Just a Second

syn: When a waiter asks Daniela if she’s single, she hesitates for a second before answering. Everyone moves on. You don’t.

tags: daniela x reader, ot7 reader, established relationship, hurt comfort, angst with happy ending, miscommunication, overthinking, soft daniela, comfort fic

w/c: 3.9k+

taglist (join here): @ctrlamira @yournextdooralien @yunjinsfinancialadvisor @belzanita @katsattorney @chaeryenchanted @swiftieortega13 @pnsteblnme @mochi-nugs @plqnetputellas @katscopic @micaluvssoccer @aoeiurgnmddk @xiiaann @x-d4cvalentine-x @needmeganskiendiel @randomperson868 @urwavvy @sani-sunny

a/n: tysm for the request!! much love xx

The restaurant is loud in the way only small local places can be.

Music hums from overhead speakers, plates clatter somewhere behind the counter, and conversations blend together into a constant buzz. It’s nothing fancy—just somewhere close to the practice studio where all seven of you can finally sit down and eat after a long day.

You barely make it through the door before everyone starts claiming seats.

“Booth!” Lara announces dramatically, already heading toward the biggest one she can find.

The rest of the girls follow behind her, laughing.

You slide into one side of the booth, grateful to finally be off your feet.

Before you can even settle properly, Daniela drops into the seat beside you.

Naturally.

Like there’s nowhere else she would’ve sat.

You smile to yourself as she immediately leans into your side.

“Move,” she says.

You blink.

“What?”

“You’re taking up my space.”

You stare at her.

“Your space?”

Daniela nods seriously.

“Yeah.”

Then she proceeds to rest half her weight against you.

Across the table, Megan snorts into her drink.

“You literally sat next to her.”

“And?” Daniela asks.

“And now you’re acting like she’s invading your personal bubble.”

Daniela shrugs.

“She is.”

Sophia shakes her head.

Lara groans.

“Please. I just sat down.”

The table erupts into laughter.

You can feel Daniela smiling against your shoulder.

It’s comfortable.

Easy.

The kind of thing that stopped feeling new a long time ago.

Menus are passed around. Drinks are ordered.

Everyone talks over one another, bouncing between stories from practice and random topics that make absolutely no sense outside your group.

At some point, your food arrives.

At some point, Daniela decides your fries look better than hers.

You catch her hand reaching across your plate.

“Daniela.”

“No.”

“You haven’t even taken one yet.”

“No.”

You try to pull the basket away.

She steals two anyway.

“Thief.”

“Sharing is caring.”

“That’s not sharing.”

“It is when I do it.”

Megan nearly chokes laughing.

Even Yoonchae is smiling.

Nobody comments on it.

Nobody teases.

Because this is normal.

Daniela stealing your food.

Your knee pressed against hers beneath the table.

The absent-minded way she reaches for your hand while listening to Sophia talk.

It’s all become so routine that nobody pays attention anymore.

You don’t either.

You just sit there, surrounded by your members, listening to the chaos around the table while Daniela leans against your side like she belongs there.

Like she always has.

Like she always will.

The conversation flows easily around the table.

Lara is in the middle of telling some ridiculous story from practice, complete with dramatic hand gestures and exaggerated impressions. Manon keeps interrupting to correct details, which only makes everyone laugh harder.

You barely get a word in.

Not that you mind.

Watching the chaos is entertaining enough.

The waiter returns a few minutes later to check on the table.

He’s around your age, maybe a little older.

Friendly.

Easygoing.

The kind of person who talks to customers like he’s known them for years.

“Everything good?” he asks.

A chorus of nods answers him.

“Perfect.”

He starts collecting empty baskets and used napkins from the edge of the table.

Then he glances toward Daniela.

For a second, you think he’s about to ask if she needs a refill.

Instead, he smiles.

“So, random question.”

The table quiets slightly.

Daniela looks up.

“Hm?”

The waiter scratches the back of his neck.

“You single?”

Silence.

Not actual silence.

Nobody stops breathing.

Nobody drops a fork.

But suddenly every member at the table is paying attention.

You see Lara’s eyes widen.

Megan immediately looks away, trying—and failing—to hide her grin.

Sophia presses her lips together.

Manon nearly chokes on her drink.

The collective reaction is practically written across their faces.

Bro.

Seriously?

At work?

Right in front of everybody?

Daniela lets out a surprised laugh.

Clearly caught off guard.

“What?”

“You know,” the waiter says, smiling sheepishly. “Just thought I’d ask.”

The girls are trying so hard not to react.

Trying.

And failing.

You have to bite back a laugh yourself.

Then Daniela pauses.

Just for a second.

A tiny one.

Barely noticeable.

But you notice it.

Because it’s Daniela.

Because you know her.

Because you know the difference between when she’s thinking and when she’s not.

Her eyes flicker.

Just briefly.

Like her brain is sorting through something.

One second.

Maybe less.

Then she laughs again.

“No.”

The answer comes easily enough.

“Definitely not.”

The waiter immediately raises his hands.

“Okay, okay. Had to shoot my shot.”

The entire table bursts into laughter.

“Oh my God,” Lara groans.

Manon drops her head onto the table.

Sophia is openly smiling now.

Even Daniela is laughing.

The waiter shakes his head dramatically before walking away.

“Enjoy your food.”

The moment passes almost instantly.

Conversation picks right back up.

Lara starts talking again.

Megan makes another joke.

Daniela reaches over and steals another fry from your basket.

Normal.

Everything is normal.

Nobody makes a big deal out of it.

Nobody even mentions it.

But as the conversation continues around you, your attention drifts.

Back to that moment.

Back to that tiny pause.

That brief hesitation before her answer.

You stare down at your drink.

No.

The answer itself had been easy.

Immediate, even.

So why does that split second keep replaying in your head?

Why does it feel louder every time you remember it?

You glance over at Daniela.

She’s smiling at something Sophia is saying, completely relaxed.

Completely unaware.

And you force yourself to smile too.

Because it was probably nothing.

Right?

Just a second.

A meaningless little pause.

Nothing worth thinking about.

Nothing worth remembering.

Yet somehow, you can’t stop remembering it anyway.

You tell yourself it’s fine.

Because objectively, it is.

Daniela said no.

Daniela literally said she wasn’t single.

End of story.

So why are you still thinking about it?

The conversation around the table continues like nothing happened.

Because nothing did happen.

Manon is talking about an upcoming schedule.

Lara is arguing with Megan over something completely ridiculous.

Yoonchae is quietly eating while occasionally laughing at everyone else.

Everything is normal.

Daniela is normal.

She reaches for your hand beneath the table without even looking.

Her fingers find yours automatically.

Like muscle memory.

Like breathing.

You squeeze her hand back.

She squeezes yours once before returning her attention to the conversation.

Normal.

A few minutes later, she steals another fry.

You glare.

She grins.

Normal.

When she laughs too hard at something Megan says, she ends up leaning against your shoulder.

Normal.

Everything is normal.

So why can’t you stop thinking about it?

The pause.

Just one second.

Maybe less.

A tiny hesitation that nobody else seemed to care about.

You glance over at Daniela.

She’s smiling.

Relaxed.

Completely unaware of the argument currently happening inside your head.

Your stomach twists.

If the answer was easy, why did she hesitate?

The thought appears before you can stop it.

You immediately try to push it away.

Because that’s ridiculous.

Because you know Daniela.

Because she literally said no.

But the question comes back anyway.

Why did she need to think about it?

Maybe she was surprised.

Maybe she was caught off guard.

Your thoughts derail.

Was she deciding whether to tell him?

The idea makes your chest tighten.

No.

That wasn’t fair.

You know it wasn’t.

Still, your brain keeps going.

Was she deciding if I counted?

You stare down at the table.

The noise around you suddenly feels farther away.

Was she embarrassed?

The thought hurts more than you’d like to admit.

Not because Daniela had done anything wrong.

Not because she had actually said anything hurtful.

But because now that the possibility exists, you can’t stop imagining it.

You remember the way her eyes flickered.

The way she paused.

The way her expression shifted for that brief second before answering.

The memory replays.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each time your brain fills in a different explanation.

None of them good.

You hate that you’re doing this.

Hate that you’re dissecting a moment that lasted less than a second.

Hate that you’re letting it get to you.

Especially because Daniela is still sitting right beside you.

Still holding your hand.

Still stealing food from your plate.

Still looking at you the same way she always does.

Nothing has changed.

Except now every time you look at her, that pause echoes in the back of your mind.

Small.

Insignificant.

And somehow impossible to ignore.

You laugh at one of Lara’s jokes a second too late.

Daniela glances over.

“You okay?”

The question is casual.

Simple.

You force a smile.

“Yeah.”

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Because for a moment, you almost believe yourself.

—

By the time the seven of you get back to the dorm, you’ve almost convinced yourself you’re over it.

Almost.

The ride home had been normal.

Practice footage.

Random TikToks.

Daniela’s hand finding yours whenever she could.

Normal.

Everything had been normal.

So normal, in fact, that you start wondering if maybe you’re being ridiculous.

Maybe you imagined the whole thing.

Maybe you’re making a problem out of absolutely nothing.

That thought follows you through dinner, through showers, through the rest of the evening.

Until eventually everyone begins retreating to their rooms.

The dorm settles into a quieter rhythm.

Doors closing.

Showers running.

The occasional laugh echoing down the hallway.

You and Daniela end up in her room.

Or your room.

Honestly, at this point neither of you know anymore.

You technically have separate beds.

Separate rooms.

But somewhere along the way that stopped mattering.

Most nights ended the same.

Together.

Tonight should’ve been no different.

Daniela is sitting against the headboard scrolling through her phone when you climb into bed beside her.

Usually you’d immediately steal half the blanket.

Usually you’d complain that she’s taking up too much space.

Usually she’d complain right back.

Instead, you settle down quietly.

A little farther away than normal.

Not much.

Just enough.

Daniela doesn’t notice at first.

She’s too focused on whatever video Sophia sent the group chat.

But after a few minutes—she does.

You feel it before you see it.

The way her attention shifts.

The way her eyes linger.

You keep staring at your phone.

Pretending not to notice.

A minute passes.

Then another.

Then Daniela scoots closer.

Instinctively.

Like she always does.

Usually you’d meet her halfway.

Tonight you don’t.

The silence stretches.

You can practically hear the gears turning in her head.

Then:

“Okay.”

Uh oh.

You already know that tone.

You lower your phone slightly.

Daniela is staring at you now.

Completely unconvinced.

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

You answer immediately.

Too immediately.

“Nothing.”

Daniela snorts.

Actually snorts.

Then she tosses her phone onto the nightstand.

“Liar.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Daniela—”

“You’ve been weird for hours.”

You look away.

Immediately confirming her point.

“See?”

You groan.

“That proves nothing.”

“It proves everything.”

She shifts closer again until your knees are touching beneath the blanket.

Normally the contact would make you smile.

Tonight it just makes your stomach twist.

Daniela notices that too.

And suddenly she isn’t teasing anymore.

The amusement fades from her face.

Replaced by concern.

Real concern.

Her voice softens.

“Baby.”

You hate when she uses that voice.

Because it always makes it harder to dodge the question.

Daniela reaches for your hand.

When you let her take it, her thumb brushes across your knuckles.

Gentle.

Patient.

Waiting.

“What happened?”

You stare at your intertwined fingers.

Part of you wants to tell her.

The other part thinks you’re being ridiculous.

Because how do you explain that one tiny pause has been haunting you all day?

How do you admit you’ve spent hours overthinking something she probably forgot five minutes later?

The silence grows.

And Daniela’s expression slowly changes.

The concern remains.

But now there’s something else there too.

Recognition.

Like she’s running through the day in her head.

Trying to find the moment everything shifted.

Trying to figure out what she missed.

And judging by the way her eyes narrow slightly—she’s getting closer.

The room feels smaller than it did five minutes ago.

Maybe it’s because Daniela is looking at you like that.

You keep your eyes fixed on your hands.

Anywhere but her.

Because now that you’re here, now that she’s asking, suddenly it sounds ridiculous.

It’s been bothering you for hours.

Hours.

And for what?

A pause.

One second.

Maybe less.

The longer you stay quiet, the more Daniela studies your face.

Then something clicks.

You see it happen.

The moment her expression changes.

Subtle.

But there.

And somehow that makes your stomach drop.

Because she knows.

Before you even say it.

Daniela already knows.

“Baby?”

Her voice is softer now.

Careful.

You swallow.

“The waiter.”

The words come out quieter than you intended.

For a second, neither of you move.

Then Daniela freezes.

Completely.

And somehow that feels worse than if she’d looked confused.

Because she recognized it instantly.

No questions.

No hesitation.

No which waiter?

She knows exactly what you’re talking about.

Which means she noticed it too.

Your chest tightens.

Daniela closes her eyes briefly.

Almost like she’s already figured out where this is going.

“Oh.”

Just one word.

But it tells you everything.

The room falls silent.

You hate this.

You hate how embarrassed you feel.

You hate how childish it sounds now that it’s actually leaving your mouth.

You’ve spent the entire day arguing with yourself.

Telling yourself to get over it.

Telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

And yet here you are.

Still thinking about it.

Still hurt.

Still wondering.

Daniela waits.

Giving you room to say what you need to say.

Even if it’s uncomfortable.

Even if it’s messy.

Finally, you force yourself to look at her.

“You hesitated.”

The words barely rise above a whisper.

Silence.

Daniela’s face falls.

Not dramatically.

Not guiltily.

Just…sad.

Like she’s finally seeing the picture you’ve been staring at all day.

And she doesn’t like it.

Your gaze drops again.

Immediately.

Because now that you’ve said it out loud, it sounds even worse.

You laugh softly.

A humorless little thing.

“I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It kind of is.”

“Y/N.”

You shake your head.

“No, seriously.”

Your voice cracks slightly.

Not enough to cry.

Just enough to annoy you.

“It was just one second.”

Daniela stays quiet.

Listening.

Which somehow makes it easier to keep talking.

And harder at the same time.

“It shouldn’t even matter.”

You stare down at the blanket gathered in your lap.

“But I keep thinking about it.”

The confession hangs between you.

Heavy.

Honest.

You hadn’t planned on saying this much.

But now that you’ve started, you can’t stop.

“If the answer was easy…” You swallow. “Why did you have to think about it?”

Daniela’s eyes immediately soften.

Which somehow hurts more.

Because now she knows.

Now she knows exactly where your brain went.

You laugh again.

Bitter this time.

“See? It sounds dumb.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

Your throat feels tight.

“I know you said no.”

You glance at her.

“I know that.”

Daniela nods immediately.

“I know.”

“I know you did.”

The room is so quiet you can hear the air conditioner humming somewhere in the background.

You look away again.

Because the next part is the part you’re most embarrassed to admit.

The part you’ve been avoiding all day.

The part that’s been replaying in your head over and over.

“At first I thought maybe you were surprised.”

Daniela doesn’t interrupt.

“Then I thought maybe you were trying to decide if you wanted to tell him.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

You hate them immediately.

Daniela’s expression crumples.

Not hurt.

Heartbroken.

Like she wishes she could reach back in time and stop this before it ever happened.

“And then—”

You stop.

Because saying it out loud makes it real.

Daniela’s hand tightens around yours.

Not enough to stop you.

Just enough to remind you she’s there.

Waiting.

When you finally speak again, your voice is barely audible.

“I started wondering if you were deciding whether I counted.”

The words sit in the room between you.

Raw.

Ugly.

Vulnerable.

You immediately wish you could take them back.

Daniela’s face falls completely.

And in that moment, you realize she finally understands.

Not just what happened at the restaurant.

Not just why you’ve been quiet all night.

She understands what you’ve spent the last several hours convincing yourself of.

What you’ve been carrying around since lunch.

The fear underneath all of it.

The fear that for one second—one tiny, awful second—she had to think about choosing you.

And judging by the look on Daniela’s face, that’s the last thing she ever wanted you to believe.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The words linger in the air.

I started wondering if you were deciding whether I counted.

The second the sentence leaves your mouth, you want to take it back.

Not because it isn’t true.

But because hearing it out loud makes it sound so much worse than it did inside your head.

Daniela stares at you.

Completely still.

Then her expression softens.

Not with frustration.

Not with annoyance.

Just sadness.

“Baby.”

Her voice is quiet.

Gentle.

You can’t bring yourself to look at her.

“That’s not why I paused.”

You stare down at your lap.

The blanket twists between your fingers.

“Then why?”

The question comes out smaller than you intended.

Not accusatory.

Just tired.

Daniela shifts closer.

Close enough that your shoulders brush.

Close enough that you can feel her presence beside you.

She doesn’t rush to answer.

Doesn’t try to brush it off.

Doesn’t tell you you’re overthinking.

And honestly, that alone makes something in your chest loosen.

Because she’s taking it seriously.

Taking you seriously.

Even if the whole thing started with a one-second pause.

“I was caught off guard.”

You nod slightly.

That makes sense.

But not enough.

Daniela must see it on your face because she continues.

“I wasn’t thinking about whether I was single.”

You finally glance up.

Her eyes meet yours immediately.

Steady.

Certain.

“I wasn’t thinking about you.”

The second she says it, her eyes widen.

“Wait, that came out wrong.”

Despite everything, you almost laugh.

Daniela groans.

“You know what I mean.”

A tiny smile threatens to appear.

Only for a second.

Daniela notices.

Good.

Maybe that’s why her shoulders relax a little.

She takes your hand again.

Holding it carefully between both of hers.

“When he asked, my first thought wasn’t about my relationship status.”

She pauses.

Choosing her words carefully.

“Honestly?”

You wait.

Daniela sighs.

“I was trying to decide how much of my business a complete stranger gets to know.”

She continues before you can respond.

“Because if I say I have a girlfriend, that’s different.”

Your eyebrows pull together.

Daniela shrugs slightly.

“You know how people are.”

Unfortunately, you do.

You know exactly what she means.

The headlines.

The speculation.

The clips.

The comments.

The way one casual sentence can somehow become everyone’s discussion topic for the next week.

Daniela leans back against the headboard.

Still holding your hand.

“I was wondering if I wanted to deal with that.”

Her voice remains calm.

Matter-of-fact.

Not angry.

Just honest.

“I was wondering if I wanted to answer at all.”

You think back to lunch.

To the way she’d looked surprised.

To that tiny flicker in her eyes.

“I wasn’t sitting there deciding if I wanted you.”

The statement is immediate.

Firm.

Like she needs you to hear it.

Really hear it.

Your gaze drops.

Daniela squeezes your hand.

“Baby, look at me.”

Slowly, you do.

Her expression softens again the second your eyes meet.

“The answer wasn’t what I was thinking about.”

Daniela’s thumb brushes across your knuckles.

“The answer was easy.”

Something in your chest cracks.

Not painfully.

Like tension finally giving way.

Like a knot that’s been pulled tight all day finally starting to unravel.

Daniela shakes her head slightly.

“If he’d asked me what I wanted to order, I probably would’ve paused longer.”

A reluctant laugh escapes you.

Daniela immediately points.

“There she is.”

You roll your eyes.

But this time there’s no real weight behind it.

No ache.

No twisting uncertainty.

