HANANENEYURI ⚢

Everyone around him gets affected by it as well. Seonghyeon and Martin feels uneasy when instead of the usual energetic Keonho they know gets replaced by a very sad Keonho. Their room gets oddly quiet and Keonho just lays on his bed, eyebrows furrowed, while staring at the ceiling.

“What’s up with him now…?” Martin whispers to Seonghyeon, who in return, just shrugs his shoulders. Because just a few minutes ago, they were loudly laughing while playing some games—then Keonho had to take a call and went into his room. When the other two came to check up on him, they found him looking like an abandoned puppy.

His phone suddenly rings. You were finally calling him. The ringtone was a unique sound, he particularly set a different ringtone for you. So anyone who calls him gets ignored, unless he knows it’s you, because of the special ringtone he set.

“Ah!” Keonho immediately gets up from his bed, grabbing his phone way too fast. “Baby?” he croaks out. You almost feel guilty and you can practically imagine his pouty lips through the screen.

But at the first place, he was at fault. He knew that, you knew that, and his two best friends observing him knew about it.

“I’m sorry, baby.” he sniffles, voice slightly shaking. “I promise, I’ll stop ragebaiting you. Please, forgive me please..”

You let out a sigh. “I’m outside your dorm, dummy. Meet m—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, he jumped out of his bed, even pushing Seonghyeon out of the way to run to the main door. Even Juhoon who was about to ask if they want to eat lunch, gets pushed out of the way by Keonho.

He opens the door like he’s about to open a golden treasure chest. “Baby!” he cheered, pulling you into a hug. Acting like he wasn’t just sulking over you not replying to him earlier.

You don’t hug back, but you let him cuddle you in the middle of the hallway. “You’re still mad?” he sticks out his bottom lip, giving you his usual pouty face that he knows you can’t resist.

“Baby, look at me, please?”

You shake your head. There’s no way your falling for that. Remember, you’re mad. You’re pissed off with him now, you’re not allowed to melt into his arms, and place plenty of kisses on his face.

Keonho caresses your cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to make you mad. Forgive me, hm?”

“You know I can’t breathe properly when you don’t look at me,” he says. His eyes soften when you glare at him. But at least, you finally looked at him. Even if you’re annoyed with him. What matters to your boyfriend is that you’re giving him your time.

“Finally. My baby’s cute when she’s mad.” he teases, trying to cheer you up. You press your lips, trying to hold back your smile.

“Shut up…” you try to pull away from his hold. He doesn’t allow you. He pulls you even closer into his arms. “I’m still mad at you.”

That’s obvious. Keonho chuckled, nodding his head. “I know. Do you want ice cream? Or a chocolate? I’ll buy it for you.”

“Ice cream,” you demanded.

His smile widened, nodding his head again. “Anything for my princess.”

And yet again, you’ve fallen for your boyfriend’s charms. But… it’s mainly because he knows exactly how to cheer you up. A pouty face, some teasing, and a bribe (your favorite ice cream)—you already forgot why you were mad in the first place.

“Can we kiss now?” Keonho grinned, playfully raising his brows.

You rolled your eyes. “Get me the ice cream first—”

Suddenly, your boyfriend becomes the Flash. You watch as he lets go of your hand, steals Martin’s wallet, grab your hand again, and pull you to run away with him to the nearest convenience store—all within a minute.

“Ahn Keonho!” Martin’s voice fades away as you two giddily run away from him.

Keonho looked at you, still holding your hands. “If the ice cream is like 1000 won, you owe me 1000 kisses.”

And he’s actually serious with that deal of his.

Because after you two bought the ice cream, you ended up on his bed, forced to give him plenty of kisses.

“100 kisses on the right side of my cheek.” he pointed to his cheek, continuing to lick his salted caramel flavored ice cream. “Then, another 100 on the left side..”

“And?” you bit your ice cream, shrugging at its coldness.

“500 on the lips!” he giggles. You snicker at his words, because there’s no way you could give him a thousand kisses within the day, right?

“No way..” you joke around. Sure, you like kissing your boyfriend, but just two kisses is enough for you.

“Yes way.” he pressed on, moving closer to you. “Don’t you wanna kiss me? Don’t you love me anymore?”

One thing about Keonho is that if he wants something, he has to get it. Or he’ll get sulky. Especially if it involves you? He wants your time, attention, kisses, everything.

“I love you, but no one can kiss someone for a hundred times within a day.”

Keonho pouts, intertwining his hands with yours. “I can,” he declared. Oh, another thing about your boyfriend? He’s very determined. So if he thinks that he can kiss you for a hundred times, he’ll prove himself right, and prove you wrong.

He surprises you with a quick peck on the cheeks. “One.” Then one on your nose. “Two,” he continues, “Three.” A peck on your forehead.

Keonho pulls away. You glare at him, kind of dumbfounded from the surprise kisses. He laughs before pressing his lips against yours. “Four!” A long kiss on your lips.

“Five,” he adds, not giving you time to breathe. This time, he doesn’t let you speak, pressing several quick kisses everywhere on your face. Be it your nose, cheeks, lips again, or your forehead—not letting your skin go away untouched. “Mwah!”

You start giggling uncontrollably, his hands grabbing your face, not letting you move away from his flurry of attack kisses. He doesn’t stop, everytime you let out a giggle, he uses it as his motivation to keep on kissing you. At this point, you’re getting tickled by him.

“Okay, okay! I get it!” you push him off playfully. “I guess you can kiss a hundred times.”

Keonho presses one last kiss on your lips. “Now you get me, baby,” he continues, “Your turn?”

As in, it’s your turn to kiss him. Your lips curved into a smile. “Game on.”

Before you could tackle him, a loud voice interrupts you two. “Disgusting. Can you two not see me here?”

Martin looks at you and your boyfriend with a baffled face. Oh, you forgot about the fact that Keonho shared a room with Martin and Seonghyeon.

“So?” Keonho tilts his head. “Come on, baby. It’s your turn now.”

────୨ৎ────

ೀ JUHOON 김주훈

────୨ৎ────

ೀ MARTIN 마틴

────୨ৎ────

ೀ SEONGHYEON 엄성현

────୨ৎ────

ೀ KEONHO 안건호

JUHOON 김주훈 ‧ ₊˚・

MARTIN 마틴 ‧ ₊˚・

SEONGHYEON 엄성현 ‧ ₊˚・

KEONHO 안건호 ‧ ₊˚・ no yellow erm

MINJU first saw the pinkish building while walking out of her company, it's comfy and welcoming design got her inside the place without even meaning to. she just wanted to take a quick look inside and maybe order a piece of chocolate cake. but once she saw you, her body froze, and for a moment she couldn't speak. you were so pretty. minju only managed to speak once she heard your—oh so beautiful—voice asking what did she wanted to order. that was the first time she forgot her usual order, saying the first thing her mind came up with before timidly walk back to a seat.

WONYOUNG can be a flirty girl. it's not uncommon to have the idea of her being extra smiley around someone she may be wanting to see more than not. but it was even worse once she heard of you. there was just this... cute aura in you that made wonyoung want to get closer. when she ordered for the first time in your bakery, she couldn't keep herself from occasionally sending you a few smiles, her heart beating faster once you smiled back.

