ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴄᴋᴡᴏʀᴋ, ɪ ꜰᴇʟʟ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ
SYNOPSIS: You didn’t believe in fate. Then Manon left, and somehow the universe kept dragging the two of you back toward each other anyway.
CONTENT: idol!Manon Bannerman x singer!Fem Reader
TAGS: Angst, Hurt/a lil Comfort, Yearning, a tad bit of fluff, Melancholy
WC: 4.6k
A/N: this might be one of my favourite things that i've wrote 😭
Manon knew she was going to lose you the second she signed the contract.
Everyone around her called it a dream. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Hybe. Training in LA. The possibility of debuting. Every conversation after that became full of excitement, congratulations, and plans for the future. But every future she imagined had one problem.
You. Not because she didn’t love you. God, that was the problem. She loved you too much.
The company never outright told her she couldn’t date, but they didn’t have to. She saw the way the trainers talked about image, sacrifice, devotion. She watched girls cry in practice rooms because they weren’t improving fast enough. Watched people disappear overnight after evaluations. Everything about the industry screamed the same thing…
There was no room for distractions.
And Manon was terrified that one day, you would become one.
At first, she told herself she could balance both. Long calls. Late night texts. Waiting for each other across time zones. You were patient enough for it, loyal enough for it. Every time she spiraled, you soothed her like it was instinct. Honestly it almost made it worse… You trusted her completely.
Meanwhile, she was falling apart in LA.
Training consumed everything. Her body hurt constantly, bruises marred her body. Some nights she’d stare at the ceiling of the dorms so exhausted she couldn’t even cry properly. Other girls practiced while injured, smiling through humiliation because nobody could afford weakness.
Every time your name lit up her phone, relief hit her so hard it hurt.
You became the only thing that felt safe anymore. Which was exactly why she started pulling away.
You noticed it immediately, of course you did. Shorter texts. Missed calls. The way she hesitated before saying “I love you,” not because she meant it less, but because she meant it too much. Because hearing your voice made her want to throw everything away and go home.
But you never got angry, you just waited. She could tell the waiting was ruining you.
Manon heard it in the exhaustion behind your reassurances. Saw it in the photos your friends posted where your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. Every sacrifice she made for her career was becoming your sacrifice too, and you kept acting like it was nothing.
You would’ve followed her forever if she asked.
The final straw came after a monthly evaluation. One of the trainees had gotten screamed at for “lacking focus.” Another was quietly sent home the next day. Manon remembered standing in the practice room afterward, sweat cooling against her skin while her phone buzzed in her pocket.
I know you’re busy. Just wanted to hear your voice for a second. I miss you.
Manon stared at the message until her vision blurred.
All of a sudden all she could think was that loving her was turning you into someone who waited around for scraps of attention. Someone who kept shrinking themselves to fit into the empty spaces she left behind.
She couldn’t do that to you. So she made the choice for both of you. Cowardly, maybe. Cruel, definitely. But easier than admitting the truth.
She was scared that if she kept loving you while chasing this dream, eventually she would fail at one of them. She already knew which loss would destroy her more.
The day she called you, her hands shook so badly she almost dropped her phone three separate times.
She sat alone on the floor of the dorm hallway because she couldn’t breathe properly inside her room. Trainees passed occasionally, but nobody paid attention. Everyone here was always crying about something.
Manon called you on a random Tuesday, right in the middle of your music theory class.
The lecture hall was dim and stuffy, the professor talking about harmonic function while students typed notes into their laptops. None of it registered. Your phone lit up in your lap- her name on full display, almost like it hadn’t been missing from your screen all week.
It felt wrong immediately.
Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, the sound loud enough to turn some heads. The hallway outside was colder and smelled faintly of dust. Fingers fumbled against the screen as you answered, your heart beating out of your chest.
Relief hit you first. “Oh my god, Manon. You’re okay…”
You knew somewhere, deep down in your soul what was coming next. Manon hadn’t called you in days. When she did text, it was brief. But still- you didn’t want to admit to yourself that it was even possible that she would-
“Break up-” Her voice faltered. “We need to break up.”
“What?” Your vision blurred, hallway lights smearing together. Heat pooled behind your eyes, threatening to spill.
“I need to focus on my career- I just-“ your girlfriend well- ex paused, trying to cover up the burn in her throat. “You don’t deserve to be stuck with me like this.”
“Manon, I told you I can wait,” you said, the sentence tumbling out before you could even think. “I’ll wait however long this takes, just please-“
Manon cut you off. “I’m doing this for our own good. Please understand.”
