly in English, she’d nod even if she didn’t fully understand.

So you studied more. Quietly. Late at night with language apps. Writing phrases in the margins of your notebook. Practicing pronunciation under your breath.

The first time you answered her in Korean mid-conversation, she blinked.

'… 언제 배웠어요?' ('Eonjae baewosseoyo?') ('… when did you learn that?')

You stared at her for a second, brows knitting together slightly as you tried to piece together the words.

'Uh… wait,' you said with a small laugh. 'I only caught like… half of that.'

Yoonchae’s eyes widened a little in surprise. 'You understood some?'

'Some,' you admitted. 'Still learning.'

She stared at you for a second longer than usual. 'You didn’t have to.'

'I wanted to.'

It wasn’t about fluency. It was about comfort.

There was a press day early on. Lots of cameras. Fast questions.

Yoonchae stumbled on one answer and went quiet. The room felt heavy for half a second.

You leaned slightly toward her and translated the question into simpler English.

Then, gently in Korean, '괜찮아요, 괜찮아질 거예요.' )'Gwaenchanayo, gwaenchanajil geoyeyo.') ('It’s okay, you’ll be okay.')

She nodded. Answered. And absolutely nailed it.

Later in the van she leaned her head on your shoulder.

'Thank you.' She murmured in English, determined.

You smiled. 'You’re doing so well.'

She didn’t argue. Because when it came from you, she believed it.

Yoonchae hates admitting she’s tired. Hates admitting she’s overwhelmed. She thinks being the youngest means she has to prove something.

So she skips snacks sometimes. Says she’s fine. You never confront her directly. You just… prepare.

Your bag is enormous. Big enough to fit protein bars, cut fruit in small containers, electrolyte packets, her favourite crackers and a tiny chocolate bar you pretend isn’t specifically for her.

During long rehearsals, you’ll sit down, unzip your bag casually, and place something beside her without comment.

She’ll ignore it for five minutes. And then ten. Then eventually her hand sneaks over.

You never look. Never tease. Just let her.

One day she caught you watching out of the corner of your eye. 'You always do that.' She said quietly.

'Do what?'

'Act like you don’t notice.'

You met her gaze. 'If I call attention to it, you’ll stop.'

She huffed. But she didn’t deny it.

At night, sometimes she’d knock on your door. 'Y/N… can we practice?'

You’d put your phone down immediately. You never made her feel like she was interrupting. She’d sit cross-legged on your bed, reading interview answers aloud.

You’d correct gently. Encourage more natural phrasing. Sometimes she’d get frustrated.

'I sound awkward.'

'You sound bilingual.' You corrected. 'It’s impressive.'

She’d go quiet. Then try again. And again. Until she smiled.

The first time she really stood up for herself wasn’t dramatic. Just small.

One of the staff joked lightly, 'You rely on her a lot, huh?'

Yoonchae straightened. 'I don’t rely,' she said carefully in English. 'We... we support each other.'

You looked at her. She avoided eye contact. But her ears were red.

Later you nudged her shoulder. 'You did good, earlier.'

She shrugged. 'You’re not just… taking care of me,' she said softly. 'You take care of all of us. That’s different.'

And that’s when it hit you. You weren’t parenting them. You were anchoring with them.

One night after a particularly exhausting rehearsal cycle, she stayed behind while the others showered.

You were stretching.

You were stretching when she spoke suddenly, her voice quieter than usual. '가끔 무서워요.' ('Gakkeum museowoyo.') ('Sometimes I’m scared.')

You looked up at her, catching the words but not quite enough to piece them together.

'Uh—' you gave a small, apologetic smile. 'I’m… sorry, I'm not that good at Korean yet.'

She blinked, then let out a soft, slightly embarrassed laugh.

'Oh— sorry.' She shifted a little, glancing down at her hands before looking back up at you. 'I said… sometimes I’m scared.'

You tilted your head. 'Of what?'

'That I’m too young. That I’ll disappoint everyone.'

You stood, walked over, and adjusted her posture gently like you always do when she slouches.

'You’re not here because you’re young,' you said calmly. 'You’re here because you’re good.'

She blinked.

You continued softly, '그리고… 혼자가 아니야.' ('Geurigo… honjaga aniya.') ('And… you’re not alone.')

Yoonchae blinked. For a moment she just stared at you, clearly surprised. The words had come out a little slow, the pronunciation not perfect, but unmistakably Korean.

'You—' she let out a small breath of disbelief. 'You said that right.'

You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly a little self-conscious. 'I’m trying,' you said with a small shrug. 'Really trying.'

Her expression softened immediately. Her eyes welled slightly. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you. It wasn’t a clingy hug. It was firm. Grounded and safe.

You don’t smother. You don’t hover. You don’t announce your sacrifices.

You just refill bottles, pack extra snacks, translate when needed, study languages quietly, stay up late practicing answers and make sure the youngest never feels small.

And the thing about Yoonchae?

She might be the baby. But she watches. She sees how much you give.

And even if she doesn’t say it every day— When she sometimes calls you 'unnie,' It’s not about age. It’s about trust.

---

The thing about Manon is that she jokes first. Deflects first. Smirks first.

If she’s tired? She’ll tease someone. If she’s overwhelmed? She’ll exaggerate something for laughs. If she’s hurting? She’ll turn it into sarcasm.

And most people buy it.

But you don’t.

You remember the hard days. Back in Dream Academy, when she had to take days off for health reasons, the building felt different without her.

Some trainees whispered. Some speculated. Some acted like absence meant weakness.

You never let that narrative breathe near her.

The first time she apologised for missing practice, you stopped her mid-sentence.

'Don’t.'

She blinked. 'I just—'

'Don’t,' you repeated gently. 'Your health isn’t a flaw.'

She laughed it off. 'You sound like a motivational poster.'