LIA heard about the bakery when one of her group members, yuna, mentioned it. the way people have been talking about the place got her curious, leading her to lia going there after a long day of practicing. she was enchanted from the moment she stepped inside, your eyes meeting hers as you greeted her with so much kindness. lia accidentally spent five minutes talking to you until someone else was behind her and she had to walk away, but as she waited for her order, she'd make sure to tell her members about this place as well.

MIYEON is a very loud and extroverted person, so when her friends begun talking about this lovely bakery with the cutest owner ever, she just knew she had to go there and see with her eyes. to say she liked it was an understatement. miyeon stayed in your bakery for about two hours, ordering small snacks so she could spend most of her time talking to you when you weren't doing anything in particular. she is so coming back here.

GEHLEE wished she had known about this bakery way sooner, especially because of you. she wasn't even caring to hide the flirtatious tone in her voice as she talked to you, asking for a pudding, something you could make that was fast, but also gave her a reason to sweet talk to you. gehlee has just found you so adorable, she couldn't help herself, she needed to see your reactions on everything she says.

WINTER was hesitant to go to your bakery at first, especially when karina herself has said things about how you're so, so sweet to everyone. but her experience there was beyond good. winter couldn't keep her eyes off of the cute baker who always flashed a smile to every person who showed up. and maybe she's giving herself false hopes, but she is very sure your smile was a little bigger than the others when it was directed at her.

KAZUHA was excited to finally see for herself what her friends were talking about. the bakery itself was amazing on it's own, however, her attention's fully on you, working so gracefully while talking to people. she doesn't know how do you manage to be so happy all the time. it's not even like a persona, you're just... friendly. and kind. kazuha had to talk to you in person and know more about this lovely bakery.

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 : @minho4luv

Freminet sat curled up in a velvet armchair that dwarfed his small frame, with Pers on his lap and his brother and sister flanking each side. They had both refused Father’s offer of a seat, which showed the severity of the situation more than words ever could.

No one ever refused Father. Even she had raised an eyebrow at their sudden rebellion.

“Lyney, Lynette. Defiance will not make [Name] come home faster. Take a seat.” Father sipped her tea, poised as ever. Even with that impassive mask, Freminet still noticed the tension in her shoulders.

He always noticed.

“There’s no need,” Lyney said shortly, adding on a respectful “Father.” as an afterthought.

“What my brother means—” Lynette cut in smoothly. “—Is that we do not want to draw this conversation out any longer than necessary. We only came to get permission to postpone our current assignment and search for [Name]. I’m sure you can see the circumstances are dire enough to warrant such action.”

“I’m afraid I do not, Lynette.” Father placed her cup down and folded her hands over her lap. “They are a very skilled agent, and this mission was hardly out of their ability. No need to compromise your current—and very important, I might add—mission, for trivial matters.”

“It isn’t trivial, it’s our sibling!” Lyney burst out, causing Freminet to flinch. He reached out a hand blindly to settle on Freminet’s shoulder, squeezing it quickly in both a comfort and apology for startling him.

“I would be mindful of your place within this household, Lyney.” Father said mildly, the warning clear. “I have given you a direct order, and you will follow it. Do not stray from your assigned mission. [Name] will be fine.” She paused for a beat. “You are dismissed.”

“That’s it?” Lyney hissed. “So, you’re going to just leave them to die?”

It sounded like less of a question and more of an accusation. Freminet winced, feeling Lynette stiffen beside him as well as they waited for the consequences of Lyney’s bluntness.

Arlecchino rose from her seat, the tension in the air thick enough to choke all three of the siblings.

“I never said that. [Name] will be home in due time.” Her gaze shifted from the left to the right side of the armchair. “Lynette, you will have tea with me later, won’t you?” Father asked, causing the girl to freeze.

She bit her lip, answering carefully. “I may. Maybe if [Name] returns, we can all have tea together.”

“A good plan,” Father agreed, ignoring the quiet angry undertone of her words. “When I see them, I shall invite them.”

“It had better be soon; it’s getting late.” Lynette countered. Freminet’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Lynette was always better at matching Father’s games. Freminet crumbled under the weight of her gaze, and Lyney wasn’t any better at handling the pressure without his emotions causing him to crack and splinter.

“Lynette, Freminet. Let’s go.” Lyney said sharply.

Throughout the entire exchange, Lyney’s hand had not moved from where it was planted firmly on Freminet’s shoulder, as if he was refusing to let another of his siblings out of his grasp. Freminet might have remarked that Lynette was handling her worry better, but he noticed how her tail kept curling around his leg when they walked into Father’s office. Neither of the three was willing to part with the others for even a second; not when one of their own had gone missing by doing just that.

As he drew back his hand and moved away, Freminet caught his arm.  

“Just… a moment, please. Wait outside, I’ll join you soon.” Freminet murmured, letting go. Lyney pursed his lips.

“Be quick.”

The twins vanished through the doorway, leaving Freminet alone with his Father.

“Freminet dear. You’re hesitating.” Father raised an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for something? Do you want me to give Pers a kiss on the head before I leave?”

Freminet flushed at the memories of holding the toy up to Father when he was young, insisting the penguin deserved a proper goodbye too. “Ahem. I’m not a child anymore… Father.”

“No? Then why are you still here?”

He swallowed awkwardly, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. He met her stare

“I know you’re just as worried as I am.” He said bluntly.

Father’s expression was almost impossible to read, but Freminet managed to catch a hint of surprise at his words. “I see. How did you come to that conclusion?”

It wasn’t denial, nor was it defensiveness. That was a good sign. Freminet continued, “There is a pinch between your eyebrows that you keep trying to smooth over. You’re gripping your teacup much tighter than usual. Your shoulders are tense. And you were far too quick to dismiss the twins’ concerns. You of all people would know that the situation is severe enough to allow a brief pause to their investigation, but you were swift in making sure they were kept as far away from the situation as possible.”

Arlecchino stared back at Freminet silently. She always had that unsettling way of watching him, as if she was picking apart the cogs and wheels spinning in his mind to know exactly what he was thinking.

“Observant as always, Freminet.” Freminet stood up straighter, pink touching his cheeks. “So, tell me this: what am I to do next?”

“You’re… going to find them yourself?” He asked slowly.

“That is correct. I will be.” Father agreed, and something inside him swelled. If only Lyney was still in the room, he would have collapsed with relief. “And what will you be doing?”

“Helping.” Freminet said without a thought.

“Incorrect. You are going to return to your room, go to sleep, and not say a word to your siblings.”

“But—”

“No. You are not involved here.” Arlecchino turned her back on him, looking out the window with her arms folded behind her.

“Father—”

“Do not forget that if you or your sibling’s interference costs me my mission, [Name]’s blood will be on your hands.”

Freminet recoiled sharply, as if she had struck him across the face. Arlecchino refused to lay a hand on any of them, but her words were more than enough to wound them.

“I—”

“I’m not looking for an argument, Freminet.”

Freminet shut his mouth with a click, lowering his head. He forced back the wave of emotions sweeping across him, sinking them so far into the depths of his mind that not even a champion diver like himself would be able to reach them.

“I am looking for an answer.” Father raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Father.” He said quietly.

“Good child,” She murmured, laying a gentle hand on the top of his head. “You are dismissed.”

-----

Arlecchino made her move at the stroke of sundown.

It was disgustingly easy to track them down, and the sheer incompetence only fuelled her rage until it burned brighter than the flames that curled beneath her skin. The assailants were sloppy, leaving plenty of traces for her to find, as if they were waiting for her to find them.