There was a moment of silence. Static filled the line. Your brain spiraled, grasping for solutions that no longer existed- every version of yourself that could make her stay.
You waited for her to say your name again, say it was all a prank, anything. But instead, the call ended with a click.
Ten years of friendship and romance gone in one second.
Your phone slipped from your hand, your body decided it didn’t want to hold it anymore for you. It hit the hardwood floor, spinning slowly, the screen still glowing with a picture of you and her, it was almost mocking you.
You stared at it until your eyes burned.
All the memories of your youth came flooding back at once. You’d promised yourself you’d never do this again. Never fall for a friend, it’d only ever lead to more heartbreak in the end.
The first time you kissed her, you were sixteen.
“I bet you won’t climb to the roof of that building with me.” Manon had pointed to a 12-story high apartment.
“You bet wrong, let’s go.”
“Are we being deadass?” Manon asked, half-laughing.
“Why not? Let’s go!” you emphasized, gesturing to the building.
You’d climbed to the roof breathless. Laughing, daring each other to look down. Lucerne stretched thin beneath you, the city lights constellations of their own. The night air was clean and crisp, the concrete on the roof was still warm from the day. You lay on it side by side, shoulders nearly touching.
Manon’s laugh came easier then.
“Your back is going to kill you tomorrow,” she said, eyes fixed on the stars above.
“Yours won’t be any better, miss weak immune system,” you chuckled.
“Hey! What does that have to do with anything?” She turned your head to look at you, mock-offended.
A comfortable silence fell over the two of you. The stars felt brighter up there, the city lights couldn’t quite reach them.
Somewhere along the way, your gaze drifts to Manon. She was beautiful in the quiet, framed by the rooftop shadows. You’d been feeling this for a while, but now you were certain…
You were falling for your best friend.
“Y/N… You’re staring,” the older girl said like it was the simplest thing ever. Heat rose to your cheeks.
“What can I say? You’re a better view than the stars.”
It was a joke. It really was, you always flirted with her like this. But this time… it felt just a little different.
“Oh,” she teased, smiling. “So you’re obsessed with me?”
“Well, I won’t be denying that.” You said a little too easily.
Below, the city pulsed with a heartbeat of its own. The rooftop felt like a secret you could keep forever.
You didn’t know yet that your body would return to this moment over and over again, searching for answers.
Your fingers brushed hers by accident. She’d gone still.
You turned your head back to her and found she’d already been looking at you.
Her fingers made their way to your cheek. Her mouth pressed softly against yours, hesitant. You answered by wrapping your arm around her back and kissing her with certainty.
The world got quieter, the passing cars went silent. There was only warmth and the way her hand fit against your skin.
“Please never leave me.” It slipped out of your mouth.
“Of course,” Manon murmurs, forehead against yours. “Y/N, I'd never leave you for anything.”
If only you could tell yourself the heartbreak she’d put you through in five years.
The air in Lucerne was different without Manon.
Something was just- off. It felt like something essential had been removed and everyone was pretending not to notice. You’d told yourself that the breakup made sense. Of course she’d leave. Of course you’d been stupid enough to think your love could outrun her ambition, that wanting her hard enough might be enough to keep her with you.
The ache never went away, it settled in, became routine- something you learned to carry instead of fix. Breathing around it got easier with time. Some days, you could even laugh again. The air might’ve been different, but adaptation came naturally. Even if memories with her resurfaced everywhere you went, you’d be okay.
But on a particularly hard night, you impulsively wrote a song.
It wasn’t intentional. You just wanted to write out your feelings- some way to get Manon out of your head before the thoughts swallowed you whole. The words spilled out faster than you could censor them, every line unmistakably about her.
You leaned back in your chair, pulse racing, staring at the ceiling. This was insane, you knew it was. You were painfully self-aware, and you were definitely not okay. Turning the worst moment of your life into a song felt reckless, almost embarrassing.
Still, the idea of hearing it out loud lingered. You spent the next few hours putting together a rough demo, working faster than you ever had before. No perfectionism, just a minute-long recording, voice a little shaky, the production simple. When you hit the post button on TikTok, it wasn’t with any expectations. You went to sleep thinking nothing of it.
By the time you woke up, the demo had already begun to spread.
Notifications stacked so fast you had to silence your phone. Comments flooded in, people saying how relatable it was, how they could feel your emotion. They asked for a full version, asking if you were okay. With nothing better to do, you finished the song. You released it.