You stepped closer. 'I sound like someone who doesn’t want you collapsing.'

That made her go quiet.

Later that night, she admitted softly, 'I feel like I’m letting people down.'

You answered in German before you could overthink it.

'Dein Körper ist nicht dein Feind.' ('Your body is not your enemy.')

Her eyes flickered. 'Have you been practicing?'

You gave a small, sheepish smile, 'I took German in high school,' you admitted. 'It’s… a little rusty.'

Her eyebrow lifted slightly.

'But I kind of took it upon myself to start learning it again,' you added. 'Figured if I’m surrounded by people speaking different languages, I should at least try to keep up.'

Manon studied you for a moment, something softer settling in her expression.

You shrugged.

But what you were really saying was, I’m staying.

After debut, the pressure changed, things moved fast. Schedules. Interviews. Rehearsals. Travel.

Manon thrives in public settings. She’s magnetic. But behind closed doors, when her energy dips, she goes quiet.

You notice before anyone else. Not because the others don’t care. But because you’re watching the baseline.

You know her normal laugh. You know when it’s half a second too late.

In group settings, she’ll joke loudly with Lara. Lean into Daniela’s chaos. Exchange knowing looks with Sophia.

But when everyone disperses?

She drifts. Toward you. Not dramatically. She’ll sit beside you during make-up. Stand near you during rehearsals. Lean against the same wall you’re leaning on.

If you move to refill your water bottle, she’ll unconsciously follow.

One day Daniela notices. 'Why do you two always end up next to each other?'

Manon rolls her eyes. 'We don’t.'

You say nothing. But five minutes later, she’s right back within arm’s reach.

During a heavy rehearsal week, she overdid it. You could see it in the tightness of her shoulders. In the way she stretched longer than necessary. In the way she brushed off a headache.

'Drink.' You said, handing her a bottle.

'I’m fine.'

'That wasn’t a question.'

She smirked. 'Bossy.'

But she drank.

Later that night, when the others went to shower, she lingered.

'Do you ever think,' she started casually, not meeting your eyes, 'that people still see me as the one who couldn’t handle it?'

You didn’t answer immediately. You stepped closer. 'They see you as the one who came back.'

She swallowed.

You continued, voice steady. 'You rested. You healed. You stood on stage anyway. That’s not weakness.'

She looked at you then. Really looked. And for once, she didn’t joke.

You don’t bring it up often. But you know she feels it. You’re the only one older than her. In a group where leadership is shared and age lines blur, that still means something.

When decisions feel overwhelming, she’ll ask your opinion first. When tension rises in the room, her eyes flick to you instinctively. When she’s unsure if she’s overreacting, she checks your face.

You never make a big deal out of it. You just give her something steady to land on.

One night after a show, adrenaline was high. Everyone was loud. Euphoric. Manon was laughing hardest.

But when you stepped away to grab your bag, she followed. 'Where are you going?' She asked lightly.

'Just grabbing something.'

She leaned against the wall near you. Silence.

Then, quieter, 'You’re not going anywhere, right?'

You paused. 'Nowhere.'

She nodded once. Satisfied. Like that was all she needed.

The day when she finally said it, it wasn’t emotional. It was casual. Almost offhand.

You were both sitting on the floor of the practice room after everyone left. She lay back, staring at the ceiling.

'You know I rely on you more than I admit, right?'

You glanced at her. 'I know.'

She laughed softly. 'You’re so calm about it.'

'Should I not be?'

She rolled onto her side, propping her head up. 'When things get loud,' she said slowly, 'I just… I find myself looking for you. And then it feels manageable.'

Your chest tightened slightly. You didn’t dramatize it. You just reached over and nudged her shoulder.

'I’m not carrying you,' you said gently. 'We’re standing next to each other.'

She studied you for a moment. Then smiled — not the stage smile. The real one.

'Yeah,' she agreed softly. 'But you’re still my anchor.'

But in the end, yes, she jokes with Lara because it’s fun. Yes, she banters with Daniela because it’s chaotic. And yes, she leans into the others when needed.

But she comes back to you because you don’t demand anything from her. You don’t need her to be 'on.' You don’t need her to be strong. You don’t need her to prove she belongs. You already decided she does.

And that? That’s what makes you the backbone. Not loud. Not flashy. Just steady enough that even the strongest ones rest against you without realising it.

---

After debut, everything got bigger. More cameras. More edits. More opinions. With Katseye rising fast, the internet had a lot to say. About visuals. About performances. About personality.

Megan laughs at most of it. 'People are bored.' She’ll say.

But you notice when she scrolls too long. You notice when her shoulders round slightly. You notice when she gets quieter after reading something she pretends didn’t matter.

The first time you caught it was when you walked into the dorm living room late one night. The lights were dim. Everyone else had gone to bed. Megan was curled on the couch, phone too close to her face.

You didn’t ask what she was reading. You just sat beside her.

After a minute, she locked her phone and tossed it away dramatically. 'People are weird.' She muttered.

You hummed in agreement as the silence stretched.

Then, smaller, 'Do you ever feel like you’re not… enough? Like you’re the weak link?'

You turned toward her fully. 'No.'

She blinked. You softened it. 'I’ve never once looked at you and thought ‘weak.’'

She looked unconvinced. So you continued. 'You’re loud when you’re comfortable. You’re quiet when you’re thinking. You overanalyse because you care. That’s not weakness.'

Her jaw tightened slightly. 'They said I look awkward on stage.'

'You look real.' You corrected. 'And that’s better.'

She studied your face like she was searching for exaggeration. There wasn’t any. You never lie to make someone feel better. That’s why she believes you.

She won't admit it, but she goes to you for everything. It starts small.

One morning she appears in your doorway holding two bottles. 'Which one’s better?'

You glance up from your notebook. They’re both Korean skincare brands. You read the labels.

'Your skin’s been dry from travel lately,' you say calmly. 'This one has better barrier support.'