One of her agents had returned with a slip of paper that evening—a ransom note, crudely explaining that they had captured a House of the Hearth agent, and demanding a hefty sum in exchange for their safe return. She had chuckled at that last part. They would be lucky for her to leave them with their lives after what they have done, let alone a reward.

Their hideout was located in a quiet cave near the ocean, with an entrance half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. It was a quaint spot, a cosy place to sit back and watch the sun set over the water. She was sure the view behind her was breathtaking, but she made no move to take a glance for herself.

The vines made way for a long, narrow tunnel, ending with a wooden door. Arlecchino quietly turned the handle, scoffing under her breath when it turned without a key being inserted, and slipped through without making a single sound.

Six were scattered around the dingy room; one woman, five men. Seeming to be aged between their mid-twenties at the youngest, and early-forties at the oldest.

“Have we got a response yet?” The woman muttered impatiently, tapping her foot against the floor.

“How should I know?” One of the men grunted. “We left the note. Eventually it’s gotta make it’s way to the boss herself, and we’ll get the reward.”

“Just gotta be patient,” Another murmured. “Gotta be patient.”

Slightly past them was a wooden cage, secured with a metal lock.

They were in a heap on the floor of the cage, breathing weakly—Arlecchino quietly thanked the Tsaritsa that they were breathing at all—and looked to be passed out.

The fire inside her sang, and she could hardly breathe under the heat of it all.

“How long is this woman gonna take?” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Arlecchino chuckled, causing all of the six to jump. “Oh, then allow me to assure you that you won’t have to wait much longer at all.”

Instantly they were on their feet, grabbing whatever weapon was closest. Their expressions ranged from outright fear, to an egregious amount of confidence for how weak they were in comparison to her.

“Knave,” the closest man grinned crookedly. “How kind of you to join us. I’m assuming you’re here for—” he jerked his head towards the figure still unmoving. “—that one?”

“‘That one’?” Arlecchino repeated slowly, drawing her scythe to her side. “I am here for my child.”

Two of the men—the ones closest to the cage—looked at each other nervously. Arlecchino smiled. It was a pity the rest of the group didn’t share the sense to fear her, but they would learn soon enough.

“Well you see, we’ll be happy to hand them over—” the man’s grin widened. “For a price, of course.”

“A price, you say?” She mused. “How about this. You step aside, I retrieve my child, and offer you a quick death. I would say that is more than fair, considering what you have cost me.”

The smile dropped off the man’s face. “That ain’t an option, lady.”

“Then I think you misunderstand.” She took a step towards him, then another, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Boss—” one of the men tried to say.

“Shut it.” the first man hissed, bringing his shovel up in a defensive position. It was almost laughable, how he thought that would protect him.

“You made four mistakes tonight,” Arlecchino said smoothly. The tip of her scythe brushed the floor, sending a loud scraping sound across the walls. All of the people inside the room winced at the sound, but Arlecchino was unfazed as she continued prowling towards them.

“One… you failed to cover your tracks, making it remarkably easy to track you down.” In one swift motion, she lunged. The group barely had time to blink, before her scythe sliced across the chest of the closest one.

There was silence, before the man made a low gasp, bright crimson blood spilling down his shirt. He collapsed forward onto the ground with a thud, and the room erupted into chaos. A scream tore from the throat of the woman, and she dropped to her knees at his side, desperately clutching his shoulders. Arlecchino aimed a quick strike at her back, and she fell against the man heavily.

“Two, you left the door unlocked.” A pair charged towards her, hammers and shovels swinging. She knocked the weapons from their hands with one hit, and knocked them down with a second.

“Three—” One snuck up from behind, quickly tossing a string of rope over her head and around her neck, pulling harshly to cut off her breathing. An elbow in his ribs winded him enough to loosen his grip, and a knock to the head with the hilt of her scythe sent him to the floor. “You brought far too few people to last in a fight against me.”

The final man stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, shrinking against the bricks. Arlecchino walked with slow steps, stalking towards him like an animal cornering their pray. He shielded his face with his hands, in a desperate attempt to protect himself. Once she was about a foot away, she stopped, leaning in close.

“And four.” Arlecchino grasped the man by the throat, digging her nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. “You hurt my fucking child.”

She tossed his body to the side, watching him hit the wall with a thud and collapse to the ground like a ragdoll.

“Pathetic.” She scoffed under her breath, stepping over his limp body. Her anger wasn’t nearly quelled—an inferno is not easily cooled, after all—but seeing them all lying lifelessly across the floor of their own base at least brought some vindication. She turned her back to the man, looking over at her child.

They were curled up in the cage like a trapped animal, rattling breaths ringing through the bars. Arlecchino gritted her teeth at the sight, making sure to step on the nearest captor’s fingers as she walked over. She swung her scythe against the lock, shattering it into bits of metal.

Her hands were gentle in reaching into the cage, hooking a hand under their knees and cradling their back with the other. They made a pained cry, and Arlecchino hurried to pull them out. She held them close to her chest, letting their cheek rest where her heartbeat pounded against her chest. Her face didn’t falter from that stony expression, but inside she was burning with fury.

“My child,” She murmured, more to herself than the shivering form in her arms. There was something dangerous in her tone, a note of warning to the assailants still conscious enough to hear her voice. She kissed their forehead, a tender gesture out of place among the bloodshed. “Didn’t I promise you that while you’re with me, no one can hurt you?”

“F-Father…?” A broken whisper slipped through their lips, followed by a sob, first sinking Arlecchino’s heart then shattering it into two.

“Shh… it’s okay. It’s okay, darling, I’m here.” She crooned, carrying them out of the room and through the tunnel. All throughout the journey through the tunnel and back onto the beach, she didn’t stop murmuring comforts and pressing kisses to their head in the most maternal way she’d ever remembered acting.

“I’m sorry, Father…” they mumbled, cheek pressed against her chest.

“Darling…” Arlecchino hummed, even as the smouldering ashes in her chest began to spark and flicker. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

The night was cold, but her child was a warm weight in her arms. She revelled in the warmth, a gentle reminder that they were still alive.

“We’ll be home soon,” Arlecchino promised, even though they were barely conscious enough to hear her. “Soon.”

You ignored it. Of course you did. You were busy, you were tired, you were living your dream. There was no reason to feel anything but grateful.

But the pressure stayed. And each week, it coiled a little tighter.

Then came that day.

The infamous twenty-one-hour rehearsal day.

Every artist had one. You’d heard about them before you debuted—those insane days where everything is rushed, where the choreographers are stressed, everyone’s hungry, everyone’s feet hurt, everyone cries at least once.

But no one warned you what it does to the mind.

By hour ten, the group was fraying around the edges. By hour fifteen, people were snapping at each other for things that didn’t even matter.

A ponytail too tight. A water bottle in the wrong place. Someone breathing too loudly. Someone dancing off-beat by half a second.

Little things. Stupid things. Things that were forgotten thirty seconds later.

But not by you.

Because for the first time since joining Katseye, the fighting didn’t roll off your back. It didn’t feel normal. It didn’t feel like part of the process.

It felt like your fault. You didn’t know why.

A move went wrong? You should’ve practiced harder. A harmonisation fell flat? You should’ve memorised your cues better. Someone tripped? You must’ve distracted them. Someone cried? Because you weren’t doing enough to help. Someone raised their voice? You must’ve been the reason.