A week later, your inbox was unrecognizable, filled with names you didn’t know. Messages you reread twice to make sure they were real. When Geffen reached out asking if you had more material, your hands shook so badly you almost dropped your phone.
And somewhere in a rehearsal room in LA, Manon heard your music.
She noticed your name first. Her stomach dropped so suddenly that she had to drop to the floor. For a split second she wondered if it was someone else, another Y/N, another voice- but then the song began.
Not the version of you she’d convinced herself was fine. Or the smiling, patient girl she’d left behind with broken-promises. This was raw, unfiltered. Your voice trembled in a way she recognized too well- how it did only when you were in the darkest time of your life. Every lyric felt like it had been pulled straight from unfinished conversations.
Her chest tightened, breath stuttering as the weight hit her all at once. She’d told herself leaving you was mercy. She’d told herself you’d do better without her. She’d told herself you were strong enough to be okay. The song proved her wrong.
It wasn’t angry, and that almost made it worse. It was full of love that had nowhere to go, love she’d abandoned, love she’d asked you to wait with, knowing she might never come back the same.
“Manon! Break is over,” Missy called.
Her eyes burned, vision blurring as she stared down at her phone. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, not when everyone in the room probably heard what she’d done to you, not when she was already sure everyone hated her.
For the first time since she left, Manon understood something terrifyingly clearly.
You hadn’t stopped loving her, and she had never really let you go.
Music had always been yours long before it became anyone else’s.
Music to you was staying up at two in the morning because a lyric suddenly appeared in your head and refusing to sleep until you wrote it down. It was recording terrible voice memos while walking to class. It was scribbling unfinished verses into notebook margins instead of paying attention to lectures.
Manon loved every part of it, even before anyone else cared
“You know this is insane, right?” you muttered one night, cross-legged on your dorm room floor with your laptop balanced precariously on your knee.
The room was dim except for cheap fairy lights hanging unevenly above your bed. An unfinished demo looped through your speakers for what had to be the hundredth time.
Manon lay sprawled across your mattress behind you, half-asleep but stubbornly refusing to go to bed until you finished.
“Nope,” she said immediately. “Play it again.”
You groaned dramatically. “Manon, you’ve heard this same thirty-second chorus for like three hours.”
“And it slaps every single time.”
“It literally does not. That is most definitely glaze.”
“It literally does,” she argued. “You just hate your own talent.”
“Uhuhh, glaze! Glaze from my girlfriend!”
You turned around enough to glare at her, but she only grinned wider, chin tucked into your pillow.
Back then, making music had felt safe because it belonged only to the two of you. Tiny projects uploaded anonymously online. Songs with barely any listens and let’s be honest, all the listens were probably from Manon.
Manon treated every single one like it mattered.
She’d sit through dozens of takes without complaint, even when your frustration made you impossible to be around. She learned enough production terminology just so she could pretend to understand what you were rambling about.
“You hear that layering?” you’d ask excitedly.
“No idea what that means,” she’d reply honestly, “but yes, baby, it sounds sexy.”
You laughed so hard you nearly fell out of your chair.
When you started talking about maybe putting together a real EP someday, something more cohesive and vulnerable and terrifying, Manon looked at you like the idea was obvious.
The certainty in her voice startled you. “You haven’t even heard the concept yet.”
“I don’t need to.” She sat up then, reaching for your wrist gently. “You’re the most talented person I know.”
You scoffed immediately. “Soo why are we lying today?”
“I’m serious.” Her thumb brushed across your skin absentmindedly. “You feel things bigger than other people do. And it sucks sometimes because you overthink everything and cry at the ‘Happier’ music video,”
“I do not cry at music videos.”
“The dog was old, Manon.”
She laughed softly before growing serious again.
“When you make music, people feel that.” Her eyes stayed locked on yours. “You make people feel less alone.”
Your chest tightened painfully at the memory now. Because the first person who ever believed you could actually do something with music was Manon.
Long before TikTok, long before strangers memorized your lyrics.
It was Manon sitting on your dorm floor at nineteen, listening to rough demos through blown-out speakers like they were already masterpieces.
That’s probably why losing her hurt so badly. Every dream you had somehow still had her fingerprints on it.
A few years later, Manon bursted into your dorm without knocking, breathless, eyes too bright.
“I know this sounds crazy, but I got scouted to be a trainee for Hybe.”
You stared at her for a second, waiting for the second part of the joke. “What- how? Is this a prank? And how can you say that so calmly?”
She laughed in response, “Yeah they kinda just dmed me on Insta and were like, ‘Hi Manon, we want to send you personal trainers and then get you to LA’. And I might’ve maybe said yes.”