Just the lingering embarrassment of having spent an entire day torturing yourself over something that suddenly feels so much smaller.

Daniela notices the shift immediately.

The way your shoulders aren’t quite as tense.

The way you’re finally looking at her again.

And she smiles.

Like she’s just happy you’re letting her explain.

Happy that you’re letting her in.

Because if there’s one thing Daniela has made clear tonight, it’s that she never wants you sitting alone with those fears when she’d much rather be there to answer them herself.

For a second, neither of you say anything.

Then you laugh.

A real laugh this time.

Not because any of this is particularly funny.

Mostly because you’ve spent the last several hours making yourself miserable over something that now feels embarrassingly small.

Daniela squints at you.

“What?”

You shake your head, still laughing.

“Nothing.”

“Y/N.”

You hide your face in your hands.

Immediately, Daniela knows.

“Oh my God.”

“No.”

“Oh my God.”

“Don’t.”

“You really thought I was sitting there debating whether I wanted you?”

You groan.

“Can we not do this?”

Daniela stares.

Actually stares.

Then points at you.

“You did.”

You bury your face in a pillow.

“For like six hours.”

The room goes silent.

Then

“Six HOURS?”

You laugh again.

Daniela falls back against the headboard dramatically.

“That’s a full work shift.”

“It’s not my fault.”

“It is entirely your fault.”

You throw a pillow at her.

She catches it.

Unfortunately.

Somewhere down the hall, a voice yells:

“ARE THEY DONE BEING SAD?”

Megan.

Definitely Megan.

You immediately close your eyes.

“No.”

Daniela laughs.

Another voice follows.

This time Lara.

“Tell them I was right.”

“You weren’t right about anything!” you yell back.

A muffled “I WAS CLOSE ENOUGH” echoes through the hallway.

The two of you dissolve into laughter.

Just like that, the last bit of tension disappears.

Daniela nudges your shoulder with hers.

“You know you could’ve just told me earlier.”

You groan.

“I know.”

“Could’ve saved yourself six hours.”

“I know.”

“Could’ve saved me from finding out my girlfriend thinks I secretly hate her.”

“That is not what I said.”

“It kind of was.”

“It was not.”

Daniela gives you a look.

You immediately look away.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

“A little?”

“Be quiet.”

Daniela grins.

The kind of grin that tells you she’s going to bring this up again later.

Probably multiple times.

For weeks.

Maybe months.

You already regret telling her.

Eventually, you shift closer on your own.

No hesitation this time.

No weird distance.

Just settling into the familiar space beside her.

Daniela’s arm slips around your shoulders automatically.

Neither of you mention it.

You don’t have to.

A comfortable silence settles over the room.

Then:

“Next time somebody asks if I’m single, I’m just pointing at you.”

You immediately groan.

“Please don’t.”

“I’m doing it.”

“Daniela.”

“I’m serious.”

“That’s so embarrassing.”

“Seems pretty efficient to me.”

You pull the blanket over your face.

Daniela laughs.

And for the first time since lunch, the memory of that stupid pause doesn’t replay in your head.

Instead, all you can think about is how annoying she is.

Say Yes

syn: The girls think Manon being spoiled is hilarious, especially when you fold for her every single time. But after weeks of constant yeses, one gentle no hits harder than any of them expected.

tags: manon x rich!reader, spoiled!manon, bratty!manon, soft!dom!reader, established relationship, hurt comfort, angst with happy ending, toxic lowk but affectionate, spoiled princess manon

w/c: 5.3k+

taglist (join here): @racinghost @katsattorney @belzanita @catswag22 @micaluvssoccer @swiftieortega13 @lethal-minds @yournextdooralien @ro2w @plqnetputellas @katscopic @eliyrx @randomperson868 @mochi-nugs @urwavvy @sp1key0 @needmeganskiendiel @aoeiurgnmddk @ctrlamira

a/n: i wanted to do a part 2 of this idea, so here it is! much love xx

(pt1)

By the second week, the shock had worn off.

Not completely—Megan still occasionally stopped mid-sentence when she noticed something absurd sitting casually on the counter—but enough that the girls had stopped treating your wealth like some untouchable thing.

Now it was entertainment.

The penthouse had somehow become a regular hangout spot after schedules ended. Sometimes because Manon invited them. Sometimes because you sent a car without asking. Either way, the girls ended up sprawled across expensive furniture at least three nights a week, slowly becoming desensitized to things that absolutely should not have become normal.

Like the fact that Manon no longer carried her own bags.

Or that your assistant apparently knew everyone’s coffee orders.

Or that Manon could mention liking something once and it would mysteriously appear within forty-eight hours.

Sophia claimed they should stop encouraging it.

No one listened.

“You know,” Daniela said casually one evening, curled sideways against the couch, “Manon kept talking about these boots yesterday.”

You looked up immediately from your phone. “Which pair?”

The room burst into laughter.

Daniela pointed at you so fast she nearly dropped her drink. “SEE?”

Manon looked delighted.

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Megan wiped at her eyes dramatically. “You don’t even hesitate anymore. That’s the problem.”

You frowned slightly. “She liked them.”

“That’s not the point,” Sophia muttered.

Manon, meanwhile, had gone very still in the way the girls were beginning to recognize as dangerous. She tilted her head slowly, studying you.

Testing.

“Oh,” she said lightly. “The black ones with the silver hardware.”

You nodded once. “Those are sold out online, aren’t they?”

“They were,” Manon said.

You hummed thoughtfully, already typing something into your phone.

Megan lunged forward. “NO. No, absolutely not. Don’t do it.”

“Why?” you asked.

“Because she’s doing it on purpose now!”

Manon grinned without shame. “And?”

You looked between them, unconcerned. “I can still get them.”

Sophia stared at you. “That is not helping.”

You smiled slightly. “I’m not trying to help.”

Daniela actually had to lean against Lara because she was laughing too hard.

“This is insane,” Lara muttered, though she looked equally entertained.

Manon stretched out across the couch cushions like a satisfied cat, clearly pleased with herself. “Get the taller ones.”

You glanced at her. “The knee-high version?”

“Mhm.”

“Leather or suede?”

Manon pretended to think about it for all of two seconds. “Leather.”

“Okay.”

Your thumb tapped against the screen once more.

Yoonchae gasped. “You already bought them?!”

You looked up. “Well, yes.”

The room erupted again.

Manon looked downright radiant.

It only got worse after that.

Because once the girls realized how easy it was to provoke a reaction out of you, they started doing it constantly.

“Maaaan,” Megan sighed dramatically a few days later, scrolling through her phone while everyone sat around the kitchen island. “It’s such a shame Manon liked that necklace at the event yesterday.”

You didn’t even glance up from making Manon’s drink. “Which necklace?”

Megan collapsed against the counter laughing.

“OH MY GOD.”

Sophia covered her face with one hand.

Manon slowly turned toward Megan, eyes brightening with immediate interest. “Wait. Which necklace?”

“The diamond one,” Megan said, still laughing. “The stupidly expensive one.”

You handed Manon her drink first before reaching for your phone again.

Daniela pointed aggressively. “There she goes!”

“Hold on,” you said calmly. “Was it the teardrop one or the layered one?”

Manon blinked.

Then smiled.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

“The layered one,” she answered sweetly.

You nodded once. “That one suited you better anyway.”

Sophia made a strangled noise.

“Do you hear yourselves?” she asked. “This is not normal behavior.”

“No, seriously,” Lara added. “You’re creating a supervillain.”

Manon took a sip of her drink, visibly pleased. “Too late.”

She started getting bolder after that.

At first it was little things.

“I don’t like this water.”

A new bottle appeared beside her within seconds.

“I’m cold.”

Your jacket was immediately around her shoulders.

“My phone’s dying.”

You were already reaching for a charger.

The girls started watching the exchanges like they were courtside at a tennis match.

Back and forth.

Request and response.

Effortless.

Almost automatic.

The unsettling part wasn’t even the money anymore.

It was you.

The way you never looked irritated. Never sighed. Never acted burdened. Every adjustment happened instantly, naturally, like making Manon happy had become muscle memory.

And Manon noticed that too.

Which was exactly why she started pushing.

One night, she walked into the penthouse carrying two shopping bags before immediately dropping them by the door.

“I’m over these already,” she announced.

Megan nearly choked. “You bought those TODAY.”

Manon ignored her, looking directly at you instead. “I want different ones.”

You glanced toward the bags. “Okay.”

“Bigger.”

“Alright.”

“Maybe lighter colored.”

You nodded easily. “I’ll find some options.”

Daniela stared at Manon in disbelief. “You’re not even pretending to feel bad anymore.”

Manon smiled lazily, completely unashamed.

“Why would I?” she asked.

Then she looked at you again, eyes glittering with amusement.

“Can you bring me my charger?”

You stood immediately.

Sophia watched you disappear down the hallway before turning slowly toward Manon.

“This is becoming a problem,” she said flatly.

Manon only grinned wider, sinking deeper into the couch cushions.

“No,” she said. “It’s becoming fun.”

It escalated faster than anyone expected.

Mostly because Manon realized there genuinely didn’t seem to be a limit.

The first real warning sign came after practice one night when everyone was exhausted, crammed into the lobby waiting for rides. Manon leaned against you with her cheek pressed lazily into your shoulder, clearly half-asleep.

Your driver had already pulled up.

“So,” Megan said, stretching dramatically, “are you two heading back to the penthouse?”

“Mhm,” you answered.

Manon frowned immediately.

“I don’t wanna drive back.”

The girls looked up automatically.

You glanced down at her. “You don’t?”

She shook her head against your shoulder. “Too far.”

“It’s twenty minutes,” Daniela said.

Manon ignored her completely.

You considered it for maybe two seconds before pulling your phone out.

“Okay,” you said simply. “We’ll stay closer tonight.”

Sophia blinked. “What.”

Megan whipped around so fast she nearly dropped her bag. “NO WAY.”

You were already speaking quietly into the phone.

“Yes, tonight,” you said calmly. “The usual suite is fine.”

Manon visibly relaxed immediately, satisfied.

Yoonchae stared at her. “You just changed hotels because she was tired?”

You looked confused again by the question. “She doesn’t want to sit in traffic.”

Manon, meanwhile, looked impossibly smug.

“Get the room with the bathtub,” she added casually.

You nodded once. “Already did.”

Sophia looked genuinely concerned now.

“This is actually becoming psychologically fascinating.”

A few days later, it got worse.

The girls had stopped by the penthouse after schedules again, food spread across the kitchen island while everyone talked over each other. You stood beside Manon making smoothies because apparently the private chef had the night off and you’d insisted it was “easy.”

Manon took one sip.

Paused.

Then frowned.

“My smoothie tastes weird.”

The room fell silent instantly.

Megan physically turned in her seat. “Oh, this is my favorite game.”

You reached for the cup immediately. “What’s wrong with it?”

Manon handed it over with a dissatisfied expression. “Too sweet.”

You tasted it once.

“Hm,” you murmured. “Yeah, okay.”

Then you dumped the entire thing into the sink and started making another one without hesitation.

Daniela actually slid off her stool laughing.

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN ARGUE.”

“She didn’t like it,” you said simply.

“That was one sip!” Megan shouted.

Manon rested her chin in her hand, watching you remake the drink with visible satisfaction.

“A little more strawberry this time,” she said.

“Okay.”

Sophia stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

“We are actively encouraging terrible behavior.”

“No,” Megan corrected through laughter. “We’re witnessing it.”

You handed the new smoothie to Manon carefully. “Try this one.”

She took another sip.

Then nodded.

“Better.”

Your entire expression softened like she’d handed you praise instead of basic approval.

Sophia caught it immediately.

“Oh, you LIKE this,” she realized.

You glanced over. “Like what?”

“The maintenance,” Daniela said.

“The attitude,” Lara added.

“The fact she treats you like a personal assistant,” Megan finished.

You looked genuinely surprised.

“She doesn’t,” you said.

Right as Manon held her empty smoothie cup toward you without looking.

You took it automatically.

The girls screamed.

Manon burst into laughter against the couch cushions while you rinsed the cup off like nothing unusual had happened.

And somehow, impossibly, it kept escalating.

By the end of the month, the members had a front row seat to the absolute worst version of Manon’s spoiled behavior.

Which was exactly why they couldn’t stop provoking it.

The hotel incident nearly killed Megan.

The group had flown out for schedules, everyone exhausted and annoyed after a long day of filming. The hotel itself was already ridiculous—five stars, massive suites, private balconies.

Apparently not ridiculous enough for Manon.

She walked into her room, looked around once, then immediately frowned.

“I liked the other hotel better.”

Lara froze halfway through taking her shoes off.

Daniela whispered, “No way.”

You looked up from setting her bags down. “The one from Paris?”

“Mhm.”

“That one had bigger closets,” Manon complained, wandering farther into the suite. “And the lighting here is weird.”

Megan had both hands over her mouth already.

Because everyone knew.

Everyone knew what was about to happen.

You pulled your phone out.

Sophia pointed immediately. “STOP.”

You glanced at her. “What?”

“You cannot possibly be changing hotels because the closet isn’t big enough.”

You looked back toward Manon.

Manon looked back at you expectantly.

You hesitated.

Very briefly.

Then:

“I can upgrade the floor.”

The room exploded.

Megan collapsed face-first into the couch screaming while Daniela doubled over laughing.

“You’re INSANE,” Lara shouted.

Manon brightened instantly. “Can the new suite have the city view?”

“Yeah,” you answered easily.

“And the marble bathroom?”

“I’ll check.”

Sophia looked one second away from losing her mind.

“This is not a relationship anymore,” she said flatly. “This is a dictatorship.”

Manon smiled sweetly from across the suite.

“And yet,” she said, glancing toward you, “she seems very happy here.”

You smiled back without hesitation.

“I am.”

—

By this point, the girls should’ve stopped encouraging it.

Instead, they got worse.

The penthouse was loud that night—music low in the background, takeout containers spread across the counter, Megan half-folded over the couch cushions while Daniela argued with Lara about something stupid and unimportant.

Manon sat sideways beside you, legs draped over your lap like she owned the entire room.

Which, honestly, she kind of did.

Megan was scrolling aimlessly through her phone when she paused suddenly.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Manon wanted this jacket last week.”

You looked up immediately.

“It sold out,” Manon said before Megan could continue, tone casual.

You were already reaching for your phone.

“It’s not.”

The room erupted instantly.

“NO,” Daniela yelled.

Megan nearly dropped her phone laughing. “SEE? SEE?”

But Manon wasn’t paying attention to them anymore.

She was watching you.

Really watching you.

The easy confidence.

The complete lack of hesitation.

The fact you’d already started typing before even asking which jacket it was.

And then—Slowly—Manon smiled.

It wasn’t her usual amused smirk.

This one was different.

Sharper.

Interested.

Like something had just clicked into place.

“Oh,” she said softly.

Sophia noticed immediately and physically pointed.

“No,” she warned. “Don’t make that face.”

Manon ignored her.

“The black one,” she told you sweetly. “Leather.”

You nodded once. “The cropped version?”

“Mhm.”

Your thumb moved across the screen again.

“It’ll be here tomorrow.”

And there it was.

The exact moment Manon realized:

she didn’t even need to wait for the girls to say things anymore.

She could just ask.

The next hour became unbearable.

Not for you.

For everyone else.

Because Manon started testing the limits almost immediately.

She picked up her drink, took two sips, then held it out toward you without looking away from her phone.

“Hold this.”

You took it automatically.

Megan made a choking sound.

Manon kept texting calmly while you sat there holding her drink with absolutely no issue whatsoever.

Daniela grabbed Sophia’s arm. “Do you see this?”

“I unfortunately do,” Sophia answered.

A few minutes later, Manon glanced around the couch setup, then frowned slightly.

“I like that side better.”

You looked up instantly. “Do you want to switch?”

“Mhm.”

You moved before she even finished the sentence.

The girls stared in disbelief as you traded places with her without question. Manon settled into the new spot immediately, satisfied, while you adjusted the blanket over her legs like this was perfectly normal behavior.

Daniela looked horrified.

“Oh she’s power tripping now.”

Manon grinned.

“You’re just noticing?”

And somehow—somehow—you looked pleased by all of this.

That was the disturbing part.

Not trapped.

Not manipulated.

Not exhausted.

Happy.

Like every request was something precious being handed to you instead of demanded from you.

Sophia started noticing it more the longer the night went on.

The way your attention stayed fixed on Manon even during other conversations.

How your eyes flicked toward her automatically anytime the room changed volume.

The way you watched her reactions carefully.

And the second something shifted—you adjusted.

Instinctively.

Like devotion had rewired your nervous system.

It only got worse once Manon realized that too.

She interrupted your work call next.

Not even maliciously.

Just because she could.

You’d stepped aside near the windows, speaking quietly with someone from your company while everyone else remained sprawled across the living room. Manon had been half-listening at first, curled into the couch cushions lazily.

Then she looked up.

“Baby.”

You muted yourself immediately. “Yeah?”

The girls froze.

Manon held up her wrist. “Can you unclasp this bracelet?”

You crossed the room without hesitation.

Sophia blinked hard. “You were in the middle of a call.”

You carefully undid the bracelet, fingers brushing lightly against Manon’s skin. “It’s okay.”

Manon tilted her head back to look up at you.

“Thanks.”

You kissed her forehead absentmindedly before returning to the call.

The room stayed silent for three full seconds after you walked away.

Manon looked delighted.

Later, food arrived.

Manon took exactly three bites before leaning back dramatically against the couch.

“I’m bored.”

Daniela pointed immediately. “Do NOT say it.”

Manon looked straight at you.

“Fix it.”

Lara physically covered her face.

You looked thoughtful for maybe half a second.

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

Megan screamed.

“YOU CAN’T KEEP REWARDING HER.”

Manon laughed so hard she nearly slid sideways off the couch.

“No, wait,” Daniela said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Ask for something crazier.”

Sophia looked appalled. “Why are you instigating?”

“Because this is insane.”

Manon sat up straighter now, fully invested in the game.

“Hm,” she mused, pretending to think. “I wanna go shopping.”

“It’s midnight,” Lara said.

You checked your watch. “Some stores can open privately.”

The room exploded.

“WHAT.”

Sophia stared at you like you’d personally offended her.

“You’re telling me stores will OPEN for you?”

You looked confused again. “Sometimes.”

Manon looked genuinely thrilled now.

“Oh, I like that.”

Manon was already spiraling deeper into it.

Not just the money.

Not just the access.

The responsiveness.

That immediate shift in your attention every single time she wanted something.

She started leaning into it shamelessly after that.

“My feet hurt.”

Your hands were instantly at her ankles, gently pulling her legs into your lap.

“I don’t like this lighting.”

You dimmed the penthouse lights without a word.

The girls couldn’t stop watching.

It was horrifying.

Fascinating.

Weirdly intimate in a way that made all of them feel like they were witnessing something too personal.

Because underneath the spoiledness—underneath the absurd luxury—there was something deeply emotional happening.

Sophia saw it clearest.

Especially when Manon stopped paying attention.

That was when your face changed.

Softened.

You’d look at her like you were checking constantly:

Is she happy?

Comfortable?

Still smiling?