Somewhere between the yelling, the dropped counts, the stress and the swollen feet, something in you… snapped. Softly. Quietly. Without announcement.

A thread inside you broke loose, then tangled itself into something dark and tight and sharp.

You didn’t feel it snap— You felt the aftermath.

A single moment where you suddenly, painfully, realised: 'I’m not doing enough. I’m not good enough. I am not enough, period.'

That thought rooted itself so deeply you couldn’t pull it out anymore. And from then on, everything you did became a test you couldn’t pass.

If you cooked your dinner wrong—even by a little—you’d stare at it feeling stupid. If your hair didn’t sit right, you’d redo it again and again until your hands shook. If you forgot a small item in the practice room, you’d scold yourself for hours.

If you laughed too loudly, you worried you were annoying. If you didn’t talk enough, you worried you were boring. If you sang too softly, you convinced yourself you were falling behind. If you sang too loudly, you thought you were trying too hard.

Every moment was a spiral.

A pit in your chest, coiling, tightening, squeezing every time a stray thought drifted across your mind.

And the worst part? No one caused it.

The girls loved you. The staff believed in you. The fans adored you. Your schedule didn’t change.

But your brain did.

You carried that feeling everywhere— into rehearsals, into meals, into car rides, into showers, into bed.

And with each week, you dropped a little further inside yourself.

Until one day you looked up and realised you weren’t really looking at anything anymore.

Just staring. Eyes unfocused. Mind full. Chest tight.

And the girls noticed. They noticed everything.

---

By the time the girls started talking about dinner, you’d already drifted so far inside your own head that the world around you felt like you were watching it through a glass wall.

You were sitting on the couch in the dorm living room, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves covering half your hands. You weren’t doing anything — not scrolling, not reading, not even looking at the TV.

You were just… there. Staring at a spot on the wall that wasn’t even interesting. It was just something for your eyes to latch onto, so you didn’t have to focus on the noise in your brain.

Your head buzzed with the same nonstop loop it had adopted since that brutal 21-hour rehearsal day: 'I should be practicing right now. I should be practicing my vocals. I should be stretching. Am I falling behind? Are the others disappointed? Am I disappointing myself? Why haven’t I worked harder today? Why do I feel so heavy?'

Their voices felt like distant background noise — muffled, as if you were underwater.

Megan’s voice floated somewhere behind you. 'What about ramen? We haven’t had that in—'

Daniela interrupted, 'We literally had it two days ago.'

'If it’s not ramen, then maybe—'

'No pizza,' Yoonchae cut in without looking up from her phone. 'We ate that yesterday.'

Their voices overlapped casually, the same warm chaos you usually loved. But tonight the sound only made the pressure in your chest coil tighter.

'Okay, so what does everyone want?' Lara asked, clapping her hands once for attention.

There was a chorus of answers, groans, and half jokes — the usual dynamic — but you didn’t hear most of it. You were too busy fighting with your own thoughts in silence.

Then Sophia’s voice cut through the noise, soft but carrying. 'Hey… what about you?' She said. 'What do you want for dinner?'

No response.

'Y/N?'

Still nothing.

Her tone shifted — a shade more concerned. 'Y/N…?'

You didn’t hear her. Not really. In your head, you were still back in the rehearsal studio. Still hearing the choreographer’s corrections, still replaying the moment you messed up the formation.

Still thinking about how you’d been sweating so much your bangs stuck to your forehead and how the cameras caught it and how—

A hand touched your shoulder.

You jerked.

Your whole body flinched like someone had slammed a door right behind you. The world rushed back into focus too fast — the bright living room lights, the chatter, Sophia’s wide eyes right in front of you. Your breathing stuttered in your chest like you'd been shocked awake.

'Oh—' you breathed out, blinking rapidly. 'Sorry. I… what?'

Sophia pulled her hand back slowly, her brows pulled together in confusion and worry. 'I just asked what you wanted for dinner,' she said carefully, like she was coaxing a deer closer without startling it again. 'I called you, like, four times.'

All eyes were on you now. You could feel the weight of them — worried, confused, expecting something.

You swallowed. Your throat felt tight. 'I’m… I’m not hungry.' You muttered.

That was all you managed before pushing yourself off the couch. Your legs felt heavy, stiff from sitting too long. You avoided looking at any of them as you made your way down the hall.

'Y/N?' Megan called after you softly.

But you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.

Your bedroom door shut behind you with a quiet click, and that was somehow worse than slamming it. It made the silence louder.

The girls exchanged glances in the living room — some confused, some concerned, some whispering your name like they weren’t sure if they should follow.

Meanwhile, you stood on the other side of the door, leaning your forehead against the wood, breathing shallowly as your thoughts swarmed again, angrier than before.

Nothing dramatic had happened.

But the distance had started. And they all felt it.

---

Rehearsal had been brutal that day. Not in the dramatic, tears-and-yelling way — just the quiet kind of exhausting that builds up like fog in your bones.

Hours of choreography, run-throughs, corrections, stopping and starting until you couldn’t tell if the ache in your legs was from fatigue or from the knot in your chest that hadn’t loosened in weeks.

When the choreographer finally called for a ten-minute break, the room exhaled all at once. The girls scattered — some collapsing onto the floor, others dragging themselves toward their water bottles or fans or stretching mats.

You just drifted to the nearest wall.

You sat down slowly, back pressed to the mirror, and pulled your water bottle into your lap. The plastic was cool against your hands — cold enough that it grounded you for half a second. You held it close to your chest like it was a makeshift comfort item. You didn’t even take a sip.

The rest of the room blurred. A soft haze settled over your senses, like someone had turned down the volume of life. The hum of the air conditioner, the squeak of sneakers on the wooden floor, snippets of the girls’ conversation — all of it softened until it was background noise.

Your eyes drifted to the floor in front of you but didn’t really see anything. You weren’t thinking about choreography. You weren’t thinking about the break. You weren’t even thinking about the girls laughing on the other side of the room.

You were somewhere far, far inside your own skull.

You should practice that turn again. You were slow on count six. The choreographer noticed. Everyone noticed. 'Why can’t I keep up today? Why can’t I be better? Why can’t I just… breathe properly? Why do I keep messing up? Why do I feel like this? Why can’t I stop thinking? Why—'

A soft rustle of movement.

From across the room, Lara noticed.

She had been stretching on the floor with Sophia and Manon, but her eyes kept drifting toward you — first casually, then more deliberately.

She knew your usual break routine: you drank, you laughed with the others, you fixed your hair in the mirror, you asked someone to run the chorus with you.

But now you were just… still. Too still. Like someone had unplugged you.

She watched the way your fingers clutched the water bottle too tightly, your knuckles faintly pale. The way your breathing was shallow. The way your gaze didn’t track anything happening in the room.

You didn’t even blink much.

'Is she okay?' Lara murmured to Sophia, barely audible.

Sophia shrugged softly, adjusting her knee pad. 'I don’t know. She’s been like that a lot lately.'

Before Lara could say anything else, someone on the opposite side of the room fiddled with the aux cable. It clicked once — nothing unusual — but then—

BBBBZT—POP!

That horrible static crackle exploded through the speakers.

The sound wasn’t just loud. It was violent. Sharp. Sudden.

It shot straight through your skull.