She stares. 'How do you know that?'

You shrug. 'Ingredients.'

She squints. 'You’re suspicious.'

You just smile faintly.

Later that week she appears again. 'Best tacos in LA. Go.'

You don’t even hesitate. 'Depends. Authentic or fusion?' You shrug a little, like it’s obvious. 'If it’s authentic, there’s this tiny place downtown that’s insane. If it’s fusion, there’s like three spots in LA that people swear by. But it really depends what you're after.'

Her mouth drops open. 'How do you just… know things?'

You think for a second. 'Life experience.'

She narrows her eyes. 'You say that like you’re 40.'

You smirk and lean back. 'Hey, respect your elders.'

She throws a pillow at you.

Megan has six sisters now. And she loves them. She’ll flop dramatically into Sophia’s lap. She’ll wrestle Daniela for fun. She’ll tease Lara relentlessly.

But when something feels vulnerable? She comes to you. Not because the others would judge her. But because with you, she never even worries about the possibility.

One night she knocks softly. 'Can I ask something dumb?'

'There’s no such thing.'

She sits on your bed cross-legged. 'Do you think I’m annoying?'

You don’t answer immediately. You reach forward and adjust a loose strand of her hair instead.

'I think you’re expressive,' you say evenly. 'And some people confuse that with too much.'

Her eyes flicker. 'And that’s not the same thing?'

'No,' you say. 'It’s better.'

She exhales slowly. Relief looks good on her.

There was one week in particular where edits were circulating online. Clips taken out of context. Expressions paused mid-blink. Comparisons no one asked for.

She tried to laugh it off in front of the others. But later that night, she sat beside you on the floor of the practice room.

Not saying anything. Just close. You handed her water. She didn’t drink it.

Instead she leaned her shoulder against yours. 'You don’t ever look shaken.' She said quietly.

'I am sometimes.'

'Then how do you look so steady?'

You thought for a moment. 'Because someone has to be.'

She went quiet at that. Then, 'You’ve never made me feel stupid.'

You blinked. 'For what?'

'For caring,' she said softly. 'For overthinking. For asking random questions. For needing reassurance.'

You tilted your head slightly. 'Why would I?'

She shrugged. 'People used to.'

That sat heavy between you.

You reached over and nudged her knee gently. 'You can ask me anything,' you said calmly. 'Even if it’s ridiculous.'

She smiled faintly. 'Okay. Hypothetically… if I changed my whole skincare routine again, would that be chaotic?'

You almost laughed. 'Yes.'

She grinned. 'But you’d help me?'

'Obviously.'

You don’t hype her loudly. That’s not your style. Instead, you reinforce her in specifics.

'You improved your breath control.' 'That harmony was clean.' 'You handled that interview smoothly.' 'You looked confident tonight.'

Specific. Grounded. Real. It builds something steadier than empty praise. And slowly, she starts standing differently.

Shoulders back. Chin lifted. Still dorky. Still loud when she wants to be. But less shaken.

After a long day out in LA, she flopped beside you on the couch. 'I think,' she started thoughtfully, 'I’ve never had someone just… answer me before.'

You glanced at her. 'What do you mean?'

'Like, when I spiral. Or overthink. Or ask weird questions. You don’t laugh first. You just… answer.'

You considered that. 'I don’t think your questions are weird.'

She studied you carefully. 'That’s why I come to you.'

The words were simple. But heavy. She has a brother. She has six sisters now. But with you— She has steadiness. She has someone who doesn’t react big. Doesn’t judge. Doesn’t dismiss.

Someone who just listens. And answers. Even when the question is about toner.

And the funny thing? The others tease her for it.

'Why are you asking her again?' Daniela laughs.

'Google exists, you know.' Lara adds.

Megan just shrugs. 'She knows better.'

You don’t comment. You just unzip your large bag, pull out a small snack, and slide it toward her without looking.

She takes it. Like always.

---

Nobody announced Sophia as a leader. She just… stepped into it.

During meetings with management, she’d already have a pen out. During rehearsals, she’d be counting under her breath even when it wasn’t her part. During interviews, she’d subtly redirect questions so everyone had space to answer.

She doesn’t miss things. Which means she also doesn’t miss responsibility.

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve glanced over and seen her writing. Schedule adjustments, feedback from vocal coaches, stage blocking changes, reminders to check on someone who looked tired.

One day you leaned over and murmured, 'You don’t have to document everything.'

She didn’t even look up. 'If I don’t, who will?'

You didn’t answer right away. Because that’s the problem. She thinks if she drops something, it disappears.

The first time you saw it weigh on her was after a rehearsal where the choreography wasn’t clicking.

Tension hung in the air. Nobody was fighting — just frustrated. When the choreographer left, the room went quiet.

Sophia stood in the centre. 'I think we just need to tighten the transitions,' she started carefully. 'And maybe run the second verse again—'

Her voice faltered slightly. Only slightly. But you saw it.

Everyone else dispersed to grab water. You walked over casually. 'Want me to run counts with the back line?' You asked.

She blinked. 'You don’t have to.'

'I know.' You held her gaze evenly. 'I want to.'

Something in her shoulders loosened. Just a little.

You never undermine her authority. Never contradict her in front of staff. Never step over her.

Instead, you support from underneath.

Before rehearsals, you’ll quietly ask the choreographer, 'Would it help if we break that turn down slower the first few runs?'

Not framing it as a complaint. Framing it as optimisation. You’ll mention, 'The girls respond well when the counts are verbalised longer.'

You’ll ask about spacing adjustments so transitions feel smoother. Small tweaks. Nothing dramatic.

But when rehearsal starts and things flow better? Sophia notices.

She looks at you once across the mirror. And you just give her a small smile with the tiniest nod.

Performing in Manila was different. It wasn’t just another tour stop. It was her home. The energy was louder. Warmer. Emotional.