Not because she ordered you to.

Because you wanted to.

Sophia leaned back slowly, watching Manon complain quietly about the movie selection while you searched for another one without even being asked directly.

Then she looked at the others.

“This is bad,” she said quietly.

Daniela laughed weakly. “Yeah.”

Sophia shook her head once.

“No,” she murmured. “I mean emotionally.”

Across the room, Manon stretched lazily against your side.

“I don’t like this movie either.”

You picked up the remote instantly.

“Okay,” you said softly. “We’ll find another one.”

—

The penthouse had gone unusually quiet by midnight.

Rain pressed softly against the windows, turning the city outside into blurred streaks of gold and white. The girls had settled into that late-night haze where nobody really wanted to leave but everyone was too tired to keep up full conversations anymore.

Megan was half-asleep against the arm of the couch.

Daniela and Lara were sharing fries directly from the carton beside them.

Yoonchae was curled beneath a blanket scrolling through edits on her phone.

Sophia sat at the kitchen island watching you.

Mostly because lately, she couldn’t stop.

You looked exhausted.

Not dramatically. Not in a way you’d ever complain about. But the signs were there if someone paid attention long enough: sleeves rolled up messily, tie loosened hours ago, untouched coffee going cold beside your laptop, and the tiny pauses before answering people on calls

You’d barely been at the penthouse all week. Meetings. Flights. Investors. Events. Your schedule had been brutal lately, and somehow you still kept checking on Manon every five seconds like it was instinct.

Even now, in the middle of a call, your eyes kept drifting toward her automatically.

Manon was stretched across the couch wearing one of your hoodies, bare legs thrown over Megan’s lap despite Megan complaining about it every three minutes.

She looked bored.

Which everyone had learned to fear.

Your voice stayed low and even as you spoke into your headphones, discussing something none of them fully understood. Numbers. Timelines. An event tomorrow morning that apparently involved people important enough to keep you awake this late preparing for it.

Manon watched you for a while.

Then she sat up slightly.

“Baby.”

You muted yourself instantly.

“Yeah?”

Sophia’s eyes flicked upward immediately.

There it was again.

That automatic attention shift.

Manon tucked one leg beneath herself, gaze fixed on you.

“When’s your thing tomorrow?”

You rubbed briefly at your eye before answering. “The investor conference?”

“Mhm.”

“Nine.”

Manon frowned.

“That’s early.”

A small smile pulled at your mouth despite the exhaustion. “Unfortunately.”

She leaned back dramatically into the couch cushions.

“Cancel it.”

Megan laughed immediately.

“Oh, absolutely,” she snorted. “Tell the billionaires Manon said no.”

Daniela grinned into her drink. Even Lara smiled faintly.

Because obviously she was joking.

Manon didn’t smile.

She was still staring at you.

“Cancel it,” she repeated.

The amusement in the room faltered.

You looked at her properly this time.

“Manon—”

“You’ve barely been here,” she interrupted easily. “All week.”

Your expression softened immediately at the edge in her voice.

“I know.”

“You said this weekend was ours.”

“It is.”

“Then cancel it.”

The room went still.

Sophia slowly lowered her phone onto the counter.

Because Manon wasn’t teasing anymore.

And maybe worse—she genuinely sounded like this should be simple.

Like this was a completely reasonable request.

You stayed quiet for a second.

Thinking.

And the fact you even had to think about it made something flicker across Manon’s face.

Confusion first.

Then irritation.

“You can move it,” she said.

You exhaled softly.

“Not this one.”

“What?”

She laughed once, short and disbelieving, like she genuinely thought she’d misunderstood you.

You closed your laptop slowly.

“I can’t cancel tomorrow.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

Megan sat upright immediately.

Daniela stopped moving entirely.

Even Yoonchae looked up from her phone.

Because nobody—nobody—had ever heard you tell Manon no before.

And judging by the look on her face—neither had she.

She blinked at you slowly.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“It’s important.”

“You always say that.”

Your voice stayed gentle. “This one matters.”

Manon stared.

Then shook her head once like the answer itself annoyed her.

“It’s one night.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you saying no?”

There it was.

Not anger.

Not manipulation.

Genuine confusion.

Like the concept itself didn’t fit correctly in her head.

“You always move things,” she continued, frustration slipping more clearly into her voice now. “You literally moved a trip because I didn’t like the hotel.”

Megan physically winced.

You stayed calm.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Manon.”

“No, seriously, how?” she pressed. “You can move meetings. You do it all the time.”

Your expression shifted slightly then—not cold, not harsh.

Just tired.

And somehow that hurt the room more.

“I told you this mattered.”

“I don’t care about the meeting.”

The words landed harder than she intended them to.

Everyone felt it.

Even Manon, judging by the brief flicker in her expression afterward.

But she was already frustrated now, spoiled instincts taking over before she could stop them.

“You said we’d spend the weekend together,” she said again, quieter this time but more upset somehow. “You promised.”

“And we will.”

“No, we won’t,” she snapped. “You’ll be busy.”

You stood slowly from the island.

Immediately, Manon crossed her arms.

Defensive.

Like she already knew what was coming and hated it.

You walked closer carefully, exhaustion still sitting visibly in your posture. But even now, your voice stayed soft when you spoke.

“Hey.”

Manon looked away.

You touched her wrist gently.

“I can’t this time.”

She pulled away instantly.

The motion shocked everyone.

Not aggressive.

Not dramatic.

Just immediate.

Like she couldn’t stand the answer.

“Fine,” she muttered.

But she didn’t sound fine.

You tried again, quieter now.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“That’s not the point.”

Her voice had gone cold in that dangerous way where it sounded like she was trying very hard not to care.

The room had become painfully awkward by now.

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Because suddenly this wasn’t funny anymore.

This wasn’t Manon joking around for reactions.

Wasn’t playful brat behavior being rewarded with affection.

This was expectation.

Dependency.

Weeks and weeks of immediate indulgence finally colliding with the first real boundary.

And Manon genuinely did not know how to handle it.

“You always say yes,” she said quietly.

The sentence hit harder than yelling would’ve.

Something in your face softened immediately at the sound of it—almost sad.

“I know.”

That somehow made her more frustrated.

Her jaw tightened.

Then she stepped backward entirely, putting space between the two of you.

“Whatever.”

“Manon.”

“I said fine.”

But her voice cracked slightly around the edges now, frustration turning sharper because underneath all of it was something younger and uglier:

hurt.

Not because she didn’t get her way.

Because for the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel prioritized.

Sophia realized it instantly.

And judging by the horrified look Daniela gave her across the room—so did everyone else.

Manon grabbed her phone off the couch cushions.

You tried once more, softer:

“Come here.”

“No.”

Another silence.

Heavy.

Embarrassing.

Too intimate for witnesses.

Then Manon shook her head once, eyes fixed somewhere past you.

“I’m going to bed.”

And before anyone could respond, she walked down the hallway.

The bedroom door shut a second later.

The sound echoed through the penthouse.

Nobody spoke for several long seconds afterward.

Then quietly

“Oh my god,” Daniela whispered.

The penthouse stayed silent long after Manon disappeared down the hallway.

Nobody moved.

Daniela was still staring toward the hallway like Manon might suddenly come back and announce she’d been joking. Megan looked caught somewhere between horrified and fascinated, eyes wide as she slowly lowered the fry she’d been holding for the past thirty seconds.

Yoonchae looked genuinely stressed.

Lara glanced awkwardly between everyone before finally looking at you.

You still hadn’t moved from where Manon left you standing.

Not angry.

Not frustrated.

Just tired.

“Oh my god,” Daniela said finally.

The words came out quiet.

Megan blinked hard. “She actually got upset.”

No one answered immediately.

Because suddenly all the little moments from the past few weeks were rearranging themselves differently in everyone’s heads.

The hotels.

The shopping.

The constant “yes.”

The immediate attention every single time Manon wanted something.

At first it had looked funny.

Then dramatic.

Then ridiculous.

Now?

Now it looked dangerous.

Sophia leaned back slowly against the kitchen counter, arms folding across her chest.

“Because she’s used to being prioritized,” she said quietly.

The room fell silent again.

Your expression shifted slightly at that.

Daniela looked at Sophia. “No, but seriously… did you hear her?”

“You always say yes,” Sophia repeated softly.

Megan rubbed both hands over her face.

Because that was the part none of them could stop hearing now.

Not the attitude.

Not even the argument.

The expectation behind it.

Manon genuinely believed you would rearrange your entire life for her because, until now—you always had.

Yoonchae looked hesitant. “Do you think she meant to sound like that?”

“No,” Sophia answered immediately.

And somehow that made it worse.

“She didn’t even realize how unreasonable she sounded,” Sophia continued. “That’s the problem.”

Lara glanced carefully toward you. “You really never tell her no?”

You exhaled quietly through your nose, finally sitting back down at the island.

“It doesn’t usually matter.”

Daniela stared at you. “Canceling an investor conference absolutely matters.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you look guilty saying no?”

That question actually made you pause.

Megan noticed immediately. “Oh my god.”

You rubbed tiredly at your face before answering.

“She’s been upset I’m busy lately.”

Sophia shook her head slowly. “That’s not the issue.”

You looked over at her.

“She’s gotten used to you fixing discomfort immediately,” Sophia said carefully. “The second she wants something, you handle it. Every time.”

“She’s not demanding,” you said instinctively.

The entire room gave you a look.

You blinked once.

Then sighed quietly. “Okay. Sometimes she is.”

“Sometimes?” Megan repeated.

Despite everything, a tiny smile tugged briefly at the corner of your mouth.

“She likes attention.”

Daniela let out a disbelieving laugh. “Understatement of the century.”

But you didn’t seem embarrassed.

Or defensive.

If anything, you looked… fond.

That was what kept throwing all of them off.

Because none of this felt transactional to you.

You genuinely loved indulging her.

Sophia noticed your gaze drift unconsciously toward the hallway again.

Waiting.

Checking.

Like part of your attention was still fixed entirely on Manon even after the argument.

And suddenly the whole thing made sense in a way that was honestly a little terrifying.

You hadn’t spoiled Manon accidentally.

You’d done it lovingly.

Patiently.

Consistently.

Until she stopped expecting limits from you at all.

“Oh,” Lara murmured quietly.

You looked back at them then, finally noticing how unsettled everyone seemed.

Your expression softened immediately.

“She’ll come around,” you said gently. “It’s just a tantrum.”

The girls stared at you.

“A tantrum?” Megan repeated weakly.

You nodded once, completely calm.

“She’s overwhelmed. She’ll cool off.”

Daniela looked halfway between concern and disbelief. “You sound weirdly used to this.”

Another pause.

Then, carefully:

“She doesn’t usually have to hear no from me.”

Sophia actually laughed once under her breath.

Not because it was funny.

Because it explained everything.

It took about twenty minutes before you finally stood.

The girls tried very hard not to look relieved.

“I’ll go check on her,” you said quietly.

Daniela looked nervous. “Are you sure?”

A small smile touched your mouth, tired but fond.

“She’s okay.”

Then you disappeared down the hallway.

The bedroom door was half-open.

You found Manon in the closet.

Of course you did.

She stood in the middle of the massive walk-in surrounded by clothes she’d very clearly been yanking off hangers without actually looking at them. One dress lay abandoned across the bench. Another hung halfway off the rack beside her.

She heard you walk in and immediately reached for another hanger.

“I’m still mad at you.”

Your expression softened instantly.

“I figured.”

Manon tugged a jacket off the rack harder than necessary. “You should’ve canceled it.”

You leaned quietly against the doorway for a second, watching her.

Not annoyed.

Just patient.

“You know I couldn’t.”

“You could’ve.”

“Manon.”

“I’m serious.”

She still wouldn’t look at you.

That was what finally made you move closer.

“You’re angry,” you said gently.

“No, I’m not.”

“You reorganized half the closet.”

That earned the tiniest reaction—her mouth twitching like she almost smiled before catching herself.

But she shook it off quickly.

“You always say yes.”

There it was again.

Softer this time.

Not bratty anymore.

Not demanding.

Just hurt.

You stopped beside her quietly.

Manon finally looked up then, frustration still visible around the edges of her expression.

“You always move things,” she said. “Or fix them or cancel them or change them and—”

She cut herself off sharply.

You waited.

And after a second, her voice dropped quieter.

“I thought you would this time too.”

Something in your chest tightened painfully at that.

Not because she was being manipulative.

Because suddenly you understood what this had actually been about.

Not the meeting.

Not the weekend.

Reassurance.

All those instant yeses, all those little adjustments you made for her without hesitation—they’d become proof to Manon that she came first. That she was wanted enough for someone to reshape their world around her.

And tonight, for the first time, you hadn’t.

You reached for her carefully this time, touching her wrist lightly.

“Hey.”

Manon looked away immediately, embarrassed now that the real feeling had slipped out.

“I sounded insane out there.”

“A little.”

She groaned softly and covered her face with one hand. “Oh my god.”

You laughed quietly under your breath.

“I didn’t mean—” she started, then stopped herself. “I know the meeting matters.”

“I know.”

“I just…” She exhaled hard. “You’ve been busy.”

Guilt flickered across your face instantly.

Manon noticed immediately and frowned. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look guilty.”

You smiled faintly. “I am guilty.”

“You’re working.”

“And ignoring you.”

“You literally bought me a jacket yesterday.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

The honesty in your voice made her shoulders loosen slightly.

You stepped closer again, hands settling carefully at her waist this time.

“I know I’ve been gone a lot lately,” you said softly. “But saying no one time doesn’t mean you stopped mattering to me.”

Manon’s expression faltered.

Because logically she knew that.

Emotionally?

Apparently not.

You brushed your thumb lightly against her side.

“You know I love taking care of you.”

Her face flushed immediately at how direct that sounded.

Behind the lingering embarrassment, though, you saw her relax a little.

“I got used to it,” she admitted quietly.

“I noticed.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

She rolled her eyes weakly, finally leaning into you instead of away from you.

“There’s my dramatic girl,” you murmured.

“I was not dramatic.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Manon buried her face against your shoulder. “Okay maybe a little.”

You laughed softly again, one hand smoothing down her back automatically.

For a minute neither of you said anything.

Just stood there quietly among the disaster she’d made of the closet.

Then:

“You’re still spoiled,” you said gently.

“Mhm.”

“But I’m keeping the meeting.”

Manon sighed dramatically against your shoulder.

“…Fine.”

You smiled immediately at the lack of actual resistance in her voice.

“And after the meeting?”

She tilted her head back enough to look at you. “You’re taking me out.”

“Demanding.”

“You like it.”

Unfortunately, she was right.

Your expression gave you away instantly.

Manon smiled slowly at that, the last of the tension finally disappearing from her face. “See? That’s your fault.”

“Probably.”

She hummed contentedly and wrapped her arms around your waist fully this time.

A few minutes later, the girls heard soft laughter drifting faintly from down the hallway.

The entire living room collectively relaxed.

“Oh thank god,” Megan muttered immediately.

Daniela collapsed backward against the couch cushions. “I genuinely thought we were about to witness a breakup.”

Sophia shook her head slowly, though there was reluctant amusement in her expression now.

“No,” she said quietly.

Across the penthouse, another burst of soft laughter echoed from the bedroom.

Sophia leaned back against the couch, listening to it.

Thats My Girlfriend

syn: you get wasted at a party one night, and call Manon to pick you up, and KATSEYE discovers your relationship in the loudest way possible.

tags: manon x reader, drunk reader, established relationship, secret relationship, accidental reveal, possessive manon, protective manon, clingy reader, fluff, cuddling, manon is whipped, domestic fluff

w/c: 5.2k+

taglist (join here): @plqnetputellas @katscopic @micaluvssoccer @aoeiurgnmddk @xiiaann @x-d4cvalentine-x @needmeganskiendiel @randomperson868 @urwavvy @ctrlamira @yournextdooralien @yunjinsfinancialadvisor @belzanita @katsattorney @chaeryenchanted @swiftieortega13 @pnsteblnme

a/n: much love xx

The dorm was finally quiet for once.

Not silent—never silent, not with six girls living together—but quiet enough that Manon could hear the hum of the refrigerator and the soft buzz of the city outside the windows. Practice had run late. Everyone had stumbled home exhausted, peeling off makeup and hoodies before disappearing into bedrooms one by one.

Manon was still awake.

She stood barefoot in the kitchen wearing gray sweatpants and one of her old rehearsal shirts, filling a glass with water while scrolling absently through notifications on her phone. Mostly group chats. Fans posting clips from today’s schedule. Sophia sending another ridiculous meme to the dorm chat from literally ten feet away.

Then her screen lit up.

my pretty girl 💋

Manon froze.

You never called this late.

Texts? Sure. Random voice notes at 2 AM? Constantly. But actual phone calls this close to midnight? Almost never.

A weird feeling settled in her stomach as she answered.

Immediately, noise exploded through the speaker.

Heavy bass. People shouting over music. Glass clinking somewhere in the background.

And then

“Hiiiiii baby.”

Manon closed her eyes instantly.

Oh, she was drunk drunk.

Your voice came out all soft and stretched, words melting together with laughter somewhere behind them.

Manon leaned against the counter already sighing.

“How drunk are you?”

A pause.

“I dunno,” you admitted seriously. “The floor’s moving though.”

From the other room, someone snorted.

Megan had apparently wandered into the hallway and overheard enough to figure out what was happening.

Manon shot her a look before turning away slightly.

“Okay,” she said carefully. “Where are your friends?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“They lefttt.”

Manon’s stomach dropped harder.

“What do you mean they left?”

“I told them I was fine.” you laughed again, quieter now. “I may have lied.”

“Baby.”

The word slipped out automatically—soft, worried, familiar.

Manon lowered her voice immediately afterward out of instinct, glancing toward the hallway to make sure nobody else was listening too closely.

Their relationship wasn’t exactly hidden hidden. The members knew you existed. They knew Manon spent a suspicious amount of time with her. But neither of them had officially said anything yet.

Mostly because every time the topic almost came up, you would panic and change the subject.

Now, though, Manon was too focused on the fact you were stranded halfway across the city.

“Did you call a ride?” she asked.

“Mhm.”

“And?”

“…I forgot to get in it.”

Manon stared at the wall.

Somewhere behind her, Megan burst out laughing again before quickly retreating after seeing Manon’s expression.

“Okay,” Manon said slowly, rubbing her forehead. “Send me your location.”

You made a tiny sad noise.

“Please come get me.”

And there it was.

That tone.

Not dramatic. Not playful. Just small and tired and trusting in a way that immediately cracked through every ounce of annoyance Manon had been trying to hold onto.

She could practically picture you right now—leaning against some wall outside the club, blinking slowly at her phone with smeared eyeliner and cold hands.

Manon’s entire expression softened.

“Of course I’m coming.”

You hummed happily like the answer had never been in doubt.

“You’re the best girlfriend ever,” she mumbled.

Manon’s cheeks warmed instantly despite herself.

“You need to stop saying that so loudly.”

“But it’s true.”

God.

Manon bit back a smile, already grabbing her hoodie off the chair nearby.

“Stay where you are,” she said. “And don’t talk to strangers.”

You gasped dramatically.