You flinched so hard your whole body jerked upright — like someone had hit you with a jolt of electricity. Your water bottle slipped from your hands, rolling across the floor with a hollow clatter.

Your breathing hitched, then stuttered, then sped up in quick, panicked bursts as the world snapped back into too-sharp focus.

Your eyes darted around the room wildly, confusion flooding in all at once.

Where were you? Why were the girls staring? Why was your chest so tight?

It was like waking up in a place you didn’t remember going to.

Your gaze eventually landed on Lara. She was standing halfway up, frozen between sitting and standing, eyes wide with quiet worry.

When your eyes met hers, something in her expression softened — relief, sympathy, a hint of guilt that she couldn’t reach you sooner.

You tried to give her a smile. But it barely qualified as one.

It was a tiny upward twitch of your lips, weak and exhausted, like your muscles had forgotten how to do it. It didn’t match your eyes. It didn’t touch anything inside you.

Lara tried to smile back, but her brows pinched, betraying the worry underneath.

You bent slowly to pick up your water bottle, hands trembling slightly, but pretended not to notice. You dusted it off on your shirt even though it didn’t need it. Just something to do with your hands. Something to keep you tethered.

From across the room, you heard Megan whisper, 'She’s zoning out again…'

Daniela’s reply was softer than usual. 'Yeah. More than usual.'

But their voices felt too far away to respond to.

The choreographer called time again. Break was over, so everyone got up.

You did too — but it felt like your body was moving before your mind caught up, like you were a step behind yourself, floating somewhere half connected.

And as the music started again, Lara kept glancing over at you every few seconds.

Wishing she could pull you out of whatever place you kept disappearing into. Wishing she knew how.

---

The four of you were supposed to be on a mini break — a few hours off before evening practice. Daniela had suggested going out for iced drinks, practically dragging you along and claiming everyone needed 'sunlight and sugar before we turn into rehearsal zombies.'

So now you, Daniela, Yoonchae, and Manon were sitting in a small corner table of a cosy coffee shop. It smelled like roasted beans and vanilla syrup, the low chatter of customers buzzing softly around you. Sunshine filtered through the window, scattering gold across the wooden table.

It should’ve been relaxing. But for you, it wasn’t.

Your hands were wrapped around your cup — not sipping, not even lifting it, just holding it like an anchor. Your fingers were slightly stiff, knuckles pressed against the plastic. The drink was cold, condensation dripping down your palms. The chill should have grounded you.

It didn’t.

You were staring past Daniela’s shoulder. Or… through her. Your eyes locked dead on some random spot behind her — a light? a crack in the wall? a picture frame? — but you weren’t really seeing it. You weren’t seeing anything.

Your gaze was empty. Detached.

Your breathing was slow, barely noticeable. Your posture was perfectly still except for the faintest tremor in your thumbs. The world around you faded into a dull hum — the coffee machines grinding, spoons clinking, chatter rising and falling. All muffled.

Inside your head, the noise was much louder.

'What if I'm falling behind. What if I'm dragging them down. What if I don’t belong here. What if I'm not good enough. What if every mistake confirms it. What if they notice? What if they’re tired of me? What if I'm too much? What if—'

'Okay, she’s doing it again.' Daniela whispered under her breath, leaning toward Manon.

Manon shifted her chair, eyes narrowing slightly with concern. 'She’s gone-gone.' She murmured. She waved a hand close to your face, not touching you but crossing through your line of sight.

You didn’t react.

Yoonchae leaned forward on the table, staring at you with wide-eyed curiosity like she was trying to read a foreign language. 'Y/N…?' She tried softly.

No answer. Not even a blink.

Daniela frowned and slowly moved into the exact spot you were staring at — sliding her face into your line of sight as if she were blocking a projector beam.

Still nothing.

Your eyes remained unfocused. You were looking through her. As if she wasn’t even there.

Daniela froze, goosebumps crawling up her arms. 'Okay, no, I don’t like this,' she whispered. 'She’s looking at me like I’m a ghost.'

Manon’s worry sharpened. 'She’s not actually seeing us right now. This is… dissociating. Or zoning out. But like… in a deep way.'

Yoonchae poked your arm gently. 'Are you tired?'

Silence.

She poked again, firmer. 'Are you… broken?'

Daniela shot her a look. 'Yoonchae.'

'What? I’m asking!'

Manon scooted closer to you, lowering her voice like she was approaching a frightened animal. 'Sweetheart… can you hear me?'

No reaction.

The girls exchanged glances — Daniela’s anxious, Yoonchae’s confused, Manon’s deeply worried.

Then— CLATTER—!

A barista dropped a metal tray somewhere behind the counter. The crash echoed through the shop.

You jolted violently — like someone had snapped a rubber band inside your chest. Your breath caught, your eyes widened, and your hands tightened around the cup until the plastic crinkled. Your gaze darted around wildly before finally landing on the three girls staring at you.

You blinked rapidly, disoriented. Your heart thudded somewhere in your throat.

'Hey…' Daniela said softly, voice shaky but relieved. 'You’re back.'

Manon placed a warm hand on your arm. 'You okay?'

You swallowed, blinking again as your brain scrambled to catch up with your surroundings — the table, the coffee, the girls, the sunlight, the noise.

'I… uh…' You looked down at your drink. 'When did we… sit down?'

Daniela stiffened. 'We’ve been here for fifteen minutes.'

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion. 'Oh.'

Manon’s hand squeezed your arm. 'This isn’t just zoning out.'

Yoonchae nodded seriously. 'Yeah. You were, like… frozen. Like a paused video.'

Daniela leaned in, voice trembling despite the casual smile she tried to plaster on. 'Don’t scare us like that again, okay?'

You gave a light hum, not trusting your voice. But inside your chest, that tight coil twisted harder.

And the girls, now truly concerned, shared a silent look over the table. They were starting to realise something might be very wrong.

---

Rehearsals a few days later was brutal — fast formations, synchronization drills, run-throughs with no breaks. The room was hot, mirrors fogging at the edges, sweat beading on everyone’s skin.

The choreographer’s voice echoed sharply, 'Again from the top! Hit the beats, girls!'

You tried. God, you tried.

But your body felt disconnected from your brain. Movements delayed by half a second. Thoughts swirling too loudly. Every cue sounded distant, muffled, like it was being shouted through fog.

Your legs were heavy. Your hands slightly numb.

Just keep going. Don’t drag them down. Don’t mess up. Don’t be the problem. Not again not again not again—

You moved into formation. The turn came. Your foot landed wrong. The room tilted.

And you crashed to the floor, knees and palms smacking the wood with a sharp, painful thud.

Gasps erupted instantly. 'Y/N!'

'No, no— hey—!'

Lara dropped to her knees beside you, eyes huge. Daniela nearly tripped rushing over. Manon slid on her socks trying to get to you faster. Yoonchae and Megan both froze for a second before scrambling over. Sophia… Sophia was already there, faster than anyone, her breath trembling.

You blinked at the floor, the world fuzzy, ears ringing. You weren’t even sure what happened — one moment you were dancing, the next you were on the ground.

Hands hovered but didn’t touch, too scared to hurt you.

Sophia’s voice was low, urgent, terrified. 'Y/N. Look at me. Are you hurt?'

You shook your head weakly. 'No, I’m— I’m fine. I’m fine.'

'You’re not fine.' Manon whispered, voice cracking.