When you stepped on stage in Manila, Sophia’s composure almost cracked during the first chant of her name.

You stood close during that segment. Not obviously. Just near enough that if her voice shook, she’d feel you there.

After the show, you all went back to her family home. Shoes lined neatly by the door. The smell of home-cooked food filling the air.

Sophia shifted instantly — softer, slightly more daughter than leader. Her mom welcomed everyone warmly. But when she turned to you, her expression changed in a subtle way.

Observant. Grateful.

You helped carry dishes to the table without being asked. Answered questions politely. Complimented the food sincerely.

Later, in the kitchen while the others were laughing in the living room, her mom spoke to you quietly.

'She will always give 110%,' she said gently. 'Sometimes more than she should.'

You didn’t hesitate. 'I know.'

Her mom studied your face carefully. 'She feels responsible for everyone.'

You nodded. 'I’ll make sure she doesn’t feel alone in that.'

It wasn’t dramatic. You didn’t promise to protect her from everything. Just that you’d stand beside her.

Her mom smiled softly. 'I can see that already.'

Back in the hotel room after visiting Sophia's family, adrenaline crashed hard. Sophia was still answering messages. Checking clips. Reviewing feedback.

You sat across from her. 'Enough.' You said calmly.

'Just five more minutes.'

'You’ve said that three times.'

She exhaled sharply. 'I just don’t want to miss anything.'

'You won’t,' you replied. 'Because there are six other people here.'

She looked up at that.

You leaned back slightly. 'You don’t have to hold the whole structure up. We’re pillars too.'

Silence.

Then, softer, 'Do I make it look like I’m struggling?'

'No,' you answered honestly. 'But that doesn’t mean you’re not.'

Her eyes shimmered just slightly. She closed the laptop. And for once, let herself rest first.

The way she relies on you is different from Manon. Different from Megan.

Sophia doesn’t cling. She consults. Before major decisions, she’ll ask quietly, 'What do you think?'

If tension rises between members, her eyes flick to you for a second — gauging your read.

During interviews, if she redirects a question smoothly, she’ll glance your way afterward.

You always give her reassurance without words. A nod. A small smile. A steady look. You are the reinforcement beam she doesn’t advertise.

Months after Manila, she found you alone one night.

'You talked to my mom.' She said softly.

You didn’t look surprised. 'She’s lovely.'

'She told me what you said.'

You stayed quiet.

'She said you promised to take care of me.'

You met her gaze evenly. 'I promised to stand with you.'

Her throat tightened slightly.

You reached over and squeezed her hand briefly. 'You’re an incredible leader,' you said calmly. 'But you don’t have to earn your place every day.'

She inhaled slowly. And for the first time in a while— She let someone else carry a little of the weight.

Sophia leads from the front. You support from the foundation. She gives 110%. But you make sure she doesn’t have to give 120.

---

Daniela doesn’t talk about her childhood often. But when she does, it’s offhand. Jokes about being 'the weird kid.' Stories about not quite clicking with people. Laughing about feeling out of place.

Everyone laughs with her.

You don’t. You listen. Because you know jokes can carry old bruises.

After debut, Daniela fit naturally into the group dynamic. She and Lara? Immediate chaos. She and Megan? Competitive in the best way. She and Sophia? Mutual respect. She and Manon? Teasing, always. She and Yoonchae? Big-sister energy, Daniela loud and protective, Yoonchae pretending she doesn’t need it but smiling anyway.

But fitting in and feeling like you belong aren’t the same thing. You make sure she never questions the second.

You invite her into conversations before she has to insert herself. You check in when she gets quiet — which is rare, but happens. You sit beside her during meetings so she never feels like an afterthought.

It’s subtle. But it’s intentional.

It was a rehearsal heavy week. Choreo intense. Counts fast. Precision brutal. Daniela was on par with Megan — everyone knew it. Clean lines. Sharp control. Natural rhythm.

But there was this one transition in the bridge. A spin into a drop that had to hit on a half-beat.

She kept over-rotating. Again. And again. And again.

Each time she laughed it off. 'Okay, that was ugly.'

But her jaw tightened.

When rehearsal ended, she stayed back.

You were stretching nearby. She hesitated. Then, 'Can you watch it once?'

You blinked. 'Me?'

She rolled her eyes lightly. 'Yes, you.'

'You’re better than me.'

She shrugged. 'I don’t need better. I need honest.'

So you watched. Twice. Three times.

You didn’t speak immediately.

She shifted nervously. 'Okay? Say it.'

'You’re rushing the prep.' You said calmly.

She frowned. 'No I’m not.'

'You are. Your shoulders tense before the turn. You’re anticipating the drop.'

She tried again. Still off.

You walked closer. 'Slow it down. Don’t attack it. Let it come to you.'

She exhaled. Reset. Tried again. It landed cleaner.

Her eyes flicked to you.

'Again.' You said.

She did. This time? Perfect.

Silence.

Then she broke into a grin. 'You’re annoying.'

'You asked.'

She stared at you for a second longer than usual. 'You weren’t scared to tell me it was wrong.'

'I wouldn’t insult you by lying.'

That did something. You could see it. A recalibration.

After that day, something had shifted. Not dramatically. But noticeably.

She started coming to you more.

'Are my facial expressions too much?' 'Be honest, was that cringe?' 'Does this outfit work or am I delusional?'

You never sugar-coat. But you’re never harsh. Constructive. Grounded. Direct. She thrives on that.

Because when you give praise? She knows it’s earned.

Daniela doesn’t have siblings. She’s mentioned it casually before. 'Maybe that’s why I talk so much.' She joked once.

But sometimes, late at night, when the energy drops and everyone’s tired, she gets softer.

One night she flopped onto the couch beside you after a long schedule.

'You know what’s weird?' She said.

'What?'

'I don’t feel like I missed out anymore.'