“That’s offensive. I talk to strangers all the time.”

“Yes, and that’s exactly the problem.”

You dissolved into giggles again.

Manon could hear wind now, traffic passing nearby, the muffled chaos of people coming and going outside the club.

Then, quieter this time

“Miss you.”

The words hit embarrassingly hard.

Manon pulled her cap down over her curls and headed toward the door before anyone else in the dorm could start asking questions.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” she said softly.

You sighed contentedly into the phone.

“Knew you’d come for me.”

The second Manon pulled up outside the club, she regretted agreeing to this alone.

The street was packed.

Music spilled out every time the doors opened, mixing with traffic noise and groups of people lingering on the sidewalk. Neon signs reflected off damp pavement. A couple people nearby were already glancing in her direction—not recognizing her yet, but looking enough that it made her pull her hood lower.

Oversized black hoodie. Cap pulled down. Mask covering half her face.

Normally that was enough.

Tonight, apparently not.

Because the second you stepped outside, your entire face lit up like Manon had personally descended from heaven.

“There she is!” you yelled.

Manon’s eyes widened immediately.

“Oh my god.”

You stumbled forward at full speed anyway.

You nearly wiped out on the curb, catching yourself at the last second before crashing directly into Manon’s arms with a dramatic little noise of relief.

“There’s my girlfriendddddd,” you announced loudly into Manon’s shoulder.

Manon froze.

Actually froze.

People were everywhere.

A group near the entrance turned slightly at the sound, and Manon reacted instantly, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you closer against her chest.

“Baby,” she muttered under her breath. “Quiet.”

You just blinked up at her lazily, completely unbothered.

“You came.”

The words were so soft and pleased that it almost distracted Manon from the fact her girlfriend had apparently forgotten what volume control was.

“Obviously I came,” Manon said, trying to guide her toward the car. “Can you walk?”

“Mhm.”

You could not walk.

At least not correctly.

You took one step and immediately drifted sideways into Manon again, laughing at absolutely nothing.

Manon tightened her grip around your waist before she could fall.

“You’re terrible,” she muttered.

“You like me.”

Unfortunately, true.

You tilted your head back to look at her, eyes glassy and unfocused but still warm in that way that always made Manon feel weirdly exposed.

Then you reached up suddenly and patted Manon’s mask.

“You look suspicious.”

“I am suspicious.”

“You look hot suspicious.”

Manon groaned softly.

“You need water.”

“And a kiss.”

“No.”

“That means yes.”

Before Manon could respond, the club door swung open behind them again.

A guy from earlier—someone reader vaguely recognized from inside—walked out holding a drink.

He spotted you immediately.

“Yo,” he called. “You leaving already?”

You turned automatically, smiling politely.

And something ugly and immediate twisted in Manon’s chest.

The guy’s eyes flicked between them curiously, lingering just a little too long on the hand around your waist.

Manon moved without really thinking about it.

Her grip tightened.

She pulled you fully into her side, body angled protectively between her and the stranger.

“Yeah,” Manon answered before reader could. “She is.”

The guy lifted his hands.

“Okay damn, my bad.”

You looked up slowly.

Then your expression shifted into something delighted.

“Oh my god,” you whispered dramatically. “You’re jealous.”

Manon started walking again immediately.

“You can barely stand.”

“But you’re jealous though.”

“No.”

“Yes you are.”

“You’re drunk.”

You pointed at her like she’d just proven a major point.

“SEE?”

Manon could feel heat creeping up the back of her neck underneath the hoodie.

Behind them, the guy snorted quietly and disappeared back inside.

You, meanwhile, looked absurdly pleased with yourself.

“You got all protective,” you continued happily while stumbling alongside her. “That was sooo hot.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Can’t. I’m in love.”

Manon nearly walked directly into a parking meter.

You dissolved into giggles at her expression, grabbing onto the front of Manon’s hoodie to steady herself.

For a second, the noise around them faded.

Just you looking up at her all soft and drunk and trusting.

Manon exhaled quietly through her nose before reaching up to fix the hood slipping off your head.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered.

You beamed instantly.

“I knew it.”

Then, without warning, you leaned forward and rested your forehead against Manon’s shoulder.

The sudden affection hit harder than expected.

Manon’s hand slid instinctively to the back of your neck, keeping you close while opening the car door with the other.

You sighed happily as Manon helped you inside.

“Best girlfriend ever,” she mumbled again.

Manon glanced around the street one more time before climbing into the driver’s seat beside her.

And despite literally everything about tonight—the risk, the attention, the fact you were going to be impossible for the next several hours—Manon still couldn’t stop the tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

The car got quiet surprisingly fast.

Not fully quiet—the low hum of the engine filled the space, turn signals clicking softly every now and then while streetlights slid across the windshield in blurred streaks—but compared to the chaos outside the club, it felt calm.

Warm.

You had gone from energetic drunk to sleepy drunk in less than ten minutes.

One second you’ve been rambling about how Manon looked “mysterious and expensive” in a hoodie, and the next you were curled against the passenger door blinking slowly like you might fall asleep sitting up.

Manon glanced over briefly while stopping at a red light.

“You okay?”

You made a tiny humming sound.

Then, without answering properly, you unbuckled your seatbelt halfway just to lean closer.

“Hey—” Manon reached over immediately. “Seatbelt.”

You ignored her completely and dropped your head onto Manon’s shoulder instead.

Manon sighed.

But she adjusted instantly anyway, shifting one hand off the wheel long enough to lace their fingers together over the center console.

You smiled sleepily at that without opening your eyes.

There was something dangerous about moments like this.

Not dangerous dangerous.

Just… intimate in a way that always caught Manon off guard.

You weren't clingy most of the time. Affectionate, yes, but usually playful about it—quick kisses, teasing touches, stealing hoodies and pretending you didn’t. You rarely slowed down enough to say things seriously.

But drunk and exhausted apparently stripped all your defenses away.

The city lights painted soft gold across your face while she rested against Manon’s shoulder, fingers loose but warm between hers.

Then quietly

“Thanks for coming.”

Manon glanced at you again.

You still had your eyes closed, voice barely above a mumble now.

Manon squeezed your hand once.

“Obviously I came.”

“No but…” you swallowed slightly, brows pulling together like you were trying to organize the thought correctly. “You always come for me.”

And there it was.

That feeling again.

Like someone reaching directly into Manon’s chest and squeezing.

You said things too honestly when you were tired. Like every thought bypassed embarrassment completely.

Manon’s expression softened before she could stop it.

The traffic light turned green, but she stayed still for half a second longer anyway.

“You’d do the same for me,” she said quietly.

You cracked one eye open just enough to look at her.

“I would,” you agreed immediately. “But you do it more.”

Manon huffed out a tiny laugh through her nose.

Outside, the city blurred past in glowing reflections. Late-night convenience stores. Empty sidewalks. Cars drifting by in the opposite direction.

Inside the car, everything felt strangely small and close.

You shifted again until you were practically folded into Manon’s side, thumb rubbing lazily across the back of her hand.

“You were worried,” you mumbled.

“A little.”

“A lot.”

Manon didn’t answer that.

Because yes. Obviously yes.

You alone at some crowded club, drunk enough to forget getting into her ride? Manon had been halfway out the dorm door before the call even ended.

You smiled faintly like you could hear the silence anyway.

“You’re sooo hot when you’re worried.”

Manon nearly missed the turn.

“Oh my god,” she muttered.

You started giggling immediately, shoulders shaking against her arm.

“It’s true,” you insisted. “All serious and protective—”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you loooove me.”

Unfortunately, that was also true.

Manon rolled her eyes, but her grip on your hand tightened unconsciously.

You noticed, because of course you did.

Your smile softened into something smaller this time. Realer.

“Mm,” you hummed quietly. “Knew it.”

The teasing faded after that.

Sleepiness won out completely, you slowly went limp against her shoulder while the car filled with silence again.

A comfortable one.

At one point, Manon glanced over and realized you were staring at her instead of sleeping.

“What?” she asked softly.

You looked at her for a long moment before murmuring:

“You came for me.”

Like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

Manon’s chest ached a little at the sound.

Without taking her eyes off the road, she lifted their joined hands and pressed a quick kiss against your knuckles.

“Always,” she said quietly.

You melted instantly.

Actually melted.

A dreamy little smile spread across your face as you tucked yourself closer against Manon’s side with a satisfied sigh.

And just like that, the emotional atmosphere lasted exactly three seconds before you ruined it again by mumbling

“You should be worried more often. It’s working for you.”

Manon laughed despite herself, shaking her head while you grinned sleepily against her shoulder like you’ve just accomplished something important.

By the time you reached the dorm building, you were barely functioning.

Not unconscious—just heavily leaning into Manon’s side with your eyes half-closed while she guided you through the parking garage like you might drift away if she let go for too long.

Manon kept glancing around nervously the entire time.

Hood up. Cap low. Mask still on.

“You have to be quiet when we go inside,” she whispered while helping you into the elevator.

You nodded very seriously against her shoulder.

“Secret mission.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m very good at secrets.”

Manon made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

The elevator dinged softly.

You followed her down the hallway slowly, one arm looped around her waist while she dug through her bag for the dorm keys.

The building was quiet.

Dark.

Peaceful.

Manon visibly relaxed.

Good. Everyone was asleep.

That meant she could sneak you inside, get you water, maybe force you to eat crackers or something, and nobody would ever have to know she’d spent the last hour playing chauffeur for her completely wasted girlfriend.

She unlocked the door carefully and pushed it open.

Then immediately froze.

The living room lights were on.

Every single member was awake.

Sophia and Lara were curled up on the couch under blankets. Dani sat cross-legged on the floor with snacks scattered around her. Megan was stealing popcorn from Yoonchae’s bowl while a movie played quietly in the background.

Five heads turned toward the doorway at once.

And there stood Manon.

Dressed like she was avoiding the paparazzi.

Holding up a visibly drunk girl attached to her side.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Manon stopped breathing for a second.

You blinked slowly at the room, clearly trying to process why so many people were suddenly staring at you.

“Oh,” you mumbled.

Nobody moved.

Then your face brightened.

You lifted one arm dramatically and pointed directly at Manon.

“Did you know,” you announced proudly, “that’s my girlfriend?”

The room EXPLODED.

Sophia screamed so loudly Manon physically flinched.

“I KNEW IT,” Lara yelled immediately, practically launching herself off the couch.

Dani folded over laughing before she could even say anything coherent.

Megan pointed between the two of you like she’d just solved a murder case.

“I TOLD YOU GUYS.”

Yoonchae looked genuinely shocked.

“WAIT—SERIOUSLY??”

Meanwhile Manon looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

“Baby,” she muttered under her breath.

You ignored her completely.

“She came and rescued me,” you informed the room proudly, leaning harder into her side. “Because she loves me.”

Sophia was losing her mind.

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TOGETHER?”

“A while,” you answered vaguely.

“A YEAR,” Lara guessed immediately.

Manon’s eyes widened.

“Don’t—”

“Almost,” you admitted.

The screaming somehow got louder.

“Oh my god,” Megan gasped. “YOU HID A WHOLE RELATIONSHIP?”

“You guys are terrible at hiding things!” Dani laughed.

“No, she is,” Manon corrected instantly before realizing that probably wasn’t helping.

You looked up at her with a sleepy grin.

“You think I’m cute though.”

Manon closed her eyes briefly.

That alone made everyone start yelling again.

Because there it was.

The soft voice.

The automatic hand around your waist.

The way Manon kept adjusting your hood and steadying you every time you stumbled even slightly.

Every suspicious moment from the past year suddenly made horrible, perfect sense.

Lara pointed dramatically at Manon.

“You literally look at her like she hung the moon.”

Manon looked personally offended.

“I do not.”

“You SO do,” Sophia shouted.

You gasped softly like you’d just remembered something important.

“She gets jealous too.”

Manon nearly choked.

“Okay. Bedtime.”

“You were jealous outside the club,” you continued happily while she started dragging you toward the hallway. “It was hot.”

Dani actually fell onto the floor laughing.

Megan yelled after you both:

“WE’RE TALKING ABOUT THIS TOMORROW.”

“No we’re not,” Manon called back immediately.

“Yes we are!” five voices shouted together.

You looked up at Manon dreamily while she guided you toward her room.

“You’re famous,” you whispered suddenly, sounding genuinely surprised all over again.

Manon stared at you for a long second before laughing despite herself.

“You are unbelievably drunk.”

Getting you to Manon’s room should have taken maybe thirty seconds.

Instead, twenty minutes later, you were still in the hallway.

Mostly because every single time Manon managed to move you two more feet forward, you exposed another deeply private detail about your relationship.

“And THEN,” you announced dramatically to nobody and everybody at once, “she stole my hoodie.”

“I borrowed it,” Manon corrected tiredly, keeping one hand around your waist while trying to pull her bedroom door open with the other.

“You never gave it back.”

“Because it smells like you.”

The entire dorm erupted.

Sophia actually had to throw a pillow over her face to scream into it.

“Oh my GOD,” Dani yelled from the couch.

Manon looked seconds away from collapsing into the floor permanently.

“You’re all being very loud,” she informed the room weakly.

Lara pointed at her immediately.

“You literally just admitted you sleep with her hoodie.”

“I did not say sleep.”

“You IMPLIED sleep.”

Manon groaned into her hands.

You, meanwhile, looked delighted by the attention.

“Wait wait wait,” Megan interrupted, sitting forward excitedly. “How long have you guys been hiding this?”

Manon answered immediately.

“We weren’t hiding—”

“Ages,” you said at the exact same time.

“BABY.”

“What?” you blinked innocently.

Manon looked at you like she was reconsidering every life decision that led to this moment.

Then Yoonchae gasped softly.

“Oh my god wait, is that why Manon disappeared for like three hours after that awards show last fall?”

You lit up.

“She brought me soup.”

The room went silent.

Sophia lowered the pillow slowly from her face.

“Soup?”

“I was sick,” you explained seriously. “And she came over at like midnight with medicine and soup and those gross little crackers.”

“They’re not gross.”

“They taste sad.”

Manon pinched the bridge of her nose while everyone else collectively lost their minds again.

“That is the most relationship thing I’ve ever heard,” Lara said dramatically.

“And she cried after our first fight,” you added helpfully.

Manon’s head snapped toward you.

“Okay!”

Dani nearly choked laughing.

“You CRIED?” Megan yelled.

“It was not—”

“She thought I was gonna break up with her,” you continued dreamily.

“YOU WERE IGNORING MY TEXTS.”

“I was asleep.”

“FOR TEN HOURS.”

The room dissolved into chaos again.

Sophia pointed accusingly at Manon.

“You’re the emotional one in the relationship.”

“No she is.”

“No,” you disagreed immediately. “She just acts tough.”

Manon stared at the ceiling like she was asking the universe for patience.

You suddenly gasped again.

“And she sleeps with that ugly stuffed bear I won her.”

The silence this time was devastating.

Manon went completely still.

Then slowly:

“Okay. Bedtime. Right now.”

“She named it after me,” you informed everyone while Manon physically started steering you down the hallway.

“I DID NOT.”

“You cuddle it when I’m gone.”

The screaming behind you became genuinely unbearable.

Lara was literally falling off the couch laughing.

“YOU ARE SO DOWN BAD.”

Manon whipped around instantly.

“She bought me that stupid bear at a carnival and then cried when I didn’t win her the giant one!”

“Because you missed every shot,” you defended.

“There was wind!”

“It was indoors.”

Dani slid off the couch entirely at that point.

Manon finally managed to get you to her bedroom door, visibly exhausted.

“Okay,” she said firmly, hands on your shoulders. “You are done talking now.”

You stared at her for a long moment.

Then suddenly grabbed her face with both hands.

Manon blinked in surprise.

“She’s soooo pretty,” you told the room behind her with complete sincerity. “Look at her.”

A collective:

“OOOOOOOOOH.”

Manon’s entire face went red instantly.

“Stop encouraging her,” she muttered toward the living room while trying very hard not to smile.

You squished her cheeks slightly between your hands.

“She came and rescued me.”

“Baby.”

“She’s the prettiest person alive.”

The room somehow got louder.

Sophia was fully kicking her feet on the couch now.

“They’re actually disgusting.”

“You guys are like… embarrassingly in love,” Megan added.

Manon finally pried your hands off her face, though very gently.

“You need water,” she informed you.

“You need a kiss.”

Dani screamed.

“OH MY GOD.”

Manon physically shoved the bedroom door shut behind you while the rest of the members kept yelling from the living room.

The second the door clicked closed, the dorm noise muffled slightly.

You blinked sleepily up at her.

Manon stared back for two seconds before finally laughing into her hands.

“You are never drinking again.”

The bedroom door staying closed lasted maybe four minutes.

Because apparently privacy did not exist in this dorm anymore.

A knock sounded before the door cracked open slightly, Sophia peeking through with the biggest grin Manon had ever seen in her life.

“So,” she said casually, “we ordered fries.”

Manon stared at her.

“You’re not coming in.”

Sophia ignored that completely and looked directly at you instead.

You were currently sitting on the edge of Manon’s bed wearing one of her hoodies now, hair messy from where she’d pushed it back out of your face while trying to get you settled.

Your eyes lit up immediately.

“Fries?”

“See?” Sophia pointed triumphantly. “She wants to hang out with us.”

“She needs water and sleep,” Manon argued.

“BORING,” Megan yelled from somewhere down the hallway.

Against Manon’s better judgment, you ended up back in the living room anyway.

Mostly because you’d heard the word fries and suddenly become emotionally committed to the concept.

Now you sat bundled in a blanket on the couch while the movie nobody was actually paying attention to continued in the background.

Manon stayed right beside you.

Not subtly, either.

One hand resting against your knee. Fingers occasionally brushing your arm. Constantly checking whether you looked too warm or too tired or like you were about to tip sideways again.

The members were absolutely noticing.

“So,” Lara said slowly from across the room, “can we keep her?”

“No.”

Manon answered instantly.

Too instantly.

Too seriously.

The room went quiet for a beat.

Then Megan burst out laughing.

“OH she meant that.”

Manon blinked once like she’d only just realized how aggressive that sounded.

“I just mean—she has an apartment.”

“Mmhm,” Dani said, fully unconvinced.

You looked up at Manon with sleepy amusement.

“You’re possessive.”

“I’m keeping you alive.”

“That’s romantic.”

“It’s literally bare minimum human decency.”

Still, Manon shifted closer anyway when you leaned against her shoulder again.

Sophia watched the entire interaction like she was witnessing a live drama unfold.

“You guys are actually ridiculous.”

You hummed happily, clearly taking that as a compliment.

A few minutes later, Manon pressed a water bottle into your hands.

“Drink.”

You took exactly one sip before making a face.

“Too watery.”

Everyone stared at you.

Manon sighed deeply before kneeling down in front of you.

And that’s when it really hit everyone.

Because suddenly the teasing died down a little.

Manon tucked the blanket more securely around your legs before taking the water bottle again and holding it out patiently.

“C’mon,” she said softly. “A little more.”

Her voice had changed completely.

Gentle.

Warm.

The kind of tone people only used with someone they loved very, very much.

You stared at her like she hung the stars.