“Oh my god,” you breathed. “Manon you’re going to be famous.” Then, it clicked. “Wait- Hybe? That’s K-pop, you literally know nothing about K-pop.”
“Hey,” she protested, but she was smiling so wide it didn’t even sound like she was trying to fight you. “I know… things. Like- BTS!”
“You know nothing. You’re going to get eaten alive.”
“I’ll survive,” she said, softer now. “You can tell me everything you know.”
She turned toward the window, shoulders tightening. You followed her gaze, but there was nothing there.
Pride flooded you anyway. “I’m so proud of you.”
You stepped closer. “This is good- This is everything you’ve wanted.”
She nodded again, but her gaze dipped to your mouth. “Yeah.”
You kissed her, hoping it would smooth out whatever doubt she was having. Her lips moved with yours, but it was different. Careful, it felt like she was already holding herself back.
When you pulled away, her hands were still on your waist, but they didn’t tighten the way they always did.
You smiled like you didn’t feel the space opening between you.
“You’re scared.” You said, voice soft.
Manon’s breath hitched. “No.”
She looked away. “It’s complicated.”
You wanted to ask her what it meant, to sit her down and pull every fear out of her, name it, fix it. You wanted to tell her that distance didn’t scare you, that contracts and time zones couldn’t destroy what you had..
But she leaned forward again like she needed the conversation to stop, and you let her.
Because you loved her. And without realizing it yet, you were already learning how to wait.
The night before Manon leaves for LA, you find yourself in her bed. You were curled into her, trying to memorize the shape of her before the world took her away.
Manon lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Your fingers traced her ribs slowly.
“Babe, talk to me,” you whispered.
Manon’s words caught in her throat. “I can’t.”
“You can,” you insisted. “You can tell me anything.”
She turned her head, and for a second she looked like she might cry.
“It’s going to be like a year,” she said, voice quiet. “Before I can tell you anything about this.”
Your stomach dropped. Though you weren’t surprised, K-pop companies usually had very strict contracts.
“I understand that, but I can tell something else is bothering you, what is it?”
“I just- don’t want to burden you. I know this’ll be hard on our relationship,” Manon squeezed your fingers. “And I understand if you’d want to break it off.”
The words hit you like a brick.
You sat up slightly, staring down at her. “Manon.”
Her eyes teared up, she blinked. “I’m not asking you to wait or put your life on pause for me.”
You swallowed, hard. “I choose you, I don’t care how long you’ll be gone for.”
“I swear, you will never be a burden to me. I’ll wait however long this takes,”
Manon’s lips parted, you knew she wanted to argue and you wouldn’t let her.
You leaned down, forehead to hers. “Please, don’t shut me out.”
You could feel her tears now, her arms wrapped around you with desperate force.
“I love you,” she whispered into your hair.
And you whispered it back, a promise that could override time. You stayed her girlfriend, loved her too much to leave.
By the time you moved to LA, your life had momentum.
Interviews where you laughed at jokes that weren’t even funny, smiling for cameras until your cheeks ached. You learned how to pretend you were fine so convincingly you almost believed it. Even though you knew you were staying in the same area as Manon again.
You started to make it big as a soloist. People started recognizing you on the street. And then the people in Geffen started talking about Katseye.
Manon had made it in and- wait… Wasn’t her training purely with Hybe? But this was a collab with Geffen. Then you realized this was probably one of those things she just couldn't tell you.
You were under the same agency- but that was fine. It’s not like you saw Olivia Rodrigo at all and she’s under Geffen.
So you decided everything was still fine. Until you saw the clips of how Katseye’s choreography captured the audience- how the crowd screamed. How Manon moved like she was born to do this. How she was smiling almost like she’d smiled at you.
Your chest tightened so fast you couldn’t catch your breath. All the “getting over Manon” you had done was gone in an instant. You shut off your phone hoping it would silence the ache. It didn’t.
Before you knew what you were doing, you were in your car on the way to the nearest club.
You were just a face in the crowd of many, praying no one would recognize you. The noise swallowed you whole, you drank too fast and that was fine because at least you weren’t crying over Manon again.
Someone slid into the bar stool beside you, seemingly not knowing who you were and you needed that.
“What brings you here tonight?”
“Someone I need to forget,” you said absentmindedly, completely honest.
“Oh? Well perhaps I can help with that.” You hummed in response.
“I’m Sam by the way, and you are?”
“Y/N, how about you? Why are you here?”
“Same as you actually. How about I get you a drink?”