'On what?'

'Having siblings.'

You looked at her. She avoided your eyes. 'I used to think I was alone in everything,' she continued quietly. 'Like I had to figure it out myself.'

You didn’t interrupt.

She leaned her head back against the couch. 'But now when something happens, my first instinct is to tell you guys.'

She glanced at you specifically. 'And especially you.'

You raised an eyebrow lightly. 'Why especially me?'

She smirked faintly. 'You don’t react big. You just… absorb it. And then you say something that makes it make sense.'

You considered that. 'I just think before I speak.'

'Exactly.'

She nudged your knee. 'It feels like having an older sister who actually listens.'

That one hit differently.

You’re protective of all of them. But with Daniela, it’s specific.

If someone interrupts her too much in interviews, you redirect the conversation back subtly. If she downplays her own improvement, you state it plainly. If she jokes about not fitting in somewhere, you counter it with evidence.

'You’re literally the glue in this room.' You told her once.

She scoffed. 'I’m the chaos.'

'You’re the energy,' you corrected. 'There’s a difference.'

She went quiet after that.

During a behind-the-scenes shoot, she nailed a difficult freestyle section. Staff clapped. Megan whooped dramatically.

But Daniela didn’t look at them. She looked at you. Just for a second. Like she was checking.

You nodded once. Not over-the-top. Just steady approval.

Later she admitted quietly, 'When you approve, it feels official.'

You laughed softly. 'I’m not a judge.'

'You kind of are,' she teased. 'You're my moral compass judge.'

You shook your head. But she wasn’t entirely joking.

Daniela used to fight for space. Now she knows she has it. Used to wonder if she was too loud. Now she knows she’s valued. Used to feel alone. Now, even in silence, she knows someone’s beside her.

You don’t dim her. You don’t overpower her. You just steady the ground under her feet.

And for someone who grew up unsure where she fit — That kind of consistency feels like family.

---

Lara doesn’t like being fussed over. She’ll insist she’s fine. She’ll wave off concern. She’ll say she already ate. Even when she didn’t.

You learned that early.

It was still early days. The dorm kitchen light was on. You were cutting fruit quietly while some of the girls were sprawled in the living room.

Lara stood by the counter, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder.

'Yes, Amma, I’m eating.' She said.

You didn’t look up. You just slid a plate closer to her.

She glanced down. Paused. 'Yes, I’m sleeping too.'

You poured her water and set it beside the plate.

She huffed softly, barely audible. 'Okay, fine, there’s this girl who keeps checking.'

You continued slicing fruit like you hadn’t heard that.

On the other end, her mom asked something. Lara rolled her eyes — but fondly. 'Yes, she’s nice.'

You placed a fork on the plate.

'And no, she’s not strict.'

You raised one eyebrow without looking at her.

She sighed. '…Okay, maybe a little.'

There was a beat.

Her voice softened. 'Yes, I feel safe.'

That’s when you finally glanced up. She avoided your eyes. But she ate the fruit you cut for her.

Lara loves closeness. She’ll lean on shoulders. Sit too close on purpose. Rest her chin on someone’s head mid-conversation.

With you, she doesn’t hesitate. She’ll drape herself across your back while you’re sitting. Slide into your side during meetings. Wrap her arms around you from behind without warning.

You never stiffen. Never move away. You just adjust slightly so she’s more comfortable.

One day she asked casually, 'I’m not annoying, right?'

'Why would you be?'

'I’m in your space a lot.'

You shrugged. 'It’s warm.'

She smirked. 'You’re so weird.'

But she stayed exactly where she was.

Lara’s taste is impeccable. Everyone knows it. She’ll hold up two outfits and ask, 'Be honest.'

You always are. 'This one photographs better under stage lights.'

'You’re right.'

Or, 'The cut on that jacket shortens your torso.'

She squints at you. 'How do you see that?'

'I look.'

She trusts your eye. Not because you’re louder about it. But because you’re precise.

And when she walks out in something you approved of, she stands a little taller.

Months later, when schedules aligned, you all visited Lara’s parents' home. The house was full of colour. Family photos. Soft music playing somewhere in the background.

The girls naturally gravitated toward Lara’s home studio. Daniela already testing the speakers. Megan hyping up the acoustics. Sophia examining equipment with interest.

You drifted toward the kitchen.

Kavita was already there, sleeves rolled slightly as she cooked. Sri stood nearby, explaining something about visiting India for the local festivals.

You greeted them respectfully. 'Namaste.'

Kavita’s face lit up. 'You remembered.'

'Of course.'

You stayed in the kitchen with them while the others laughed down the hall.

You asked about their life in Chennai. About growing up there. About traditions during holidays.

Sri told stories about monsoon seasons. Kavita stirred paneer spinach curry slowly, explaining ingredients.

You listened carefully. Asked questions. Not to impress. To understand.

At one point, Kavita turned to you more seriously. 'How has she been?' She asked softly.

You knew she didn’t mean just career-wise.

You answered honestly. 'She pushes herself hard.'

Kavita nodded knowingly. 'She always has.'

'But she’s happy,' you continued. 'She jokes. She teases. She leans on us.'

You hesitated briefly — choosing your words carefully. 'And I make sure she eats.'

That made Kavita laugh warmly. 'I could tell.'

Sri studied you quietly. 'You look after all of them?' He asked.

'Yes.'

Not possessive. Not heroic. Just factual.

'I don’t let any of them carry things alone.'

Kavita’s expression softened. 'Thank you, seriously.'

You shook your head slightly. 'They do the same for me.'

And you meant that.

When the curry was done, Kavita handed you the serving bowl. 'Take this to them.'

You carried it carefully down the hall. The girls immediately perked up.

'Oh my god that smells amazing.' Megan said.

'Where were you?' Daniela asked.

You set the dish down calmly. 'Bonding with the Raj’s.'