Manon brushed your hair back carefully after it fell into your face again, thumb grazing your cheek for half a second before she tilted the bottle toward you once more.

“There you go,” she murmured after you finally drank properly.

The room had gone suspiciously quiet.

Dani looked emotionally distressed.

“Oh she’s gone gone.”

Sophia clutched a pillow dramatically to her chest.

“This is actually insane to witness.”

Even Lara looked a little stunned now.

Because Manon—cool, composed, effortlessly confident Manon—was kneeling on the floor at nearly two in the morning making sure you stayed hydrated like it was the most important thing in the world.

And maybe to her, right now, it was.

You reached out suddenly, fingers catching loosely around the sleeve of her hoodie.

“You came for me,” you said quietly.

Not teasing this time.

Just soft.

Small.

Manon looked up at you immediately.

Something in her expression shifted the second she realized how sincere you sounded.

Her hand settled against your knee again automatically.

“Always,” she said just as quietly.

The entire room erupted into fake gagging noises.

“Oh BROTHER,” Megan groaned loudly.

“They’re sickening,” Sophia agreed.

Lara pretended to wipe tears from her eyes.

“True love is dead and then somehow reborn in this living room.”

Manon rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now.

A real smile.

Small and helpless around the edges.

You noticed instantly, of course.

“There’s my pretty girl,” you mumbled sleepily.

Manon’s face softened so fast it made everyone scream all over again.

Eventually, the chaos started dying down.

Mostly because you were very obviously reaching the point where your body was about to completely give up.

Your eyes kept drifting shut mid-conversation. Your words had slowed into sleepy mumbles. At one point you accidentally leaned against Sophia instead of Manon and looked genuinely confused for a full thirty seconds.

Manon finally stood up with a sigh, sliding a hand under your arm.

“Okay,” she announced. “She’s done.”

“Awwww,” Dani complained immediately.

“You can interrogate us tomorrow,” Manon said.

“Bold of you to assume we’re sleeping tonight,” Lara replied.

You looked back at the couch sadly while Manon guided you toward the hallway.

“Bye fries…”

“You barely ate any.”

“They understood me emotionally.”

Manon laughed under her breath and pulled you closer when you stumbled slightly.

The dorm quieted behind you as she brought you into her room, shutting the door gently this time.

Instantly, everything felt softer.

Dim lamp light.

The faint smell of Manon’s perfume lingering in the sheets.

One of her hoodies tossed over the desk chair.

Your stuffed bear sitting against her pillows like it paid rent here.

You stared at it immediately.

“There he is,” you whispered emotionally.

Manon groaned.

“Don’t start.”

“You DO sleep with him.”

“You gave him to me.”

“Because you missed every target at the carnival.”

“There was pressure!”

“There was a child beside you doing better.”

Manon pointed toward the bathroom.

“Makeup. Off. Now.”

You dissolved into sleepy giggles while letting her guide you toward the sink.

The next ten minutes passed slowly.

Quietly.

Manon stood between your knees while you sat on the bathroom counter, carefully wiping off your makeup with practiced patience.

You’d done this for her before after schedules sometimes. Late nights when she was too exhausted to move properly.

Now it was her turn.

“You’re smudging,” you informed her seriously while she cleaned eyeliner from under your eye.

“You’re moving.”

“I’m helping.”

“You are actively making this harder.”

You smiled lazily and caught the sleeve of her hoodie in your fist anyway, refusing to let go.

Manon didn’t even comment on it.

She just kept one hand steady against your jaw while pushing your hair back gently with the other.

The intimacy of it settled warm and heavy in your chest even through the haze of exhaustion.

“You’re nice,” you mumbled.

Manon snorted softly.

“Only to you.”

“Exactly.”

Once your makeup was finally off, Manon helped you change into one of her oversized shirts.

The entire process was embarrassingly difficult because you kept getting distracted halfway through.

At one point you forgot what you were doing entirely and just stared at her.

“What?” she asked, amused.

“You’re really pretty.”

Manon rolled her eyes, but her cheeks still pinked slightly.

A few minutes later, you were finally sitting on the edge of her bed in borrowed clothes while Manon folded your discarded outfit onto the chair nearby.

You watched her quietly for a moment.

Then:

“Are they mad?”

Manon looked over immediately.

“At us?”

You nodded slowly, suddenly looking much smaller than before.

Not drunk-chaotic anymore.

Just tired.

“I didn’t mean to tell them,” you admitted quietly. “It just… happened.”

Something in Manon’s expression softened instantly.

She crossed the room without hesitation and stopped in front of you, hands settling automatically against your knees.

“Baby,” she said gently. “They’re not mad.”

You looked unconvinced.

“They’re dramatic,” she corrected with a laugh. “There’s a difference.”

You stared down at your hands.

“I wanted it to be… better, I guess.”

That hit harder than she expected.

Because underneath all the chaos and embarrassment and teasing, there it was:

You’d cared.

You’d wanted your relationship to matter enough for a real introduction. A proper moment. Not stumbling drunk through the dorm at two in the morning yelling about stuffed animals and soup.

Manon reached up, brushing her thumb softly against your cheek.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly.

You finally looked up at her.

And after a second, Manon smiled a little.

“Honestly…” She exhaled softly through her nose. “I’m kinda relieved.”

Your expression melted instantly.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“At least now I don’t have to pretend you’re just my friend every time you come over.”

You smiled sleepily at that.

Then immediately ruined the emotional moment by mumbling:

“You were very bad at pretending.”

Manon laughed quietly.

“Go to sleep.”

This time, you actually listened.

The next morning felt like punishment from a higher power.

You woke up slowly, painfully, with your head pounding hard enough to make you question every decision you’d ever made.

Sunlight leaked through the curtains.

Your mouth felt dry.

Your stomach felt weird.

And you were wearing one of Manon’s shirts.

Oh no.

Memory returned in horrifying flashes.

The club.

The car ride.

The living room.

“Oh my god,” you whispered into the pillow.

The bedroom door opened.

Sophia walked past first, spotted you awake, and immediately grinned.

“Morning, Manon’s girlfriend.”

You made a strangled noise and buried your face deeper into the bed.

A second later, Lara’s voice drifted from the hallway.

“One year anniversary soon, huh?”

“I’m leaving the country,” you mumbled into the mattress.

Dani appeared next.

“Ratatouille made her emotional?” she asked before bursting into laughter and disappearing again.

You genuinely considered dying.

The door opened one more time.

This time it was Manon.

And the worst part?

She looked completely fine.

Fresh hoodie. Hair tied back. Holding water, medicine, and a sports drink like some kind of annoyingly beautiful caretaker.

Way too smug, too.

She leaned against the doorway for a second, watching you suffer with obvious amusement.

“You alive?”

“No.”

“Drink this.”

You sat up slowly while accepting the water bottle with the dignity of someone moments away from collapse.

Manon sat beside you on the bed, one hand automatically settling against your back while you swallowed the medicine.

You narrowed your eyes at her.

“You look happy about this.”

“I warned you not to mix drinks.”

“You could’ve warned me I exposed our entire relationship.”

Manon laughed softly.

“That’s what you said last time.”

Your head snapped toward her.

“…what?”

She smiled innocently.

“You never told me I exposed our entire relationship last time,” you accused.

“I didn’t realize you forgot.”

You stared at her in betrayal while she leaned closer, clearly fighting a smile.

Then, softer this time, she brushed her fingers through your hair and murmured:

“At least now I can hold your hand in the dorm without everyone acting confused.”

Your heart melted instantly despite the hangover trying to kill you.

Which was annoying.

I’ve Got You

syn: When you miss practice and Daniela finds you sick in bed, teasing turns into caretaking.

tags: daniela x gn!reader, fluff, comfort fic, hurt/comfort, caretaker dani, tall reader, masc leaning reader, established relationship

w/c: 3.8k

taglist (join here): @racinghost @katsattorney @belzanita @catswag22 @micaluvssoccer @swiftieortega13 @lethal-minds @yournextdooralien @ro2w @plqnetputellas @katscopic @eliyrx @randomperson868 @mochi-nugs @urwavvy @sp1key0 @needmeganskiendiel @aoeiurgnmddk

a/n: tysm for the request!!! much love xx

The first thing Daniela notices is that you didn’t show up.

Which—on its own—wouldn’t be that weird for most people.

But for you?

Yeah. No.

You’re the one who always shows up. Early, usually. Leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, making some offhand comment about their choreography like you weren’t secretly paying attention to every detail. Half the time you end up helping carry speakers or moving things around without anyone even asking.

Reliable. Annoyingly so.

So when Daniela checks her phone between practice runs and still sees no reply from you, her brows knit together.

“Did they text back?” Sophia asks, grabbing water.

Daniela shakes her head, already typing again.

you still coming?

Delivered. Read.

No response.

That’s when it starts feeling off.

“Maybe they’re just busy,” Megan says.

Daniela hums, but she doesn’t look convinced. Earlier, when she’d mentioned practice to you, you were acting a little weird—quieter than usual. You brushed it off, of course. You always do.

But you didn’t joke. Didn’t tease. Didn’t linger.

That should’ve been her first clue.

By the time practice wraps, she’s already made up her mind.

“I’m gonna check on them,” she says, grabbing her bag.

—

Your place is quiet when she gets there.

Too quiet.

Daniela knocks once, then again—sharper this time.

No answer.

“Okay… I’m coming in,” she mutters, pushing the door open.

The silence inside is heavier.

She steps in, glancing around, and then

There you are.

Curled up in bed.

For a second, she just stands there.

Because something about it doesn’t register right.

You’re… still.

You’re never this still.

The blanket is half-twisted around you like you didn’t have the energy to fix it. Your room’s a little messier than usual—nothing crazy, just… off. Like you stopped caring halfway through existing.

And your face

Daniela’s expression tightens as she moves closer.

“Hey.”

No reaction.

She gets to the side of your bed, crouching slightly.

“Hey, you ditched me,” she tries, lighter this time, nudging your arm gently. “That’s kind of—”

You stir.

Barely.

Your eyes open halfway, unfocused for a second before landing on her.

“…hi.”

Your voice is rough. Not your normal voice at all.

Daniela’s teasing expression drops immediately.

“Yeah, no,” she says under her breath.

She reaches out, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead—and freezes.

“Oh, you’re burning up.”

You blink slowly, like it takes effort just to process her words.

“I’m fine,” you mumble.

It comes out weak. Scratchy. Completely unconvincing.

Daniela lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

“Right. Of course you are.”

You try to push yourself up on your elbows, probably to prove your point.

It doesn’t go well.

Your arm gives slightly, your balance wavering for a second before you catch yourself—but it’s enough.

Daniela’s hand is on your shoulder immediately, steadying you.

“Okay—nope,” she says, firmer now. “We’re not doing that.”

“I can—” you start, then pause, swallowing hard like even talking is taking more out of you than expected.

She raises an eyebrow.

“You can what? Collapse more convincingly?”

You give her a weak look, somewhere between annoyed and too tired to actually argue.

“…I’m not collapsing.”

“Mhm.” Daniela gently but decisively pushes you back down against the pillows. “You’re doing a great impression, though.”

You don’t fight her this time.

That’s what really gets her.

Her expression softens, just slightly, as she pulls the blanket back up over you properly.

“You didn’t text,” she says, quieter now. Not accusing—just… concerned.

You close your eyes again, like even keeping them open is optional at this point.

“Didn’t feel like it,” you mutter.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

She studies you for a second—your flushed skin, your uneven breathing, the way you’re subconsciously curling into yourself despite your size.

For someone who usually feels so solid, so there

You look small like this.

Not physically.

Just… not like yourself.

Daniela exhales softly, already shifting gears.

“Alright,” she says, standing up. “You’re obviously not fine.”

A pause.

Then, lighter again—but still firm underneath:

“Good news for you, though.”

She glances back at you, a hint of that familiar teasing look returning.

“I’m here now.”

Daniela doesn’t move right away.

She just looks at you.

Really looks this time.

Up close, it’s worse than she thought—your skin flushed way too warm, your breathing uneven, your lashes resting heavier against your cheeks like even being awake is too much effort. There’s a faint crease between your brows, like you’re uncomfortable even in sleep.

And then

You cough.

Rough. Dry at first, then catching slightly at the end like it hurts more than you’re letting on.

Daniela’s expression tightens.

“Yeah… no,” she murmurs.

She sits down on the edge of your bed again, leaning in without hesitation. Her hand comes back to your forehead, more deliberate this time, pressing there for a second longer.

Still burning.

If anything, worse.

“You’re actually sick,” she says, like she’s confirming something obvious—but her tone is quieter now. More grounded.

Your eyes crack open again at that, slow and unfocused.

“I said I’m fine,” you mumble.

It’s weaker this time.

Daniela huffs out a small laugh, shaking her head.

“You saying it twice doesn’t make it more believable.”

You try to push yourself up again.

Stubborn.

Always.

Your hand presses into the mattress, arm tensing like you’re about to sit all the way up—like you’re about to prove her wrong just by existing hard enough.

For a second, it almost works.

Then your balance tips.

Your shoulders dip forward slightly, breath hitching, and you pause like the room just shifted on you.

Daniela reacts instantly.

Her hand is back on you—this time firmer, steady at your upper arm, the other hovering near your shoulder.

“Hey—hey, no,” she says, softer but sharper at the same time. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m—” you start, but the sentence doesn’t land. You swallow, blinking like you’re trying to focus through something thick and slow.

She raises an eyebrow.

“You’re what?”

A beat.

You don’t answer.

That’s all she needs.

“No,” Daniela says, more definitively this time. Not harsh—just final. “You’re not.”

Before you can argue again, she gently but decisively guides you back down. One hand at your shoulder, the other adjusting the pillow behind you so you don’t just drop.

The movement is easy for her.

And that’s the part that feels almost ridiculous.

You’re bigger than her. Taller, broader, usually the one doing this—steadying other people, lifting things without thinking twice.

Right now?

You barely have the energy to resist.

Your head sinks back into the pillow, breath coming out slower this time, like even that small effort took something out of you.

“…I could’ve done that,” you mutter, voice hoarse.

Daniela gives you a look.

“Mhm. I saw.”

There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth—but it doesn’t last long.

Her hand lingers for a second, still resting against your shoulder.

Grounding.

Making sure you actually stay down this time.

Another quiet cough escapes you, and she notices the way your body tenses with it—subtle, but there.

Yeah. Definitely not fine.

Daniela exhales softly, already shifting into problem-solving mode.

“Okay,” she says, more to herself than to you. Then, a little louder, “When did this start?”

You shrug slightly—or try to.

“Don’t know.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her eyes narrow just a little.

“You don’t know, or you ignored it?”

A pause.

“…both.”

“Yeah. That tracks.”

She stands, glancing around your room quickly like she’s mapping it out.

“You have anything? Medicine? Water? Or are you just raw-dogging being sick too?”

You make a faint sound that might be a laugh.

“M’fine.”

Daniela turns her head slowly to look at you.

“Say that one more time and I’m gonna start charging you for lying.”

You don’t respond this time.

Just shift slightly under the blanket, like you’re trying to get comfortable but can’t quite manage it.

That’s it for her.

Decision made.

“Okay,” she says, grabbing a stray blanket from the chair nearby and shaking it out. “You’re clearly useless right now, so—good news again.”

She drapes it over you properly this time, tucking it in just enough to keep it in place without making a big deal out of it.

“I’m staying.”

Your eyes open again at that, slower this time.

“You don’t—” you start.

“I do,” she cuts in, not even looking at you as she adjusts the edge of the blanket near your shoulder. “Because if I leave, you’re gonna get up and try to ‘be fine’ and then pass out or something equally stupid.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“You just tried to stand up and almost folded.”

“…I didn’t fold.”

“You definitely folded.”

A small pause.

Then, quieter—less teasing, more certain:

“And even if you didn’t, you would.”

She steps back slightly, looking down at you for a moment.

There’s still that hint of amusement in her expression—but it’s softer now. Warmer. Edged with something protective.

“You’re not doing anything,” she adds. “No getting up, no pretending, no ‘I’m fine.’”

A beat.

“I’ve got it.”

And before you can argue again—if you even have the energy to—she turns, already heading out of the room.

“Don’t move,” she tosses over her shoulder.

A pause.

Then, just a little lighter:

“Or at least wait until I’m back so I can watch you fail again.”

Daniela doesn’t take long.

You hear her before you see her again—soft footsteps, the faint clink of something in her hands—and then she’s back in your doorway, balancing a glass of water, a bottle of medicine, and what looks like a damp cloth draped over her wrist.

“Good,” she says, glancing at you. “You didn’t try anything stupid while I was gone.”

You shift slightly under the blanket, eyes barely opening.

“…was thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” she walks over, setting everything down on your nightstand. “Tragic. You missed your window.”

You huff something that might be a laugh, but it dissolves into a quiet cough.

Daniela’s expression flickers—amusement fading just a little.

“Alright,” she says, softer now. “Sit up for me.”

You don’t move.

Or—more accurately—you try, but it’s slow. Delayed. Like your body has to catch up with the idea first.

“…I can do it,” you mumble.

“Mhm.”

She doesn’t argue this time. Just watches.

You push yourself up on your elbows again, movements heavier than before. There’s a slight wobble to it—subtle, but there—and your breath catches halfway through like your chest doesn’t want to cooperate.

Daniela waits exactly one second.

Then

“Okay, yeah, no,” she mutters, stepping in.

Her hand slides behind your back before you can protest, the other steadying your arm as she helps guide you upright the rest of the way. It’s careful, practiced in a way that makes it feel natural instead of forced.

You end up sitting, but closer to her than you intended.

Your shoulder brushes hers.

You don’t move away.

“…I had it,” you say, quieter now.

“Sure you did,” Daniela replies easily. “And I had front-row seats to you not having it.”

She reaches for the glass, pressing it gently into your hand—but doesn’t let go completely, fingers still wrapped loosely around it like she doesn’t trust you not to drop it.

“Drink.”

You take a small sip.

Even that seems to take effort.

Daniela watches you for a second, then tilts the glass slightly when your grip falters, helping you without making a big deal out of it.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then

You lean.

It’s subtle.

Barely noticeable at first—just the faint shift of your weight, your shoulder pressing more fully against hers, your head dipping slightly like you’re trying to stay upright but your body has other plans.

Daniela stills for half a second.

Then she adjusts.

Just enough to support it.

No comment. No teasing—yet.

“Okay,” she says after a moment, setting the glass down once you’ve had enough. “Medicine.”

You make a face immediately.

“…no.”

She snorts.

“Oh, that’s crazy.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You’re literally burning alive.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” she cuts in, popping the cap off anyway. “And you’re taking this before you try to argue yourself into a worse fever.”

You hesitate.

It’s not even stubbornness at this point—it’s just slow. Like everything takes an extra second to process.

Daniela notices.

Of course she does.

Her tone shifts just slightly.

“Hey,” she says, nudging your arm gently. “C’mon. Just take it.”

You look at her for a second—really look this time, even through the haze—and something in your expression softens.

“…fine.”

“Wow,” she deadpans. “That was way too easy. I was prepared for a full fight.”

“Don’t have the energy,” you mumble.