Sophia slowly slid an arm behind your back to lift you. 'Come on, let’s get you sitting up—'

You flinched away, heart racing. 'No, I said I’m fine.'

'Y/N, you can barely sit, just let me—'

'I can do it.' You muttered, pushing against the floor.

Sophia reached again, stubborn, voice softer but firm. 'Let me help you—'

Something inside you snapped. The coil in your chest finally unraveled all at once, vicious and hot.

'I said I'm fine!'

The words echoed in the studio, loud enough to bounce off the mirrors.

Everyone froze.

Sophia’s hand recoiled, like you’d burned her.

Your own voice hung in the air, harsh and foreign. The room went dead silent — even the choreographer stopped breathing.

Regret hit instantly.

You swallowed hard, avoiding their eyes as you pushed yourself upright. Your hands trembled. Your breathing came unsteady. The air felt too thick to inhale properly.

'I…' Your voice shook. 'I’m sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to yell.'

Sophia stayed kneeling in front of you, eyes soft but deeply hurt. 'We’re just worried.'

You forced a thin, brittle smile. 'I just… I just need a minute.'

Lara opened her mouth to speak, but you were already getting to your feet — wobbling, but determined.

'I need some air.' You whispered.

And before any of them could protest, you walked toward the exit.

The girls watched you leave — hearts in their throats, worry carved into their faces.

The door closed behind you with a soft click.

It felt final.

And for the first time, the girls truly realised that something was breaking inside you. And they were running out of time to catch you.

---

Rehearsal continued in a strange silence.

No teasing. No playful bickering. No music humming from someone’s phone.

Just… quiet.

You hadn’t come back inside after leaving for air. Missy went to look for you, found you sitting outside on the curb staring at the pavement, and gently told the girls to give you space.

So they did — painfully — packing up bags in the studio without you, exchanging glances loaded with unspoken fear.

By the time everyone reached the shared dorm, the tension had wrapped itself around the group like a thick blanket.

Missy gave instructions for the night and left, but the moment the door clicked shut, none of the girls scattered to their rooms like usual.

Instead, they gathered in the living room.

The lights were low. The air felt too still. Your absence carved a hole in the space.

Sophia sat on the couch with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped together, staring at the carpet with a troubled expression. She was usually composed — a leader who always had the right words.

But this time, she looked scared.

The first to break the silence was Lara.

Her voice was tiny. 'She didn’t even… she barely looked at us today.'

Manon, hugging a cushion, nodded. 'She didn’t talk much yesterday either. Or the day before.'

Daniela sighed, running a palm over her face. 'She hasn’t eaten properly. She keeps skipping breakfast. And during that photo shoot, she forgot those poses she normally aces.'

Yoonchae chimed in quietly. 'She also cancels movie nights with me. Has done three times in a row now.' Her tone wasn’t whiny or dramatic — just genuinely concerned. 'She loves movie nights.'

Sophia finally exhaled shakily. 'I’ve noticed all of it. I’ve been trying to check in but…' Her eyes lifted, pained. 'She’s not really there. Not fully.'

'Like today,' Lara whispered. 'She was staring so hard at the wall I thought she was sleepwalking.'

'She didn’t even hear us asking about dinner,' Megan added. 'I said her name so many times. Nothing.'

Daniela nodded. 'And in the coffee shop the other day? That scared me. She stared right through me. I waved in front of her face — nothing.'

Yoonchae looked between them, frowning deeper. 'Why does she look like she’s thinking about everything at once? She looks like she’s somewhere else.'

Sophia’s fingers dug into her palms. 'Because she is somewhere else. She’s drowning in her own head.'

A heavy silence settled again.

Lara hugged her knees. 'Do you think… something happened? Did we do something?'

Manon shook her head, voice soft but firm. 'It’s not us. I think it’s inside her.'

Daniela swallowed hard. 'She said she was fine. But she’s obviously not fine.'

Sophia nodded, eyes distant. 'The way she snapped today… that wasn’t her. That was someone who’s been holding too much in for too long.'

Lara whispered what they were all afraid to voice, 'Do you think she might… have something? Like… anxiety? Or burnout? Or something else?'

Megan shifted closer to her. 'Maybe. She overthinks a lot. A lot. Even the tiny things.'

Daniela added quietly, 'And she’s so hard on herself. If she messes up one move, she practices an extra hour. If she forgets lyrics, she doesn’t sleep.'

Manon nodded slowly. 'She punishes herself for things we don’t even notice.'

Sophia closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. 'I think she’s overwhelmed,' she said. 'I think she’s been overwhelmed for a long time. And we didn’t see how bad it was.'

Daniela’s voice rose with guilt. 'How could we not notice?! She’s our sister—'

'Sisters can hide things,' Sophia said gently. 'Especially from the people they love.'

The room fell silent. The weight of it all finally settling.

Lara whispered, voice trembling, 'We need to help her.'

Sophia nodded, firmer this time. '…We will. Together.'

Manon looked at the front door, worried. 'She’s been alone outside for a long time.'

'She’ll come back when she’s ready,' Sophia murmured. 'And when she does… we’re not letting her carry this alone anymore.'

The girls huddled closer — not touching, but united. A circle of worry, love, and unspoken determination.

For the first time, they admitted it out loud.

You weren’t just tired. You weren’t just distracted. You were hurting.

And they were done pretending not to see it.

---

You came back to the dorm quietly. Too quietly.

Missy had been kind enough to bring you your belongings when you slipped outside, knowing you needed the time and space. You slipped off your shoes, hung your jacket by the door, trying your hardest to look normal — whatever normal even meant anymore.

But the moment you stepped into the living room, your heart sank.

All six girls were waiting.

Sitting in a semi-circle on the couches and on the floor, like they’d been rehearsing this staging for hours. Sophia in the centre, Megan right beside her, Lara and Manon curled into one sofa, Daniela on the floor with her back against the couch, and Yoonchae perched alertly on an ottoman.

Every pair of eyes lifted when you walked in.

Concern. Gentleness. Fear. Love.

'Hey,' Sophia said, voice soft but steady. 'Can you come sit with us?'

Your throat tightened instantly.

Play it cool. Pretend. Smile. Lie.

You forced your mouth to lift. 'What’s up?'

'Sit,' Megan murmured — warm, coaxing. She patted the space beside her. 'Please.'

You sat down, stiff, shoulders tense, hands clasped so tight your knuckles whitened.

Sophia leaned forward. 'We’re worried about you.'

Your stomach dropped.

You swallowed. 'You don’t need to be. I’m fine.'

'Babe,' Megan said softly, touching your arm, 'you’re not fine.'

The words pricked your eyes with tears you refused to let fall.

Lara spoke up next, voice barely a whisper. 'You don’t smile the same anymore.'

Manon added, 'You forget things. You stare into space for minutes. You don’t hear us.'

Daniela hugged her knees. 'You barely eat with us.'

Yoonchae looked at you with round, anxious eyes. 'You don’t laugh at my stupid jokes. You always laugh.'

You dug your nails into your palms, trying to stay present, trying not to shatter into pieces.

Sophia sat a little closer. 'We’re not mad. We’re not blaming you. We just… want to understand.'

Your breath stuttered. You nodded stiffly, because it was easier than speaking.

'Can you tell us what’s going on?' Sophia asked.

You opened your mouth— One second. Two seconds. Three—

And it all crashed. Your face crumpled. A harsh, broken sob ripped out of you before you could swallow it down. You covered your face with both hands, shoulders shaking, tears spilling faster than you could breathe.