Lara turned sharply. 'You were what?'

You shrugged lightly. 'Kitchen diplomacy.'

She narrowed her eyes playfully. 'My parents like you too much.'

You raised an eyebrow. 'Too much?'

She crossed the room in three strides and hooked her arm through yours.

'You’re not allowed to replace me.'

You looked down at her. 'I wouldn’t let them.'

She studied your face for a second — making sure you meant it. Then she leaned fully into you, shoulder pressed tight. Satisfied.

The quiet truth is Lara is independent. She doesn’t need saving. She doesn’t need managing.

But she loves knowing someone notices.

Notices when she skips meals. Notices when she overthinks a styling choice. Notices when she pretends she’s not tired.

And the fact that you never make a spectacle of it? That you just adjust, provide, stand steady?

It lets her stay bold. Stay fashionable. Stay stubborn. Because deep down, she knows that if she ever wobbles? You’re already there.

---

The camera pans over the seven of you, all seated on the bright, modern couch in the studio. The host leans forward, microphone in hand, grinning.

'Alright, Katseye, it’s been a wild year! Let’s start easy—favourite performance so far?'

Megan jumps in immediately, waving her hands. 'Oh, the whole of Lollapalooza! The crowd was massive!'

Daniela nods. 'Yeah, but the New York show? That energy was unmatched.'

Lara smirks. 'I still say Manila takes the cake. Everything just clicked.'

Sophia adds quietly, 'Manila was my favourite, but I love the small performances too. The ones where we can experiment a little with our harmonies.'

You smile softly. 'Any performance where we all support each other naturally. That’s when the music really shines.'

The host chuckles. 'See, I knew this would get complicated! Okay, dream collaboration—who would you love to work with?'

Yoonchae clutches her hands in her lap, hesitating. 'I… I’d love to work with IU. I admire her artistry so much.'

Manon grins. 'Beyoncé. I just want to witness the magic in person.'

Megan jumps up dramatically. 'I want the entire BTS crew. Imagine the chaos!'

Lara rolls her eyes, teasing. 'Megan, chaos is guaranteed, obviously.'

Daniela laughs. 'I’m between Ariana Grande or Tate McRae. Their voices are unmatched.'

Sophia tilts her head. 'I’d want someone who pushes us creatively, challenges the team.'

You speak calmly. 'I’m in the same boat as Sophia. Collaboration is about understanding each other, not just skill.'

The host leans in, lowering his tone slightly. 'Now… the question fans have been dying to ask. Who do you rely on the most in the group?'

A pause. The group instinctively glances toward you.

Yoonchae is first. 'Y/N.' Her voice is soft but steady.

You smile faintly. 'I’m honoured. But really, you all rely on each other in different ways. That’s what makes us strong.'

Manon adds, 'Y/N always knows the right thing to say. Everything feels easier with her around.'

Megan grins, sheepish but earnest. 'Yeah… she’s my go-to for almost everything.'

Daniela smirks. 'She keeps things running smoothly, even when we’re chaos incarnate.'

Lara laughs. 'And she notices things before we even have to ask.'

Sophia nods. 'Always there. Even for the small stuff that counts just as much as the big gestures.'

You look around at each of them—Megan’s quiet intensity, Lara’s energy, Daniela’s teasing, Sophia’s level-headedness, Manon’s warmth, Yoonchae’s calm—and feel a swell of gratitude.

'As for me… honestly… everyone. Each of you has my back in your own way, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. That’s why we work. That’s why we’re Katseye.'

The host laughs, a little flustered. 'Wow… Y/N sounds like the unsung hero of Katseye!'

Yoonchae giggles softly. 'She really is.'

Megan nods fiercely. 'We don’t say it enough… but she really is.'

Daniela leans closer, playful. 'We may not notice all the time, but when we do, it matters.'

You shrug faintly, a small grin tugging at your lips. 'I just try to make things a little easier for everyone.'

The host leans back. 'Well… I think everyone watching just got a glimpse of what keeps Katseye together.'

Megan smirks, elbowing you gently. 'Literally holding us up without anyone noticing.'

Sophia murmurs quietly, 'We’d all sit on her throne willingly.'

And in that moment, it’s not the cameras or the questions that matter—it’s the quiet gravity of everyone leaning on you, and you letting them.

---

The final note of the performance still hangs in the air at the New York show. The crowd is roaring, and you feel the vibration of it through the stage floor, through your shoes, through your bones. One by one the earpieces come out, and the rush of adrenaline begins to ebb, leaving behind a warm, dizzy glow.

'Good job, everyone.' You murmur, voice low but steady as you step toward the girls while they shuffle offstage.

Megan is breathless, hair sticking to her forehead, but she’s grinning from ear to ear. Daniela bounces lightly on her toes, already replaying the choreography in her head. Lara is fussing with the hem of her outfit, checking every detail out of habit.

Sophia’s scanning the girls, looking a little relaxed now. Manon leans against the wall for a moment, stealing the few seconds she can to breathe. Yoonchae stands quietly nearby, hugging a water bottle close to her chest.

You move between them with practiced ease, handing out water bottles. 'Sip slowly.' You remind them gently.

Megan nods gratefully as she takes hers. Yoonchae glances up at you before taking a careful drink. Daniela, already familiar with your routine, digs into your bag of snacks and pulls out a bar with a playful smirk. Lara eyes her phone but still takes a bite when you hand something over.

Backstage begins to shift, filling with the warm, overlapping energy of family—laughter, greetings, voices calling out names.

The girls instinctively run to their parents.

Lara disappears first, wrapped instantly in Kavita and Sri’s arms, chatter tumbling between Hindi and English. Megan finds her mom and nearly tackles her in a hug.

Sophia, Manon, and Yoonchae follow close behind, folding into their families’ embraces. Daniela moves easily through the crowd of hugs and laughter, occasionally glancing your way with a small, knowing smile.