“Yeah. I noticed.”

She hands it to you, watching to make sure you actually take it this time. When you do, she nods once, satisfied, and reaches for the damp cloth.

“Hold still.”

You barely react as she presses it lightly to your forehead.

The coolness makes you exhale without meaning to.

Your shoulders drop just a little.

“…that’s nice,” you murmur.

Daniela smiles—small, but real.

“I know.”

Her fingers brush your hair back as she adjusts it, slower now. Careful. The kind of movement that’s more about comfort than anything else.

You’re warm.

Not just warm—hot. Fever-heavy, your skin flushed under her touch, your usual steadiness replaced with something softer. Looser.

And closer.

You haven’t moved away.

If anything, you’ve leaned in more.

Your head dips slightly toward her shoulder, and this time it stays there.

Daniela glances down at you.

“…you’re kinda clingy right now,” she says lightly.

“…am not.”

“You are.”

A pause.

“…don’t expose me.”

She laughs softly at that—but her hand doesn’t move away. If anything, it lingers, thumb brushing absently near your temple.

“You’re terrible at being sick,” she adds.

You let out a weak huff.

“…I’m fine.”

She doesn’t even respond to that one.

Just gives you a look you don’t fully see—but can definitely feel.

For a moment, it’s quiet.

Just your uneven breathing, the occasional shift as you try to get comfortable without really knowing how.

Then, softer

“I don’t like this.”

Daniela’s hand stills slightly.

“Yeah?” she asks, tone gentler now.

You nod faintly against her.

“Hate… not being able to do stuff.”

Your voice is quieter than before. Not just weak—honest in a way you don’t usually let it be.

“Feels… useless.”

The word sits there for a second.

Daniela exhales slowly.

Her hand moves again, brushing your hair back, a little more deliberate this time.

“You’re not useless,” she says.

You don’t respond.

Probably because you don’t believe it.

She shifts slightly, just enough so you’re more comfortably supported against her side instead of awkwardly leaning.

“You’re sick,” she continues. “That’s it. It’s not a personality trait.”

A small pause.

“You don’t always have to be the strong one, you know.”

That gets a reaction.

Not big—but there.

A slight tightening of your grip where your hand has ended up loosely holding onto her sleeve.

“…kinda do,” you mumble.

Daniela tilts her head, looking down at you.

“Says who?”

You don’t answer.

Because there isn’t a real answer.

Just… habit.

Expectation.

You shift slightly, like you’re trying to pull away—but you don’t get far. Your energy gives out halfway through, and you end up right back where you started, leaning into her without meaning to.

Daniela notices.

Of course she does.

But this time, she doesn’t tease.

Her voice softens instead.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

Her hand rests more firmly against the side of your head—not pushing, just there.

Grounding.

“You don’t have to do anything right now.”

A beat.

“I’ve got you.”

Your shoulders relax a little at that.

Not all at once.

But enough.

And for the first time since she walked in

You stop trying to prove you’re fine.

You just… stay there.

Leaning against her.

Letting her hold you up.

Daniela doesn’t realize how long she’s been sitting there.

At some point, she stopped checking her phone. Stopped thinking about practice. Stopped thinking about anything except the steady, uneven rhythm of your breathing beside her.

You’ve drifted closer without meaning to.

At first it was subtle—your shoulder brushing hers, your head dipping slightly like you were fighting sleep. But now?

Now you’re fully leaned into her.

Heavy in a way that has nothing to do with size and everything to do with exhaustion.

Daniela shifts slightly on the edge of the bed, careful not to move you too much. Her arm is behind you now, steadying you without really thinking about it.

“You’re actually staying still for once,” she murmurs, more to herself than anything.

No response.

Your eyes are closed.

Or mostly closed.

It’s hard to tell.

A few seconds pass in quiet—then your body tenses slightly.

Daniela notices immediately.

“Hey,” she says softly. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer right away.

Then it hits.

A cough—rougher than before. Your shoulders hitch forward slightly, breath catching like your body forgot how to breathe smoothly for a moment.

Daniela’s hand is on you instantly, steadying your back.

“Okay, okay,” she says, calm but alert. “I’ve got you.”

The coughing eases after a moment, leaving you slumped slightly forward.

She adjusts you carefully, guiding you back against her side instead of letting you tip too far.

“Easy,” she murmurs. “Don’t fight it.”

Your hand moves without thought.

It finds her sleeve.

Holds on.

Not tight. Not desperate.

Just… there.

Like you’re anchoring yourself.

Daniela glances down at it for half a second, then gently covers your hand with hers.

Doesn’t say anything about it.

Doesn’t tease.

Just keeps it there.

Your breathing slowly evens out again, though it’s still heavier than usual. Fever-heavy. Distant.

Daniela shifts slightly so you’re more supported against her shoulder.

“Better?” she asks.

You make a quiet sound that might be a yes.

Might just be you existing.

She takes that as enough.

Time stretches again—soft, unhurried. The kind that doesn’t ask anything from you.

At some point, your grip on her sleeve loosens.

Then tightens again.

Like you’re not fully awake anymore.

Your head dips more fully against her shoulder, and Daniela instinctively adjusts, her fingers brushing lightly through your hair again, pushing it off your forehead.

“You’re really out of it,” she says quietly.

No reply.

Your breathing is slower now.

Heavier.

And then

You shift again.

But this time it’s different.

Not restless.

Searching.

Your hand tightens slightly around her sleeve again, and your head lifts just a little, eyes barely opening.

“…Daniela?”

Her attention sharpens instantly.

“Yeah?”

You blink slowly, like it takes effort to focus on her face.

For a second, you just look at her.

Like you’re trying to confirm she’s real.

Still here.

“…you’re still here,” you mumble.

It’s not a question.

More like you’re realizing it mid-thought.

Daniela’s expression softens immediately.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m still here.”

A pause.

Your grip doesn’t loosen this time.

“…you stayed?”

There’s something smaller in your voice now. Less rough, more uncertain in a way you don’t usually let show.

Daniela tilts her head slightly.

“Of course I did.”

Simple.

Like it was never even a decision.

That lands differently.

You don’t respond right away.

Instead, your shoulders drop slowly—like something inside you finally stops bracing.

The tension you didn’t even realize you were holding just… leaves.

Your head settles fully against her again.

This time, you don’t adjust after.

You just stay there.

Daniela watches you for a second longer, then gently shifts so you’re more comfortable, angling you slightly so you’re not straining against her shoulder.

“There,” she murmurs. “Better.”

You nod faintly.

Almost imperceptibly.

Your hand is still holding onto her sleeve, but now it’s loose. Natural. Like you forgot it was even happening.

Daniela doesn’t move it away.

Instead, her thumb starts brushing slow, absent circles over the back of your hand.

By the time the room settles into real quiet, the kind that doesn’t feel empty anymore, your breathing has evened out completely.

The harshness from earlier is gone.

Not gone-gone—but softened. Like your body finally stopped fighting itself and just… let go.

Daniela notices it first in the way your shoulders stop tensing every time you shift. In the way your grip on her sleeve doesn’t tighten anymore—it just rests there. Loose. Familiar.

You’re asleep.

Properly this time.

Not the drifting, half-aware kind from before. Your face is calmer now, the flush in your skin fading into something less alarming. The blanket is pulled up to your chest, slightly crooked where she adjusted it earlier, and your head is still tilted toward her shoulder like it just… decided that was home for now.

Daniela exhales slowly through her nose.

“Finally,” she mutters under her breath, though there’s no real frustration in it.

She shifts carefully so she can look at you better without moving you too much.

Still there.

Still holding on.

Your hand is curled loosely around two of her fingers now—no longer gripping, just there in a way that says you trust she won’t disappear if you let go.

Daniela glances down at it for a moment.

Then, gently, she adjusts the blanket again, tucking it a little higher so you’re properly covered.

“Seriously,” she murmurs, softer this time. “You’re exhausting when you’re sick.”

There’s no response, of course.

Just steady breathing.

She watches you for a few seconds longer, then carefully shifts her weight back against the bedframe so she’s sitting more comfortably. Not leaving. Just settling in.

Her hand doesn’t move from yours.

Outside, everything feels distant. Muted. Like the world decided to turn its volume down for a while.

She brushes her thumb over your knuckles again, slower now. More absent. Like she’s not even thinking about it anymore—just doing it because it feels wrong not to.

Your fingers twitch faintly in response.

Reflex.

Daniela notices and huffs a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” she whispers. “I’m still here.”

She leans her head back slightly, eyes flicking toward the ceiling for a moment before returning to you.

Your face is completely relaxed now. No tension left to hold onto anything.

It’s weird, she thinks.

Seeing you like this.

Not because it’s strange that you’re sick—but because it’s strange how different you are when you’re not trying to be anything.

No jokes. No stubbornness. No pretending you’ve got it handled.

Just… you.

She shifts again, careful not to disturb you, and lets her shoulder rest lightly against yours this time instead of the other way around. A quiet adjustment. Not a reversal—just balance.

You don’t wake.

Don’t even stir.

Daniela watches for a moment longer, then reaches up and lightly fixes a strand of hair that’s fallen across your forehead.

“There,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

A pause.

Then, softer—like it doesn’t need to be heard at all:

“I’ve got you.”

She doesn’t move after that.

Doesn’t get up.

Doesn’t check her phone.

Just stays there, one hand still loosely holding yours, the other resting near your shoulder like it belongs there.

Lost In Translation

synopsis: As KATSEYE prepares for their Italian promotions, Megan comes to Y/N for help in learning Italian

tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, mutual pining, soft jealousy, miscommunication (kinda), first kiss, light fan-service humor, literally just fluff

wc: 7.5k+

taglist (join here): @racinghost @katsattorney @belzanita @catswag22 @micaluvssoccer @swiftieortega13 @lethal-minds @yournextdooralien @ro2w @plqnetputellas @katscopic

a/n: not back from hiatus but i wanted to post this draft for you guys, some more megan and my italian skills. love u xx

The conference room was supposed to be for serious meetings.

It never stayed that way for long.

The moment the staff finished setting up the projector, the girls had already spread out across the table and chairs like it was a lounge instead of a briefing. Lara had her legs tucked under her, scrolling through runway photos. Sophia was peeling the label off a water bottle. Daniela was braiding a tiny section of Yoonchae’s hair just to annoy her. Manon sat perfectly composed, but the moment Megan tried to balance a pen on her lip, she cracked a smile anyway.

Y/N arrived last, sliding into the chair beside Megan.

“Did we win something?” Megan whispered.

“Probably another schedule,” Y/N muttered.

The manager cleared his throat. That was everyone’s cue to pretend they were focused.

A slide appeared on the screen.

KATSEYE GLOBAL PROMOTION TOUR

There were gasps before he even spoke.

“We’ll be promoting in Milan and Rome for the comeback.”

The room exploded.

“MILAN???” Lara nearly fell out of her chair. “Fashion capital. I need outfits planned yesterday.”

Daniela clapped. “Wait, pasta. Real pasta. Not the sad airport kind.”

Sophia raised a hand. “Gelato. I’m prioritizing gelato.”

Manon tilted her head thoughtfully. “Italian press is very style-focused. We should prepare looks that translate well internationally.”

Megan blinked. “Translate?”

Silence.

Everyone slowly turned toward the manager.

He smiled.

“There will be Italian media appearances.”

Groans filled the room.

“I only know ‘ciao,’” Daniela admitted.

“I know ‘pizza,’” Sophia added.

“That counts,” Yoonchae said.

Megan sat up straighter, panic and determination warring across her face.

“No,” she said. “Absolutely not. I am not embarrassing myself on Italian TV.”

Lara pointed across the table.

“Oh, you won’t.”

One by one, every member turned and pointed.

At Y/N.

Megan whipped around. “Wait— what?”

Y/N blinked at the six accusing fingers aimed her way.

“…what did I do?”

“She’s fluent,” Manon said calmly.

“She speaks like four languages,” Sophia added.

“Five,” Daniela corrected.

Lara grinned. “She ordered food in three different languages on tour.”

Megan’s eyes widened. “You never told me that.”

“I value my privacy,” Y/N said dryly.

The manager nodded. “Y/N can help with pronunciation and basic phrases.”

Megan immediately scooted her chair closer.

“Cool. Great. You’re teaching me everything.”

“Everything?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“I am going to sound like I live there,” Megan declared.

Daniela snorted. “You can barely roll your R’s.”

“I can learn!” Megan protested.

Lara clasped her hands dramatically. “This is going to be the best content we’ve ever produced.”

Sophia was already opening the group chat. “I’m filming every lesson.”

Yoonchae leaned toward Y/N. “You created this monster.”

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“I regret being multilingual.”

Manon smiled faintly. “Too late.”

Megan nudged Y/N’s shoulder, energized and completely serious.

“We start today.”

Y/N looked at her, at the determination, the spark, the tiny edge of nerves Megan was trying to hide.

Then she sighed again.

“…fine.”

The room erupted into cheers, teasing, and overlapping suggestions about what Megan should learn first.

Somewhere between gelato debates, fashion arguments, and Daniela attempting an Italian accent so bad it offended everyone, Megan was already repeating “ciao” under her breath.

And Y/N, despite herself, was already planning the first lesson.

By the time dinner containers were pushed aside and the dorm living room floor became an unofficial classroom, Megan was sitting cross-legged on the rug with the intensity of someone preparing for battle.

“I’m ready,” she announced.

“You said that last time before pronouncing ‘ciao’ like ‘chow,’” Daniela reminded her from the couch.

“That’s how it looks!” Megan defended.

Y/N dropped onto the rug across from her, notebook in hand. “Italian is phonetic. You just have to trust the vowels.”

Sophia immediately opened her camera app. “Lesson one, take one.”

Megan pointed. “No filming.”

Sophia angled the phone higher. “This is documentary footage.”

Lara and Yoonchae leaned over the back of the couch like commentators at a sporting event. Manon sat nearby with composed curiosity, ankles crossed, already invested.

Y/N tapped the notebook.

“Okay. Start simple. Repeat after me: ciao (hello).”

“Chow.”

Daniela collapsed into laughter.

“It’s not food,” Y/N said, trying not to smile. “Soft ‘ch.’ Ciao.”

“Chao.”

“Closer.”

“Ch—ao.”

Manon nodded approvingly. “Better.”

Megan beamed. “I’m basically fluent.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Lara said.

Y/N continued. “Grazie (thank you).”

“Graht-see.”

Yoonchae wheezed.

Y/N shook her head. “Soft. Gra-tsyeh.”

Megan exaggerated: “GRAAAA-tsyehhhh.”

Sophia nearly dropped her phone laughing.

“Why are you yelling at the language?” Y/N asked.

“Because it’s yelling at me,” Megan shot back.

They tried again.

“Grazie.”

“…grazie.”

“Good,” Y/N said, softer now.

Megan looked disproportionately proud.

“Okay,” Y/N continued, “this one is useful. Piacere (nice to meet you).”

“Pee-ah-chair-eh.”

“Too many chairs,” Daniela muttered.

Megan shoved a pillow at her.

They practiced again and again until Megan’s vowels stopped sounding like guesses and started sounding intentional.

Then Y/N shifted closer.

“Your mouth is tightening on the ‘r,’” she said gently.

“I feel judged,” Megan replied.

“You’re being coached.”

Y/N leaned forward onto her knees.

The room quieted in a way that only happened when everyone sensed something shift.

“Say it again,” Y/N said.

“Pia… ce… re.”

“Relax,” Y/N murmured.

She lifted her hand and lightly held Megan’s chin, tilting it just slightly.

Megan froze.

“Piacere,” Y/N repeated slowly.

Megan blinked once.

Twice.

“…pia…cere.”

“Better.”

Daniela made a silent screaming face into a pillow.

Sophia zoomed in.

Megan’s ears turned pink.

“Again,” Y/N said, still close.

Megan swallowed. “Piacere.”

“Perfect.”

Megan forgot to breathe for a second.

Y/N pulled back, unaware of the collective emotional meltdown occurring behind her.

Manon cleared her throat. “You could also say piacere mille (very nice to meet you). It’s… extra polite.”

Megan looked impressed. “You speak Italian?”

“Very little,” Manon said. “Enough to order coffee and avoid embarrassment.”

“Teach me coffee,” Sophia said immediately.

“No distractions,” Y/N said.

Yoonchae raised a hand. “Can she learn something funny?”

“No,” Y/N said.

“Yes,” Daniela said at the same time.

Lara leaned forward. “Teach her how to say ‘I am extremely talented and beautiful.’”

Megan gasped. “Yes, I need that.”

Y/N sighed. “You are not using my language skills for propaganda.”

Sophia was laughing too hard to hold the phone steady.

Megan turned back to Y/N, determined again.

“Okay. One more.”

Y/N nodded.

“Grazie,” Megan said.

“Perfect.”

Megan smiled.

And this time, she didn’t look at the others for approval.

Only Y/N.

Which the others noticed immediately.

And absolutely planned to exploit.

—

The dorm was finally quiet.

No music leaking from someone’s headphones. No late-night skincare debates. No Daniela trying to convince everyone to watch “just one more” episode of something no one had agreed to start.

The hallway lights were dimmed, doors shut, the city outside reduced to a distant hush.

Megan stared at the ceiling.

Then rolled over.

Then checked the time.

Then rolled back.

Sleep wasn’t happening.

With a quiet sigh, she pushed the blanket off and padded toward the kitchen, drawn by the faint glow of the overhead light.

Y/N sat at the counter in an oversized hoodie, one knee tucked under her, a mug cradled in both hands. A notebook lay open beside her, filled with neat handwriting and phonetic notes.

She looked up when Megan entered.

“Jet lag practice?” Y/N murmured.

Megan leaned against the doorway. “Your fault. My brain keeps replaying vowels.”

Y/N smiled softly. “That’s how you know it’s working.”

Megan slid onto the stool beside her. There was a bowl of grapes between them and a half-open package of cookies.

“You studying without me?” Megan asked.

“Preparing,” Y/N said. “You’re an intense student.”

Megan popped a grape into her mouth. “I have a reputation to protect.”

They sat in quiet for a moment, the kind that didn’t feel empty.

Outside, a car passed. The refrigerator hummed. Somewhere down the hall, someone shifted in their sleep.

Y/N turned the notebook toward her.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Low-volume lesson.”

Megan grinned. “Whisper Italian. I like it.”

Y/N’s voice dropped, smooth and unhurried.

“Buona sera (good evening).”

“Buona sera,” Megan repeated, matching her volume.

“Good,” Y/N said. “And if you meet fans at night: piacere di conoscervi (nice to meet you all).”

Megan tried it slowly, stumbling over the last syllables, then laughing under her breath.

“That one’s a mouth workout.”

“It gets easier,” Y/N assured.

Megan tried again. Better.

They worked through a few phrases, voices low, shoulders nearly touching as they leaned over the notebook.

After a while, Megan stopped repeating.

Y/N looked up. “Tired?”

Megan shook her head.

“…I just don’t want to sound stupid,” she admitted quietly.

Y/N’s expression softened.

“You won’t.”

Megan traced the edge of the notebook with her fingertip.

“I know fans appreciate us just being there,” she said, voice small but honest. “But if I can say even a few things right… if they hear their own language…”

She shrugged.