Immediately— all of them moved.

Megan wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you gently against her side. Lara reached for your free hand. Manon slid in close, resting a supportive hand on your knee. Daniela’s voice came small and soothing, 'It’s okay, let it out.'

Yoonchae placed a hand on your shoulder. And Sophia rested a grounding palm between your shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles.

You tried to speak but only wet gasps came out. 'I—I’m— I’m s-sorry—'

'No,' Sophia said immediately. 'Don’t you dare apologise.'

You cried harder.

When the sobs finally softened into shaking breaths, you wiped your eyes with trembling hands. 'I’m tired,' you choked out. 'I’m so—so tired.'

A silence fell — not empty, but careful and listening.

You forced yourself to continue. 'I feel like I’m failing at everything. Dancing. Singing. Interviews. Eating properly. Sleeping. Just—existing.'

Your voice cracked.

'I overthink everything. I make my dinner wrong and I feel like crying. I forget a lyric and I want to disappear. I mess up a step and I think I’m dragging the whole group down.'

Manon’s eyes went glossy.

You stared at your lap, tears dripping onto your jeans.

'And I’m so in my head all the time… I can’t hear you guys. I can’t think straight. I feel like I’m underwater. Loud and quiet at the same time.'

A shaky inhale.

'And sometimes I think maybe it’d be easier if I just… wasn’t here.'

Megan’s hand froze on your back.

You felt the panic ripple through the group.

You hurried to clarify through your tears, 'N-No, I don’t mean—like that. I don’t want to die. I just…'

You swallowed hard.

'I mean leaving. Leaving Katseye. Going home. Stopping everything.'

Lara let out a horrified breath. 'No—'

'You’re not a burden.' Daniela said quickly.

'You’re not dragging us down.' Manon insisted.

'You’re not allowed to leave,' Yoonchae sniffed, voice wobbly. 'We’ll… tie you to the couch if we have to.'

It made you huff a tiny laugh through the tears, which collapsed instantly into another sob.

Sophia cupped the back of your head gently. 'Sweetheart,' she said softly, 'you don’t have to carry the world alone.'

Megan tightened her pinky around yours. 'You don’t have to be perfect. Nobody asked you to be.'

'You’re enough.' Lara whispered.

'More than enough.' Daniela added.

Manon rubbed soothing circles on your leg. 'We love you whether you slay choreography or fall on your face. Both are entertaining.'

Yoonchae nodded fiercely. 'Mostly the falling.'

That earned another soft, broken laugh from you — the kind that hurts to release.

Sophia leaned in closer, her voice calm but full of conviction. 'Here is the truth, okay? If you feel overwhelmed, we'll slow down. If you feel lost, we will help you find your way. If you feel heavy, we'll carry some of it with you. We’re your sisters. This is what we do.'

Megan pressed her cheek gently to your temple. 'And we’re not letting you leave,' she murmured. 'Not because we need you in the group… but because we need you. As a person. As our friend. As our family.'

That broke you all over again — but softly this time.

Like a dam leaking instead of exploding.

You curled into Megan’s side, the others inching closer, limbs overlapping, hands anchoring you, breaths steadying around you.

You cried until the pit in your chest loosened — until the pressure finally released for the first time in months.

Until you could breathe. And when your tears finally stopped, Sophia said it gently, 'We’re going to help you. You’re not doing this alone anymore.'

You nodded, exhausted but lighter.

You weren’t fixed. You weren’t healed.

But for the first time, you didn’t feel alone in the dark. You had six hands pulling you back into the light.

---

The crying has slowed, but your breathing is still unsteady — little shivers in your chest that won’t settle.

Megan clears her throat gently. 'If you can… tell us what it’s been like up here.' She taps her temple. 'Not as an excuse. Just… so we know where to hold you.'

You inhale, but it shakes apart halfway through.

When you speak, the words come out cracked. 'I feel like I’m… running after all of you,' you whisper. 'All the time. Every day.'

The room goes still.

You keep talking, because if you stop you’ll crumble.

'I watch you all dance, and I can’t stop thinking I look sloppy next to you. I hear you sing, and I tell myself I don’t deserve to be in the same line-up. Even the way you guys just… exist—' You laugh, but it’s a sharp, ugly sound. 'I feel like I’m too slow. Too out of it. Too… wrong.'

Daniela reaches forward, but pulls her hand back before touching you, unsure. 'Y/N… we never thought that.'

'I know,' you say quickly. 'I know you didn’t. That’s the problem — it’s me. My brain won’t let me think anything else. Even when I know something is fine, it convinces me it’s not. I keep thinking I’m letting everyone down. I wake up with this — this coil in my chest. Tight. Heavy. Like I’m already behind before the day even starts.'

Megan whispers, 'And you’ve been carrying that alone?'

You close your eyes.

'I can’t sleep. When I do, I wake up feeling like I forgot something important. I don’t eat unless someone puts food in front of me because I’m too busy thinking about what I’m messing up. I replay rehearsals in my head at night until I feel sick. I keep thinking — What if I ruin everything? What if I’m the weak link? What if the group would be better without me?'

A strangled sound escapes Sophia. She clamps a hand over her mouth, tears already rolling.

'And I know it’s irrational,' you say, voice cracking. 'I know it’s not true. But my brain won’t stop. I overthink everything — everything I do, everything I say, everything I am. I’m scared to rest. Scared to eat. Scared to breathe wrong.'

Manon squeezes your hand harder.

You look down at your knees. 'And when I couldn’t get out of my head today—when I fell—when Sophia tried to help—' You swallow. 'It felt like I was failing again. Even breathing felt like a test I was failing.'

Megan’s voice is soft but trembling. 'Why didn’t you tell us you felt like this?'

You wipe your cheek with your sleeve. 'Because I didn’t want to be a burden,' you whisper. 'You all work so hard. You all shine. I didn’t want to show you how… broken I feel. I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want to slow you down.'

You take a long, shaky breath.

Manon, gentle as ever, rests her hand against your knee. 'You’re allowed to struggle. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human.'

Sophia finally speaks — her voice breaking. 'You’re our family, okay? Family doesn’t walk away when things get hard. Family sits beside you. Holds you. Helps you breathe.'

Megan shifts impossibly closer again. Her thumbs gently wipe the fresh tears from your face. 'You’re allowed to be tired,' she whispers. 'You’re allowed to break. You’re allowed to lean on us. We want to be here with you — not just for the fun parts. For everything.'

She tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, hand lingering at your jaw.

'So now that we know?' Megan says softly. 'We’re going to help you. We’re going to make a plan. We’re going to talk to the company. We’re going to slow things down. We’re going to get you support. You’re not doing this by yourself anymore.'

The rest of the girls hum their agreement, strong and immediate.

'Every step.' Manon repeats.

'We’re with you.' Daniela adds.

'Every day.' Lara says.

'No matter what.' Sophia breathes.

Yoonchae nods, eyes determined. 'We’re not letting you drown.'

And for the first time in weeks — maybe months — the weight in your chest loosens. Not gone. But not crushing.

You let out a shaky exhale. 'Thank you.' You whisper.

Megan’s arms slip around you, pulling you into her chest. One by one, the others join — a messy, tear‑soaked pile of limbs and comfort.

For the first time in a long while, you let yourself be held.