You step toward your own parents and settle beside them, quiet and steady, letting the moment belong to everyone else.

You don’t guide anyone. You don’t adjust anyone. You simply stand there, present.

Parents greet you with warm smiles as they pass, some with quick hugs, some with a few words in their own language—words you’ve made the effort to learn over the years. Small things. Simple phrases. But enough to make them light up when you speak.

It’s something they’ve never forgotten.

Then a voice calls from the edge of backstage. 'Group photo! Everyone, with your families!'

The girls gather naturally, forming little clusters with their parents. You step beside your own, letting them pull you in close as the photographers start organizing everyone.

Around you, the room glows with pride.

Megan beams beside her mom. Yoonchae clings gently to her parents. Manon leans comfortably against her mom and sister. Lara laughs brightly between Kavita and Sri, and Sophia stands close to her family with a soft, content smile. Daniela stands with her parents, but her eyes flick briefly toward you, grin tugging at her lips.

You don’t reposition anyone. You don’t need to. Even standing quietly, the connections form on their own.

The camera flashes. Click. Click. Click.

In that instant, the photograph captures everything—the girls with their families, the pride in the room, the laughter still lingering from the stage.

And you, standing calmly among them all. Not at the centre. But unmistakably part of the foundation holding it together.

When the photographers finally step back, the girls turn toward you almost instinctively, collapsing into a group hug that’s just as much for you as it is for each other.

And in the middle of applause, laughter, flashing cameras, and proud families, you feel it settle quietly in your chest— This is where you belong.

Not in the spotlight. Not directing the moment. Just here, steady and constant— the quiet backbone everyone leans on, whether they realise it or not.

---

You’re midway through a quiet conversation with Missy, the two of you leaning slightly over her phone as you go over the upcoming schedule—timelines for upcoming interviews, adjustments for performances, reminders for the next rehearsal, a few technical details that could be smoothed out.

Your voice stays calm, measured, the kind that keeps things moving without ever raising the volume.

'That segment in the second verse,' Missy says, tapping the screen thoughtfully. 'Do you think we should adjust the lights there?'

You nod, flipping to a quick reference on your tablet. 'Softer during the bridge maybe?' You suggest. 'Let the visuals carry that moment instead of the stage lights.'

Missy hums in agreement.

Backstage has settled into that gentle lull that follows a big performance—the hum of conversation, distant laughter, crew members passing by with equipment. The storm of the stage has passed, leaving behind a warm, steady calm.

You’re just about to note something else when you hear it. Kavita’s voice, bright and unmistakable, cutting through the room.

'Excuse me! Y/N! Can you come over here for a moment?'

You glance up. Lara’s mom is waving enthusiastically, Sri standing beside her with the same proud smile. They look like they’ve been waiting for the chance.

You can’t help but grin.

Turning back to Missy, you give a small apologetic smile. 'Give me one second.'

'Go.' She laughs, waving you off.

You hand her phone back and walk over, greeted immediately by Kavita’s open expression.

'We need a quick photo with you,' she announces warmly. 'You’re part of the family now.'

You laugh softly, a little embarrassed but clearly touched. 'I’d be honoured.' You reply.

Sri rests a hand lightly on your shoulder while Kavita leans in beside you, her phone already up. The camera flashes. Everyone grins.

But Kavita isn’t done.

'Oh! Wait,' she says, eyes lighting up. 'We need more. Come, come—everyone wants one!'

Before you can protest, you’re gently pulled into the growing cluster of parents gathering nearby. Laughter bubbles up around you, and you find yourself laughing along with them.

One by one, parents step forward.

You pose with Megan’s mom first, chatting easily while the phone camera adjusts.

'She danced like her life depended on it tonight.' Megan’s mom says proudly.

You smile. 'She always does.'

Across the room, Megan spots you and waves dramatically. You give her a small thumbs-up in return, which only makes her laugh harder.

Next come Yoonchae’s parents.

You straighten slightly and offer a small bow. '안녕하세요.' ('Annyeonghaseyo.') ('Hello.') You greet them gently, your Korean careful but sincere.

Their smiles brighten instantly.

Yoonchae’s mother laughs softly, replying in careful English. 'You… very nice to Yoonchae?'

'Yes,' you answer simply, hands folded loosely in front of you. 'Always.'

Across the room, Yoonchae glances over just in time to catch the exchange, her cheeks tinting pink as she quickly looks away.

The photos continue.

Sophia’s parents thank you quietly. Manon’s mom greets you with warm familiarity. Daniela’s mom claps a friendly hand on your shoulder before the camera snaps.

'You keep them steady.' She says with a grin.

You shrug lightly, smile soft. 'I just try to notice when they need something,' you reply. 'Little things.'

'That’s exactly why they trust you.' She says.

Someone laughs nearby.

'You’re more popular than the girls!' Kavita teases from behind the cameras.

'I’m just lucky.' You answer, adjusting your stance for another photo.

Daniela’s mom hands you her phone mid-chaos. 'Take one for us too! Proof!'

You laugh and snap the photo, handing it back as she beams.

Lara’s parents linger for a moment longer after their picture. Kavita squeezes your arm warmly. 'We couldn’t ask for anyone better for her,' she says softly. 'You’re like another daughter.'

You put a hand to your chest, touched. 'That means a lot. Truly.'

Yoonchae’s parents reach for your hands briefly before stepping away.

'Thank you… for her.' Her father says.

You nod, voice quiet but certain. 'It’s my pleasure. She’s wonderful.'

The room hums again with chatter and laughter, the moment dissolving into smaller conversations and more scattered photos.

And just like that, the girls drift back toward you.

Megan slips an arm around yours. Daniela bumps your shoulder playfully. Yoonchae hovers close, smiling shyly. The others gather in easily, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

'You really are the quiet backbone, you know that?' Megan says, squeezing your arm.