“I want them to feel like we tried. Like they matter.”

Something in Y/N’s chest tightened.

The determination from earlier wasn’t about pride. Or cameras. Or impressing media.

It was about connection.

Y/N nudged the cookie package toward her. “That’s a good reason.”

Megan took one, breaking it in half.

“Don’t tell the others I’m being sincere,” she said.

“I would never ruin your cool image,” Y/N replied.

Megan smiled, then glanced at the notebook again.

“Okay,” she said. “Teach me something fans might say back.”

Y/N thought for a moment.

Then softly:

“Ti vogliamo bene (we care about you).”

Megan repeated it slowly.

Her pronunciation was careful, reverent.

She looked up. “That’s nice.”

Y/N nodded. “It is.”

The quiet settled again, softer this time, warm instead of empty.

They shared the last cookie. Their shoulders brushed. Neither moved away.

After a while, Megan whispered one more time:

“Buona sera.”

“Perfect,” Y/N murmured.

This time Megan didn’t beam or celebrate.

She just leaned her elbow on the counter, closer than before, comfortable in the quiet.

And when the silence returned, it stayed — easy, shared, and full of something neither of them named.

—

The living room had been transformed into full livestream mode.

Ring light glowing.

Tripod centered.

Seven girls squeezed into one frame like it was a group selfie that never ended.

Sophia crouched behind the phone, adjusting the angle with intense focus. “If anyone blocks the light, I’m ending the live.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Daniela said, already laughing.

Lara leaned comfortably into Manon’s shoulder, camera-ready without trying. Manon sat poised and elegant, posture perfect despite the cramped couch space.

Yoonchae sat cross-legged on the floor beside them, holding the tablet and quietly monitoring the chat as it flooded in.

Megan sat between Daniela and Y/N, shoulders tense.

“We are not doing the Italian thing,” she whispered.

Y/N, perched just inside frame, raised an eyebrow. “You went viral practicing vowels.”

Megan groaned.

Sophia hit Go Live.

Hearts flooded the screen instantly.

“Hi everyone!” Sophia chirped.

“Hello!” Manon added smoothly.

Daniela waved both hands. “We missed you!”

Lara leaned forward. “Are you ready for comeback era?”

The chat flew too fast to follow.

Yoonchae glanced down at the tablet. “Italy comments… a lot.”

Daniela clapped. “Milan!”

“Rome!” Sophia added.

“Fashion,” Lara said dreamily.

“Food,” Daniela corrected.

Megan attempted to sink into the couch.

Yoonchae spoke again, calm and soft: “They’re asking if we learned Italian.”

The members turned toward Y/N.

The chat started spamming her name.

Y/N blinked. “…traitors.”

“Speak!” Daniela demanded.

“Yes, professor!” Sophia added.

Manon smiled slightly. “We do have Italian EYEKONS.”

The comment section erupted.

Y/N sighed, then leaned closer to the camera.

Her voice shifted — smooth, warm, effortless.

“Ciao, EYEKONS italiani. Grazie per tutto il vostro amore e supporto.” (Hello, Italian EYEKONS. Thank you for all your love and support.)

The room exploded.

Sophia slapped the couch. “OH MY GOD.”

Daniela screamed into a pillow.

Megan froze.

Yoonchae’s eyes widened before she smiled down at the tablet. “They’re freaking out.”

Hearts multiplied into a solid wall of pink.

Y/N laughed softly and continued:

“Non vediamo l’ora di vedervi presto.” (We can’t wait to see you soon.)

Lara clutched her chest dramatically. “Okay that was hot.”

Manon covered a laugh.

Daniela pointed. “Say it again but slower so I can fall in love properly.”

Megan was staring.

Not at the chat.

At Y/N.

Sophia leaned toward the camera. “See? We are prepared.”

Lara suddenly scooted closer to Y/N, reading off her phone, resting her chin on Y/N’s shoulder with exaggerated sweetness.

“Insegna anche a me, per favore,” she said in a deliberately soft voice. (Teach me too, please.)

The chat detonated.

Daniela fell sideways laughing. “FAN SERVICE!”

Manon shook her head, smiling. “Shameless.”

Y/N laughed. “Later.”

Sophia turned toward Megan with predator focus. “Your turn.”

Megan straightened. “No.”

“Yes,” Daniela said.

Yoonchae glanced at the tablet. “…they want Megan to try.”

Megan looked at Y/N in panic.

Y/N mouthed: easy.

Megan faced the camera.

“…ciao.”

The chat cheered.

She blinked, surprised.

“Grazie,” she added.

Even louder reaction.

Daniela clapped like a proud coach. “She’s doing it!”

Megan turned slightly toward Y/N. “More.”

Y/N hesitated — then spoke softly:

“Vi amo.” (I love you all.)

Megan repeated confidently:

“Vi amo!”

Silence in the room.

Absolute chaos in the chat.

Sophia slapped her hand over her mouth.

Daniela screamed.

Lara collapsed against Manon.

Manon lost composure completely, laughing.

Yoonchae hid her smile behind the tablet. “…they loved that.”

Megan blinked. “…what did I say.”

Y/N choked.

Daniela wheezed, “YOU CONFESSED TO AN ENTIRE COUNTRY.”

“I DID NOT.”

“It means you love them,” Y/N managed.

Megan buried her face in her hands. “I trusted you.”

Sophia stared at the screen. “Clips are already up. It’s over.”

Hearts flooded faster than before.

Yoonchae spoke softly, sincere: “They’re very happy.”

Megan peeked at the screen.

Then exhaled.

“…okay.”

Y/N leaned closer. “You did great.”

Megan glanced at her — then quickly looked away.

The live dissolved into laughter, overlapping voices, Lara attempting more Italian flirting for the fans, and Daniela declaring herself “emotionally fluent.”

And somewhere online, clips spread at lightning speed:

Y/N’s fluent greeting.

Lara’s dramatic flirting.

Megan’s confident smile.

And one phrase replaying on loop:

Vi amo.

—

The dorm looked like a clothing explosion.

Outfits covered the couch, the floor, the dining chairs, and somehow even the back of the treadmill no one used.

“I need options,” Lara insisted, holding up two nearly identical tops.

“They are the same,” Sophia said.

“They are emotionally different.”

Daniela was sitting inside an open suitcase instead of packing it. “If I sit here, I can’t forget anything.”

“That is not how packing works,” Manon replied calmly, folding a blazer with precise care.

Yoonchae zipped pouches neatly, methodical and quiet, occasionally sliding items toward whoever needed them without comment. When Megan couldn’t find her charger, Yoonchae simply held it up.

Megan pointed. “Angel.”

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, making a small stack of phrase cards Megan had insisted she bring “just in case of panic.”

Megan hovered nearby. “What if I forget everything.”

“You won’t,” Y/N said.

“What if I do.”

“Then you smile and say grazie.”

Megan exhaled. “Okay. Grazie can save me.”

Daniela flopped backward onto the carpet. “If I accidentally propose to someone in Italian, that’s on you.”

“That would require you learning Italian,” Sophia said.

“Rude.”

The airport was a blur of rolling suitcases, security bins, and staff guiding them through tight schedules.

Sophia filmed a quick clip of everyone half-awake.

Manon somehow looked elegant at 6 a.m.

Lara wore sunglasses like paparazzi might appear at any second.

Daniela tried to speak Italian to a vending machine.

It did not respond.

Yoonchae stayed close, observant, her small smile appearing whenever fans shyly waved from afar.

Megan walked beside Y/N, quietly repeating phrases under her breath.

“Buongiorno… grazie… piacere…”

“You’re going to summon an Italian spirit if you keep chanting,” Y/N murmured.

Megan nudged her shoulder. “Support me.”

“I am supporting you.”

Hours later, Italy greeted them in warm light and a rush of unfamiliar music in the air.

The airport doors opened.

And the sound hit them first.

Fans.

Waiting behind barriers, holding signs, phones raised, voices calling their name.

“EYEKONS!” Daniela gasped.

Lara clutched her chest. “We just landed!”

Security guided them forward, but the members waved, bowing, smiling.

Then Y/N heard it:

“Benvenute!”

“Ti amiamo!”

“Grazie per venire in Italia!”

She looked up, surprised — then stepped closer to the barrier.

Her smile shifted into something softer, more personal.

“Ciao,” she said warmly. “Grazie per essere qui.” (Hi. Thank you for being here.)

The fans erupted.

Megan stopped walking.

Y/N continued, effortless and bright:

“Vi vogliamo bene! Siete bellissimi!” (We care about you! You are beautiful!)

Phones shook. Some fans covered their mouths. Others teared up.

Daniela stared. “Okay, she’s a celebrity here.”

Sophia whispered, “This is insane.”

Lara leaned toward Megan. “You’re seeing this, right?”

Megan nodded slowly, eyes fixed on Y/N — on the ease, the warmth, the way the crowd lit up at every word.

Yoonchae stood beside them, observing softly. “They feel close to her.”

Y/N accepted a small letter from a fan, thanking her again in Italian before being gently ushered forward by staff.

Even as they moved toward the vans, the cheers followed.

Megan slid into her seat without speaking.

Daniela exhaled loudly. “We just got here and I’m emotional.”

Sophia nodded. “Same.”

Lara peeked out the window, still waving. “Italy loves us.”

Manon corrected gently, “They feel seen.”

Across the van, Y/N sat catching her breath, fingers curled around the note she’d been handed.

Megan watched her for a moment longer.

Then looked down at the phrase card still in her hand.

And whispered, almost to herself:

“Grazie.”

Outside, fans continued waving as the vans pulled away, the city unfolding ahead of them in sunlit streets and unfamiliar words.

Italy had only just begun.

And already, something about this trip felt different.

—

The market smelled like warm bread, citrus, and something sweet Megan couldn’t name but instantly wanted.

Sunlight filtered through striped awnings, illuminating baskets of tomatoes so red they looked unreal, glass bottles of olive oil glowing gold, and rows of fresh pasta arranged like artwork.

“We are not leaving without food,” Daniela declared.

“We just got here,” Sophia laughed.

“And I’m already hungry.”

Manon moved gracefully between displays, studying labels with interest. Lara had her phone out, filming everything for later. Yoonchae stayed close beside them, quietly taking in the textures, colors, and chatter around them.

Megan hovered near Y/N, still adjusting to the rhythm of a language she couldn’t understand flowing all around them.

“This place is unreal,” she murmured.

Then a voice called from behind the counter:

“Buongiorno! Posso aiutarvi?” (Good morning! Can I help you?)

The girls froze.

They understood the tone — welcoming — but not the words.

Before anyone could look at the translator app, Y/N stepped forward.

“Buongiorno,” she replied easily. “Sì, vorremmo prendere pane fresco e un po’ di formaggio locale.” (Good morning. Yes, we’d like some fresh bread and some local cheese.)

The shift was immediate.

Her voice softened into something smoother, more fluid. The cadence changed. The accent slipped into place like it had always lived there.

Effortless.

The shop owner’s face lit up.

“Certo! Da dove venite?” (Of course! Where are you from?)

Y/N smiled. “Siamo qui per lavoro, ma siamo felicissime di visitare l’Italia.” (We’re here for work, but we’re very happy to visit Italy.)

Sophia leaned toward Lara. “She sounds like she lives here.”

Manon watched with quiet admiration.

Yoonchae’s small smile appeared. “They like her.”

The owner began enthusiastically recommending cheeses, slicing samples, gesturing animatedly.

Y/N laughed at something he said — a bright, easy sound Megan had heard a hundred times.

But not like this.

Not softened by another language.

Not wrapped in warm vowels and musical rhythm.

Y/N turned back to them.

“He says this one is from a small farm nearby and we have to try it.”

Daniela accepted the sample like it was sacred.

“Oh my god.”

Sophia pointed. “We’re buying that.”

The owner continued speaking, clearly delighted.

Then he paused, smiling at Y/N.

“Il tuo italiano è bellissimo.” (Your Italian is beautiful.)

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Grazie, è molto gentile.” (Thank you, that’s very kind.)

Lara clutched her chest. “Even the compliments sound romantic.”

Megan had not moved.

She watched Y/N speak again, hands moving subtly as she translated, eyes bright, posture relaxed in a way that felt new and entirely natural.

Megan’s brain supplied one coherent thought:

oh.

She reached for a jar beside her without looking.

It slipped from her fingers.

Clink.

Not broken — but loud enough.

Everyone turned.

“I’m fine,” Megan said too quickly.

Daniela smirked. “Gravity got you?”

Sophia leaned closer. “Or the accent?”

Lara’s grin widened. “She stopped blinking.”

Manon hid a smile behind her hand.

Yoonchae glanced at Megan, then back at Y/N, understanding flickering quietly across her face.

Megan ignored them, eyes drifting back to Y/N as she accepted the wrapped bread and thanked the owner again.

“Grazie mille. Arrivederci!” (Thank you very much. Goodbye!)

“Arrivederci!” (Goodbye)

As they stepped back into the sunlit street, Daniela hugged the bag of food.

“We’re coming back every day.”

Sophia nodded. “For cultural reasons.”

Lara bumped Megan’s shoulder. “You good?”

Megan stared ahead, dazed.

“…yeah.”

Behind them, Y/N was still smiling from the interaction, unaware of the emotional aftermath she’d left in her wake.

Yoonchae spoke softly, almost to herself:

“She likes hearing her speak.”

Megan did not deny it.

And the others absolutely noticed.

The paper bag barely survived Daniela.

She walked backwards down the sunlit street, tearing off pieces of fresh bread and passing them around like communion.

“This is life-changing,” she declared.

“You say that about everything,” Sophia said, accepting a piece anyway.

“And I’m always right.”

Warm air drifted through the narrow street as they walked toward the vans waiting to take them to their photoshoot location. Scooters buzzed past, conversations spilled from open cafés, and somewhere nearby, music floated through the afternoon light.

Lara held her phone up, capturing the soft golden glow on the buildings. “If I move here, don’t come looking for me.”

Manon adjusted her sunglasses. “You would last two days.”

Yoonchae walked quietly beside them, nibbling a small piece of bread, her gaze drifting between the architecture and passing locals. Every so often she smiled to herself, clearly enjoying the atmosphere.

Y/N walked near the center of the group, thanking Daniela when she handed her a piece.

Megan walked beside her in silence.

Too much silence.

Sophia noticed first.

Then Lara.

Then Daniela.

They exchanged looks.

Daniela smirked.

“Megan stopped breathing in that store.”

“I did not,” Megan said instantly.

“It was the accent,” Sophia added.

“It was not the accent.”

Lara leaned in from the other side. “You dropped a jar.”

“I dropped nothing.”

Yoonchae spoke softly, matter-of-fact: “You dropped the jar.”

Megan blinked. “…traitor.”

Daniela clutched her chest. “She was stunned. Frozen. A statue.”

“I was looking at cheese,” Megan insisted.

“Sure,” Sophia said. “The cheese that speaks fluent Italian.”

Lara fanned herself dramatically. “Buongiorno.”

Manon let out a quiet laugh.

Y/N looked between them, confused but amused. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Megan said too fast.

Daniela pointed. “You flirted with the shop owner.”

“I ordered bread.”

“In Italian,” Lara added.

Y/N shrugged. “We needed bread.”

Sophia leaned closer to Megan. “And she laughed.”

Megan stared straight ahead. “People laugh.”

“At his jokes,” Daniela emphasized.

Megan groaned. “Can we not do this on a public street?”

“That’s where the best things happens,” Sophia replied.

Y/N bumped Megan’s shoulder lightly. “You okay?”

The casual touch made Megan forget her next denial.

“I’m fine,” she said, a little quieter.

Lara grinned. “She’s not fine.”

Manon adjusted the strap of her bag. “It’s the confidence.”

Yoonchae nodded slightly. “And the voice.”

Megan turned to them. “It was a normal voice.”

Daniela stopped walking just long enough to face her.

“Girl.”

Megan covered her face briefly. “Please stop.”

Sophia laughed. “Wait until she orders dinner tonight.”

“I will not be present,” Megan muttered.

Y/N chuckled softly beside her, still unaware of the full extent of the teasing’s accuracy.

“You’re all dramatic,” she said.

“Yes,” Lara agreed immediately. “But we’re not wrong.”

Ahead, staff waved them forward toward the vans, reminding them they were already pushing the photoshoot schedule.

Daniela tossed the empty bread wrapper into a bin and clapped once. “Okay, fashion faces on.”

Sophia straightened. “Model mode.”

Manon’s posture shifted instantly into poised elegance.

Lara flipped her hair like a switch had been flipped.

Yoonchae brushed crumbs from her hands, expression calm and ready.

Megan inhaled, centering herself.

Then Y/N said something under her breath in Italian to thank a passerby who moved aside for them.

Megan’s composure almost cracked again.

Lara saw.

And smiled.

The teasing, it seemed, was far from over.

—

The hotel suite was quieter than the dorm chaos they were used to, but not by much.

Garment bags hung along one wall. Makeup kits lay open across the table. Someone’s curling iron was still plugged in. Outside the tall windows, late evening light softened the edges of the unfamiliar city.

Daniela lay upside down across the foot of one bed, scrolling her phone. Sophia sat cross-legged on the floor sorting tomorrow’s schedule printouts. Lara lounged against the headboard, flipping through photos from the day. Manon carefully hung a jacket to keep it wrinkle-free.

Yoonchae sat near the window, legs tucked beneath her, watching the street below while absentmindedly twisting the cap on a water bottle.

In the middle of it all, Megan sat on the carpet facing Y/N with determined focus.

Notebook open. Pen ready.

“Okay,” Megan said. “Important phrases only. No sabotage.”

Daniela didn’t look up. “No promises.”

Y/N ignored her and flipped to a fresh page.

“These are useful when we meet fans,” she said.

Megan nodded seriously.

Y/N spoke slowly:

“Grazie per il vostro supporto. (Thank you for your support.)”

Megan repeated it carefully, sounding out each syllable.

“Better,” Y/N said. “Again.”

She tried again — smoother this time.

Sophia looked up. “That actually sounded good.”

Megan sat up straighter.

Y/N continued.

“Sei bellissima. (You’re beautiful.)”

Lara perked up immediately. “Oh I like that one.”

“Focus,” Megan warned, then repeated the phrase.

Daniela snorted. “If someone says that to me I’m moving here permanently.”

Y/N smiled faintly and turned back to Megan.

“A presto. (See you soon.)”

Megan repeated it.

Yoonchae murmured softly from the window, “That one sounds gentle.”

Megan tried it again, softer, matching the tone.

Y/N nodded. “Good.”

She tapped the notebook.

“One more. Useful for encouraging fans.”

Megan leaned closer.

“Hai fatto bene. (You did well.)”

Megan repeated it.

This one came out confident.

Daniela gave her a small approving clap without lifting her head.

Megan looked pleased — then glanced back at Y/N, waiting.

Y/N hesitated.

There was one more phrase sitting on her tongue, familiar and simple and heavier than the rest.

She told herself it was harmless.

She told herself Megan wouldn’t think anything of it.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Last one.”

Megan straightened.

“Ti amo.”