You should’ve left. You knew you should’ve left. But the attention was a much needed distraction. She wasn’t your friend, just some stranger, there’d be less heartbreak. Right?
She laughed at your jokes, you let her touch your wrist when she talked. And when she asked if you wanted to go somewhere quieter, you agreed a little too fast.
Manon found out about your new girlfriend the same way she found out everything about your life now. Through the internet.
She’d been scrolling on Twitter during a styling session when a headline caught her eye…
Rising Geffen Soloist Y/N Spotted Leaving Restaurant Hand-in-Hand With Mystery Girl
She shouldn’t have clicked it, she knew that. Unfortunately, her fingers moved faster than her brain could process.
The photos loaded slowly, one after another.
You, tucked against someone’s side.
You, smiling in a way she hadn’t seen in years.
The girl beside you was beautiful. Dark hair, easy grin, her hand resting naturally against your waist like Manon’s had before.
Sophia was talking to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. All she could think was:
You really were moving on.
A strange nausea twisted in her chest, sharp and humiliating. She’d broken up with you. She’d wanted you to heal. To find happiness outside of her.
So why did it feel like she was being ripped apart anyway?
Sophia touched her shoulder gently. “You okay?”
Manon blinked hard, locking her phone screen immediately.
“Yeah,” she lied automatically.
But the rest of the day felt wrong.
Every rehearsal mirror became unbearable because she kept imagining your hands on somebody else instead of hers. Every love lyric in practice tracks suddenly sounded cruel.
She realized she had no right to be upset. She was the one who left. That night, alone in her apartment, Manon made the mistake of looking deeper.
There were edits of you together already. Slow-motion videos with romantic music layered over them. Comment sections full of people talking about how happy you looked lately.
Manon clicked through a rabbit hole of posts and clips. One sat with her in particular.
You were leaving an interview laughing while Sam walked beside you. The paparazzi yelled questions over each other until one voice cut through clearly:
“Y/N! Is she your girlfriend?”
You froze for a second before glancing toward Sam.
“Yeah,” you answered quietly.
Manon shut the phone off immediately.
For the first time since the breakup, the consequences of her choices finally felt real. You were becoming a life she no longer belonged to. She couldn’t just go back to Lucerne and kiss you anymore… You were gone.
The club lights blurred together in streaks of blue and gold, music vibrating through your ribs hard enough to drown out your thoughts. Sam’s hand rested on your waist as she guided you through the crowd, warm and familiar.
“Baby, you look amazing,” she murmured against your ear.
You laughed softly, though it sounded distant even to yourself. “You’ve said that like five times tonight.”
She pulled you toward a quieter hallway near the bathrooms, away from the suffocating heat of the dance floor. For a second, you let yourself lean into it. Into her.
Into the idea that maybe this could work if you just tried hard enough.
Manon stood at the other end of the hallway, frozen mid-step.
The noise of the club disappeared instantly, drowned out by the sudden rushing in your ears. She looked different than she had in Lucerne- more polished, dressed in dark clothes that fit her too well. But her eyes were exactly the same.
And they were already locked onto yours.
Sam felt your body tense immediately.
Her hand loosened around your wrist. “...Oh.”
Manon looked like she couldn’t either.
For one horrible second, all three of you just stood there suspended in silence, the years between you collapsing all at once.
Sam followed your stare back to Manon before looking at you again.
Understanding settled across her face slowly, painfully.
“That’s her, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.
Your throat tightened. You hated yourself for how quickly tears burned behind your eyes.
Sam let out a small laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Wow.” She looked down briefly, shaking her head. “I really never stood a chance.”
“No, it’s okay.” Her voice stayed soft, which somehow made it hurt worse. “I think part of me already knew.”
You opened your mouth, but no explanation felt big enough. Not for this.
Not for ten years of loving someone.
Sam looked back toward Manon, who still hadn’t moved.
“She’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room,” she said quietly. “To be honest, you are too.”
Your chest cracked open at the words.
“I did try,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
“I know.” Sam smiled sadly. “That’s why I’m not angry.”
The music swelled again around you, distant and muffled. Then Sam stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss against your cheek.
Your breath caught. “Sam…”
“You deserve closure, Y/N.”
Sam gave your hand one last squeeze before disappearing back into the crowd.
Leaving you standing there and Manon standing twenty feet away, staring at you… She still loved you enough to ruin herself over it.
A/N: oml help i've spent my whole day fixing up old fanfic drafts and making new ones when i have SEVEN finals to study for 💔