You laugh softly. 'I just make sure everyone’s okay.' You say.

But the way they lean into you—comfortable, trusting, familiar—says more than your words ever could.

---

The hotel room smells faintly of takeout—spicy wings, garlic noodles, fries, and a scattering of desserts from room service. The air is warm with it, salty and comforting after the long day.

Plates and wrappers litter the small table, and you’re all sprawled around it in a loose, chaotic sprawl—legs tangled, pillows stolen, blankets dragged across the carpet like someone tried to build a nest and gave up halfway through.

Megan is leaning back against the headboard, balancing a plate on her knees with the careless confidence of someone who absolutely will spill something eventually.

'I swear,' she groans dramatically, tossing a fry into the air and catching it in her mouth, 'I cannot believe we survived today.'

Daniela snickers immediately, leaning over without shame to steal a fry from your plate.

'I saw that stash you brought from backstage,' she accuses between bites. 'You’ve been holding out on us.'

You laugh softly, shaking your head. 'I only brought extra for emergencies,' you reply. 'You guys ate three times as fast as I anticipated.'

'That was an emergency. I didn't eat anything before the show.' Megan insists through a mouthful of fries.

Lara is sprawled across the carpet like she lost a fight with gravity, her phone in one hand, fork lazily poking at garlic noodles in the other.

'I still can’t believe my parents cornered you for like a hundred photos,' she says, glancing up with a teasing smirk. 'You were basically the most popular person in the arena.'

You shrug lightly, quiet as always. 'I just… love spending time with everyone,' you say simply. 'That’s all.'

Sophia, sitting cross-legged on the bed with her laptop half-closed beside her, gives a soft laugh. 'You deserve a medal, honestly,' she says. 'Or maybe a crown.'

Daniela nods solemnly. 'Yeah. A crown made of fries.'

Manon, curled comfortably against the wall with a pillow hugged to her chest, smiles in that calm, thoughtful way she has when she’s been quietly observing everything.

'You’re the only one who can make all of us feel… safe, I think,' she says. 'Even when we’re tired, jittery, stressed—whatever. It’s like you just… absorb it.'

Yoonchae, perched on the arm of the sofa, tilts her head while chewing thoughtfully. 'Y/N’s like… quiet gravity.' She murmurs.

You blink. '…Quiet gravity? That's a new one.'

She nods very seriously. 'Yes. Everyone orbit.'

The girls burst out laughing.

You can’t help but grin. 'Quiet gravity.' You repeat under your breath, amused.

Conversation after that flows in messy, happy waves.

Megan launches into a rant about ridiculous fan theories she read online. Daniela passionately argues that pineapple on pizza is objectively superior and that everyone else is wrong.

Lara critiques random outfits from the show like she’s judging a fashion competition. Sophia absentmindedly opens her laptop again just to jot down choreography notes before closing it once more.

Manon tells a story from rehearsal that slowly spirals into complete nonsense once Megan and Daniela start interrupting with dramatized re-enactments.

Yoonchae occasionally chimes in with small observations that land a second late but somehow make everyone laugh even harder.

And you? You mostly listen.

You refill someone’s drink without thinking about it. Slide fries toward Megan when she runs out but not before taking a couple for yourself. Translate something for Yoonchae. Nudge a dessert toward Lara when she pretends she’s 'too full.'

Small things. Quiet things. But the girls notice.

Eventually the energy softens.

The adrenaline from the day finally begins draining out of everyone’s systems. Voices grow quieter. Someone yawns. Megan steals three pillows and refuses to give them back.

Your own eyelids start getting heavy.

You stretch lazily and slide down into the hotel bed, tugging the blanket halfway over yourself. The chatter around you turns into a comforting blur of voices.

You’re still holding a fry between your fingers—a remnant from the feast.

At some point you must’ve forgotten about it. Your hand rests against your chest, fry still delicately pinched between your fingers like it’s something important.

A few seconds pass. Then a muffled laugh breaks through the room.

'Wait.' Megan whispers suddenly.

Everyone freezes.

'…Is she asleep… holding a fry?'

Daniela leans forward slowly like she’s spotting a rare animal in the wild.

'Oh my gosh,' she whispers. 'She actually is.'

Lara crawls closer across the carpet, eyes wide with delight. 'No way. That’s incredible.'

Sophia presses a hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing too loudly.

Manon is quietly shaking with silent laughter against the wall.

Yoonchae squints. '…Is it emotional support fry?'

Daniela snorts so hard she nearly chokes.

Lara gently taps you with a pillow. 'You look ridiculous.'

You stir slightly. Your eyes flutter open halfway, unfocused and sleepy. For a moment you just blink at the ceiling.

Then you notice the fry.

You stare at it like it’s a philosophical question you weren’t prepared to answer.

The girls are completely silent now, watching.

Slowly—very slowly—you bring the fry to your mouth and eat it. Chew. Swallow.

A small sleepy smile appears. '…hmm good fry.' You murmur faintly, before your eyes close again.

The room explodes with quiet, hysterical laughter. Megan nearly falls off the bed. Daniela collapses onto the carpet. Lara buries her face in a pillow.

'You didn’t even question it!' Daniela wheezes.

'She just accepted it!' Megan laughs.

Yoonchae nods thoughtfully. 'Very efficient.'

Megan leans over the side of the bed, brushing your hair gently away from your face.

'You’re somethin' else.' She whispers fondly.

A pause.

'But we love you.'

No one disturbs you after that.

The lights stay low. The conversation softens to murmurs. Someone pulls the blanket up over your shoulder.

And in the quiet warmth of the hotel room—full of laughter, empty takeout boxes, and the comfortable chaos of the family you’ve built—you finally drift properly into sleep.

Calm. Content. The quiet gravity at the centre of it all.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#katseyex7thmember

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#katseyex7thmember