Megan repeated immediately, obedient and precise:

“Ti amo.”

Silence.

Lara’s eyes flicked up.

Sophia stopped shuffling papers.

Yoonchae’s gaze lifted from the window.

Daniela slowly lowered her phone.

Megan looked at Y/N. “What does it mean?”

Y/N paused.

Just long enough to feel the weight of six pairs of ears in the room.

Then she shrugged lightly.

“It means… you’re doing great.”

Megan’s face lit up.

“Oh.”

She wrote it down in careful phonetics.

“Ti amo,” she repeated, smiling to herself.

Again.

“Ti amo.”

Megan repeated the phrase once more, brighter each time.

“Ti amo.”

Y/N nodded, ignoring the warmth creeping up her neck.

“Perfect,” she said.

Megan beamed at her like she’d just passed an exam.

And then, absentmindedly, as she flipped to the next page of her notes, she murmured it again under her breath.

“Ti amo.”

Y/N looked away.

Outside, the city hummed softly under the evening sky.

Inside, something small and unspoken had shifted into place.

And none of them — except maybe the five silent witnesses — pretended not to feel it

—

The studio was bright in that polished, minimalist way that made everything feel both casual and high-stakes at the same time.

A curved white couch sat beneath soft panel lighting. Cameras rested on tripods. A small table held bottled water and neatly stacked cue cards. Behind the main setup, a backdrop displayed the show’s logo in clean lettering.

Manon whispered, “This feels expensive.”

Daniela leaned toward her mic. “Don’t touch anything.”

“I wasn’t going to touch anything.”

Lara adjusted the sleeve of her outfit, studying the monitor feed. Sophia sat poised and composed, posture effortless. Yoonchae observed quietly, hands folded in her lap, taking in the flow of the set with calm attentiveness.

Megan bounced her knee.

Y/N noticed immediately.

“Breathe,” she murmured.

“I am breathing.”

“You’re vibrating.”

“I’m professionally vibrating.”

Across from them, the interviewer — a warm, stylish woman with a tablet in hand — smiled reassuringly.

“Welcome! Today is just a rehearsal run for the interview format,” she explained. “I’ll ask questions in English and Italian. You can answer in either language.”

Daniela leaned toward Sophia. “Either language is generous.”

The interviewer laughed. “No pressure. We just want you comfortable before filming tomorrow.”

Manon nodded graciously. “We appreciate that.”

They began with introductions, easy questions, and laughter that loosened the atmosphere.

Then the interviewer shifted.

“This question will be in both languages,” she said.

She turned toward Megan.

“In English: What has surprised you most about visiting Italy so far?”

Then smoothly:

“In italiano: Che cosa ti ha sorpreso di più dell’Italia finora?”

Megan froze.

Her brain replayed vowels.

Her notes.

The market.

The fans.

The phrase cards.

Somewhere beside her, Y/N didn’t speak — just present, steady.

Megan inhaled.

“…L’Italia è…” She paused, recalibrating. (Italy is…)

Daniela held perfectly still.

Sophia’s eyes widened.

Yoonchae watched quietly, encouraging without pressure.

Megan continued:

“…molto bella.” (…very beautiful.)

The interviewer nodded encouragingly.

Megan’s confidence flickered on.

“La gente è gentile…” (The people are kind…)

She swallowed, then pushed forward.

“…e il cibo è incredibile.” (and the food is incredible.)

A beat of silence.

Then—

Daniela clapped.

Sophia gasped. “SHE DID IT.”

Lara grabbed Megan’s arm. “Fluent!”

Manon smiled, pride unmistakable. “Very good.”

Yoonchae’s quiet voice added, “That sounded natural.”

The interviewer beamed. “Perfetto!”

Megan blinked, stunned. “I didn’t pass out.”

“You thrived,” Sophia corrected.

Megan laughed breathlessly, adrenaline and disbelief mixing together.

Then, instinctively, she turned.

Not to the cameras.

Not to the interviewer.

To Y/N.

For a split second, the room softened.

Y/N’s expression was warm, eyes bright with unmistakable pride.

She didn’t clap. She didn’t tease.

She just gave a small nod and a soft smile.

You did it.

Megan felt something in her chest collapse inward and expand all at once.

Her heart did something unhelpful and dramatic.

She turned back toward the interviewer too quickly.

“I practiced,” she said.

Daniela leaned into her mic. “She practiced in her sleep.”

“That’s true,” Sophia added.

Lara tilted her head. “She whispers vowels at night.”

“I do not,” Megan protested weakly.

Yoonchae hid a smile.

The interviewer chuckled. “Would you like to try another short phrase for Italian fans?”

Megan glanced at Y/N.

Y/N gave a tiny, reassuring nod.

Megan faced forward again.

“Grazie per il vostro supporto,” she said, careful but confident. (Thank you for your support.)

The interviewer clasped her hands. “Bellissimo.” (Beautiful)

Daniela fanned herself. “We’re international.”

Megan exhaled slowly, the nerves draining away, replaced by something steadier.

Something earned.

Across the couch, Y/N watched her with quiet pride.

And Megan felt it again — that warm, unsteady feeling she was beginning to recognize as dangerous.

The rehearsal continued, questions flowing, laughter returning, the group settling into an easy rhythm.

But Megan’s confidence had shifted.

Grown.

Rooted itself somewhere deeper than memorized phrases.

And every time she spoke, every time she dared another Italian word, she could feel Y/N’s presence beside her

steady, warm

and impossible to ignore

—

The hotel lounge had settled into a rare pocket of calm between schedules.

Outside the tall windows, late afternoon light spilled across the floor. Garment bags rested against the wall, half-zipped. Coffee cups and snack wrappers cluttered the low table like evidence of a long day.

Y/N had stepped out with staff to pick up something for tomorrow’s shoot, leaving the remaining six members in various states of rest and distraction.

Daniela lay sprawled across an armchair, scrolling. Sophia sat cross-legged on the rug editing clips from the live. Lara leaned against the couch arm, flipping through a glossy Italian fashion magazine she’d claimed from the lobby.

Yoonchae sat beside her quietly, observing the pages with soft curiosity.

Manon occupied the far end of the couch, posture elegant even while relaxed, one ankle crossed neatly over the other.

Lara’s brows furrowed in fierce concentration.

“…okay,” she murmured, tracing the line with her finger. “Linee pulite… e tessuti… strutturati…”

She looked up.

“Clean lines and structured fabrics.”

Sophia turned. “Wait, do that again.”

Lara pushed forward, sounding out the next sentence more confidently.

Daniela slowly lowered her phone. “Why is that actually good?”

Yoonchae’s small smile appeared. “It sounds natural.”

Manon tilted her head, studying Lara with calm approval. “Your rhythm has improved.”

Lara blinked. “Really?”

“Yes,” Manon said. “You sound comfortable.”

The praise hit instantly. Megan’s face brightened, thinking of the perfect word to respond with.

Without thinking, she turned toward Lara, warm and grateful:

“Ti amo.”

Silence.

Lara blinked once.

Sophia froze.

Daniela stopped mid-scroll.

Manon’s mouth opened.

Yoonchae looked up slowly.

Manon’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

“You cannot be saying that to everyone,” she said lightly.

Megan laughed. “Why not? It means you did great.”

Manon’s brows lifted.

“…who told you that?”

Megan shrugged. “Y/N.”

Sophia slapped a hand over her mouth.

Daniela whispered, “No way.”

Lara turned toward Megan with dawning delight.

Manon let out a soft, elegant laugh.

“Megan,” she said gently, “ti amo means ‘I love you.’”

The room went still.

Megan blinked.

Her brain visibly buffering.

“…like… as encouragement?”

Manon shook her head, amused. “No. As a confession.”

Sophia made a strangled noise.

Daniela fell sideways into the chair.

Lara clutched the magazine to her chest. “Oh my god.”

Yoonchae watched Megan carefully, sympathy softening her expression.

Megan stared at Manon. “You’re joking.”

Manon shook her head again, eyes bright with restrained laughter. “I am not.”

Megan’s face flushed instantly.

“I said that on live.”

Daniela choked.

Sophia collapsed onto the carpet.

Lara wheezed. “To thousands of people.”

Manon added smoothly, “And just now, to me.”

Megan covered her face. “Please forget it.”

“I cannot,” Manon replied serenely. “It was heartfelt.”

“It was educational!”

Manon leaned slightly closer, voice gentle but teasing:

“Should I respond appropriately?”

Megan’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare.”

Manon placed a hand over her heart. “Ti amo, Megan.”

Daniela screamed into a pillow.

Sophia kicked the rug.

Lara slid off the couch laughing.

Yoonchae hid her smile behind her hand.

Megan stood abruptly.

“I need air.”

She turned and speed-walked toward the door.

“Megan,” Manon called after her, perfectly composed, “be careful who you confess to in the hallway.”

“I AM NOT CONFESSING,” Megan shouted, already halfway out.

The door shut.

Silence lingered for half a second.

Then the room erupted.

Lara wiped tears from her eyes. “We can never tell Y/N we knew first.”

Sophia gasped. “No, we absolutely can.”

Daniela clutched her chest. “This trip is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Yoonchae looked toward the door Megan had disappeared through, her voice soft:

“She didn’t mean to say it… but she didn’t hesitate either.”

Manon’s smile softened, something thoughtful flickering beneath the amusement.

Outside in the hallway, Megan leaned against the wall, face burning, heart racing, three words echoing in her mind on a loop.

Ti amo.

And suddenly, the way Y/N had said it that night felt very different

The hotel hallway felt too long.

Too quiet.

Too bright.

Megan stood outside their room door for a full ten seconds before swiping the keycard and stepping inside.

The room was dim except for the warm glow of a bedside lamp. One suitcase lay open on the luggage rack. The curtains were half drawn, letting in the soft gold of the evening sky over the city.

She sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped, unclasped, clasped again.

Her brain replayed the lounge.

Manon’s voice.

Ti amo means I love you.

Her stomach flipped.

The door clicked open.

Y/N stepped inside, balancing a small paper bag and her phone, nudging the door shut with her foot.

“You will not believe how long it takes to find—”

She stopped when she saw Megan sitting stiffly on the bed.

Something in her expression shifted instantly.

“What happened?” she asked softly.

Megan stood.

Not angry.

Not explosive.

Just nervous in a way that felt heavier than either.

“We need to talk.”

Y/N set the bag down slowly.

“…okay.”

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Traffic hummed faintly outside. A distant siren echoed somewhere in the city. The quiet inside the room felt close and fragile.

Megan swallowed.

“Did you lie to me?”

Y/N blinked. “About what?”

Megan held her gaze.

“Ti amo.”

Silence settled between them.

Y/N exhaled slowly, looking down at the floor for a moment before leaning back against the desk.

“It wasn’t—” she began.

Megan shook her head. “Don’t deflect.”

Y/N’s lips pressed together.

Megan’s voice softened, but didn’t waver.

“Did you mean it?”

The question landed gently — and hit just as hard.

Y/N looked at her.

Really looked at her.

And something in her expression gave way.

“…yes,” she said quietly.

The word settled into the room like something fragile and irreversible.

Megan’s fingers curled slightly at her sides.

Y/N’s voice stayed soft.

“It slipped out,” she admitted. “I was thinking it… and I said it before I could stop myself.”

She swallowed.

“I didn’t want to complicate things.”

Megan didn’t move.

“I didn’t think you felt the same,” Y/N continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “And we’re teammates, and everything is already… a lot.”

Her eyes flickered away briefly, then back.

“So I told you it meant something else.”

Silence.

The city hummed outside. A car passed. Somewhere down the hall, a door closed.

Inside the room, neither of them moved.

Megan’s heart pounded so hard she was sure it was audible.

Y/N stood still, like she had said everything she could risk saying.

No jokes.

No teasing.

No safe exits left.

Just truth.

And the quiet waiting space that followed it.

Y/N hadn’t moved from where she stood near the desk. Megan still stood near the bed, fingers curled slightly at her sides, heart beating hard enough to make everything feel louder than it was.

Neither of them looked away.

Megan inhaled.

Then stepped forward.

One step. Then another.

She stopped just within arm’s reach.

Y/N didn’t move, but her breath caught — subtle, unmistakable.

Megan’s voice, when she spoke, was quiet.

Not teasing.

Not embarrassed.

Certain.

“Then teach me how to say it back.”

Y/N froze.

For a moment she just stared at her, like her brain had stopped translating reality.

“Megan…”

But Megan was already trying.

“Ti… ah-mo,” she said carefully.

Y/N let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh, tension cracking just slightly.

“Close,” she murmured.

Her voice dropped into that gentle, patient tone Megan knew from late-night lessons and whispered kitchen practice.

“It’s softer. Ti amo.”

Megan tried again.

“Ti… amo.”

Still imperfect.

Still hers.

Y/N stepped closer without thinking, lifting her hand lightly to Megan’s jaw the way she had during that first lesson, guiding her gently.

“Relax,” she whispered. “Don’t force it.”

Megan’s pulse jumped beneath her touch.

“Ti amo,” Y/N repeated softly.

Megan swallowed.

“…ti amo.”

Better.

Y/N’s thumb brushed lightly along her jaw before she seemed to realize how close they were — but she didn’t step away.

“Again,” she said, barely audible.

Megan’s eyes searched hers.

“Ti amo.”

This time the vowels fell into place — smooth, careful, perfect.

Something in Y/N’s expression broke open, warmth rushing in where restraint had been.

Neither of them moved for a heartbeat.

Then Megan’s fingers found Y/N’s hand.

Tentative at first.

Y/N’s hand turned in hers, fitting naturally, like it had always belonged there.

Their foreheads met softly.

Both of them exhaled.

No cameras.

No schedules.

No noise.

Just shared breath and the quiet hum of the city beyond the window.

Megan whispered it again, softer now, like a secret meant only for the space between them.

“Ti amo.”

Y/N’s eyes closed.

Her thumb brushed slowly across Megan’s knuckles.

When she spoke, her voice was barely more than air.

“Ti amo.”

The distance between them disappeared without either of them deciding to close it.

The kiss was gentle — tentative at first, like a question.

Then certain.

Warm.

Unhurried.

When they finally parted, their foreheads remained together, both of them smiling in that small, disbelieving way people do when something fragile and real has just settled into place.

Outside, the last light of evening slipped behind the buildings.

Inside, neither of them let go.

And for the first time since the words had been spoken, they no longer felt accidental.

—

The Milan studio buzzed with controlled chaos.

Racks of designer pieces lined the walls. Stylists moved with tape measures draped around their necks. Assistants called out looks and lighting changes in rapid Italian. The air smelled faintly of hairspray and espresso.

“Next look in five!” someone called.

Sophia adjusted an oversized blazer in the mirror. “I feel expensive.”

“You look expensive,” Daniela confirmed from the styling chair, where a makeup artist was attempting to keep her from talking.

Lara flipped her hair for the camera test shot. “Milan suits me.”

Manon stood beneath the lights with effortless elegance, reviewing poses with the photographer like she’d been born on a runway.

Yoonchae sat nearby, calm and observant, watching the rhythm of the set with quiet focus while a stylist adjusted the cuff of her sleeve.

At the long prep table off to the side, Megan and Y/N sat shoulder to shoulder reviewing cue cards for a short behind-the-scenes clip they’d film later.

To anyone watching, it looked normal.

Routine.

Professional.

Under the table, Megan’s fingers were threaded through Y/N’s.

Neither of them acknowledged it.

Across the room, Lara noticed first.

Her eyes dropped.

Then slowly lifted.

A slow grin spread across her face.

She leaned toward Sophia. “Don’t look immediately.”

Sophia looked immediately.

Her eyebrows shot up.

Daniela followed their line of sight and made a strangled noise that her makeup artist interpreted as a cough.

Manon glanced once, then looked away with a composed, knowing calm.

Yoonchae noticed last.

Her small smile appeared.

Megan, oblivious, leaned closer to the cue cards.

“…how do you say ‘see you soon’ again?”

Y/N kept her voice neutral. “A presto.”

Megan nodded, then whispered under her breath:

“Ti ah-mo.”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “Still wrong.”

Megan leaned closer, pretending to study the paper.

“Ti… amo,” she tried again, softer.

“Better,” Y/N murmured.

Megan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand under the table.

From across the room, Lara clutched her chest silently.

Daniela mouthed: OH MY GOD.

Sophia fanned herself with a call sheet.

Manon approached with serene composure, pausing beside them.

“So,” she said lightly, “Italian lessons are progressing well.”

Megan froze.

Y/N did not look up.

Daniela turned her chair to face them fully. “Yes, we would love an update.”

“I hate all of you,” Megan muttered.

Yoonchae spoke softly from behind them, gentle but unmistakably amused:

“You pronounce it better when you whisper.”

Megan covered her face.

The photographer called, “Positions, please!”

The moment broke into motion — chairs sliding back, stylists rushing forward, outfits lifted from racks.

Megan stood.

Y/N stood.

Their hands separated naturally, like nothing had happened.

But as they walked toward the set lights, Megan’s fingers brushed lightly against Y/N’s again.

Not by accident.

Under the bright Milan studio lights, cameras clicked, fabric moved like water, and voices flowed in Italian around them.

Between poses, Megan leaned just close enough to whisper:

“Ti amo.”

Perfect this time.

Y/N didn’t look at her.

Tried That Already

syn: Being TWICE’s unofficial “most popular couple” was funny at first. But when one variety show sends public speculation spiraling out of control, management forces you and Momo apart on camera, and suddenly the distance hurts a lot more than the jealousy ever did.

tags: possessive!hirai momo x fem!reader, idol au, 10th member!reader, secret relationship, established relationship, protective momo, angst with happy ending, hurt comfort

w/c: 9.0k+

taglist (join here): @racinghost @katsattorney @belzanita @catswag22 @micaluvssoccer @swiftieortega13 @lethal-minds @yournextdooralien @ro2w @plqnetputellas @katscopic @eliyrx @randomperson868 @mochi-nugs @urwavvy @sp1key0 @needmeganskiendiel @aoeiurgnmddk @ctrlamira

a/n: first time writing for twice, so i had to start with my bias ofc. much love xx

The livestream starts the way it always does—half-organized chaos, voices overlapping, someone off-camera arguing about snacks while the rest try to act like everything is under control. The camera settles into place in the living room, soft lighting washing over the couch where you and Momo are already sitting a little too comfortably together.

Not suspiciously.

Just… naturally close in a way that doesn’t need explaining anymore.

Your shoulder is pressed against hers, knees occasionally bumping when either of you shifts. Momo greets the camera with her usual bright energy—smiling, waving, playing it up for fans—but her hand is already there, lightly hooked into your sleeve like it forgot it had somewhere else to be.

You don’t move it.

Not yet, anyway.

Because you’re busy reading the chat, leaning forward with an amused grin as messages fly in faster than anyone can properly read.

“Why are there so many comments about me today?” you say, squinting at the screen. Then you laugh under your breath. “Oh my god—this one says, ‘You’re literally the reason I opened this livestream.’”

A couple members off-camera react instantly—someone yells something about ego, another voice tells you not to encourage them—but you’re already grinning like you’ve been handed entertainment for free.

And then, without thinking too much about it, you lean into it.