And this time, you don’t feel guilty for needing it.

---

After your breakdown, the girls didn’t leave. Not one of them.

They insisted on staying, gently guiding you through something as simple — yet terrifying — as having dinner. Lara took the lead, opening a container of food you barely touched at first.

She coaxed you softly, offering spoonful's with a smile that didn’t demand anything from you. 'Try just a bite,' she murmured. 'I made sure it’s not too hot.'

Daniela hovered with water and napkins, quietly observing your pace. Every time you went to pull your plate away or set your fork down, she’d gently reach for your hand. 'It’s okay,' she said, soft and steady, 'take your time.'

Yoonchae sat on the other side, keeping the atmosphere light with small chatter — stories from the day, funny things from rehearsals — enough to pull your attention in without pressuring you to respond. She occasionally nudged your shoulder or pointed to something silly in the room, and though your lips twitched in a tired smile, it helped.

Manon was patient and calm, reading your subtle cues. Every time your gaze flitted to the floor, she followed it with her own eyes, giving you space but staying close enough that you felt her presence like a shield.

She even quietly hummed a tune from one of your shared rehearsals, something soothing and familiar that you didn’t even realise had been missing.

And Megan — ever gentle, ever grounding — would sit beside you, arm brushing yours lightly when you stiffened, her thumb tracing small circles on your wrist whenever you started to fidget. 'You’re doing fine.' She whispered, over and over, even if you weren’t sure you believed it.

When dinner was done, you barely felt full, but the girls didn’t pressure you. Instead, they cleared the table together, chatting quietly, letting the mundane chores anchor you back to a calmer rhythm.

Hours passed, and the night grew darker, quieter. You weren’t sleepy yet, your mind buzzing with a thousand racing thoughts, spiraling about what had happened, about everything you’d confessed. But the girls didn’t leave — and for the first time, that mattered more than anything.

Sophia sat on the edge of your bed as you finally crawled under the covers, her hand brushing against yours. 'I’ll stay,' she said softly. 'I’ll keep the bad dreams away tonight. I promise.'

You nodded, swallowing a lump in your throat, leaning back against the pillows and feeling her steady presence anchor you. Megan and Manon settled on the floor nearby, still humming softly, the faint rustle of blankets and the low murmur of conversation filling the space.

Lara curled up with her legs tucked under her on a chair, occasionally glancing at you to make sure you weren’t drifting into distress. Daniela leaned against the wall with a warm blanket around her shoulders, eyes trained on you in a protective, quiet way.

Yoonchae bounced her leg nervously but refused to leave, offering small words of reassurance whenever your gaze flicked toward her.

Hours passed slowly. You didn’t sleep much at first, but you didn’t feel alone. You talked quietly with Sophia, murmuring about small things — childhood memories, silly moments in rehearsals, things the girls had done that day.

Megan chimed in when you reminisced about funny mistakes you’d all made in choreography. Manon reminded you about positive feedback from staff and other members, sprinkling little affirmations like breadcrumbs you could follow back to a calmer mind.

Even as your eyelids grew heavy and the darkness pressed in, the chatter, the gentle presence of the girls, the soft hum of Megan and Manon’s voices, and Sophia’s protective vigilance made it possible to let go, just a little.

Eventually, the edges of your thoughts softened. You let your breathing slow. Your body relaxed, even if your mind wasn’t completely quiet.

Sophia rested her hand lightly on yours, humming softly in a way that soothed the lingering tremors in your chest. Megan leaned back against the wall, eyes half-closed but alert, always aware of your presence. Manon’s quiet murmurs of reassurance drifted over the room. The night was long, but it wasn’t lonely.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a spark of safety. A fragile, warm ember that maybe, just maybe, with these girls by your side, you could start to heal.

You weren’t fixed. You weren’t fully okay yet. But you were being seen. You were being held. And that made all the difference.

Freminet sat curled up in a velvet armchair that dwarfed his small frame, with Pers on his lap and his brother and sister flanking each side. They had both refused Father’s offer of a seat, which showed the severity of the situation more than words ever could.

No one ever refused Father. Even she had raised an eyebrow at their sudden rebellion.

“Lyney, Lynette. Defiance will not make [Name] come home faster. Take a seat.” Father sipped her tea, poised as ever. Even with that impassive mask, Freminet still noticed the tension in her shoulders.

He always noticed.

“There’s no need,” Lyney said shortly, adding on a respectful “Father.” as an afterthought.

“What my brother means—” Lynette cut in smoothly. “—Is that we do not want to draw this conversation out any longer than necessary. We only came to get permission to postpone our current assignment and search for [Name]. I’m sure you can see the circumstances are dire enough to warrant such action.”

“I’m afraid I do not, Lynette.” Father placed her cup down and folded her hands over her lap. “They are a very skilled agent, and this mission was hardly out of their ability. No need to compromise your current—and very important, I might add—mission, for trivial matters.”

“It isn’t trivial, it’s our sibling!” Lyney burst out, causing Freminet to flinch. He reached out a hand blindly to settle on Freminet’s shoulder, squeezing it quickly in both a comfort and apology for startling him.

“I would be mindful of your place within this household, Lyney.” Father said mildly, the warning clear. “I have given you a direct order, and you will follow it. Do not stray from your assigned mission. [Name] will be fine.” She paused for a beat. “You are dismissed.”

“That’s it?” Lyney hissed. “So, you’re going to just leave them to die?”

It sounded like less of a question and more of an accusation. Freminet winced, feeling Lynette stiffen beside him as well as they waited for the consequences of Lyney’s bluntness.

Arlecchino rose from her seat, the tension in the air thick enough to choke all three of the siblings.

“I never said that. [Name] will be home in due time.” Her gaze shifted from the left to the right side of the armchair. “Lynette, you will have tea with me later, won’t you?” Father asked, causing the girl to freeze.

She bit her lip, answering carefully. “I may. Maybe if [Name] returns, we can all have tea together.”

“A good plan,” Father agreed, ignoring the quiet angry undertone of her words. “When I see them, I shall invite them.”

“It had better be soon; it’s getting late.” Lynette countered. Freminet’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Lynette was always better at matching Father’s games. Freminet crumbled under the weight of her gaze, and Lyney wasn’t any better at handling the pressure without his emotions causing him to crack and splinter.

“Lynette, Freminet. Let’s go.” Lyney said sharply.

Throughout the entire exchange, Lyney’s hand had not moved from where it was planted firmly on Freminet’s shoulder, as if he was refusing to let another of his siblings out of his grasp. Freminet might have remarked that Lynette was handling her worry better, but he noticed how her tail kept curling around his leg when they walked into Father’s office. Neither of the three was willing to part with the others for even a second; not when one of their own had gone missing by doing just that.

As he drew back his hand and moved away, Freminet caught his arm.  

“Just… a moment, please. Wait outside, I’ll join you soon.” Freminet murmured, letting go. Lyney pursed his lips.

“Be quick.”

The twins vanished through the doorway, leaving Freminet alone with his Father.

“Freminet dear. You’re hesitating.” Father raised an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for something? Do you want me to give Pers a kiss on the head before I leave?”

Freminet flushed at the memories of holding the toy up to Father when he was young, insisting the penguin deserved a proper goodbye too. “Ahem. I’m not a child anymore… Father.”

“No? Then why are you still here?”

He swallowed awkwardly, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. He met her stare

“I know you’re just as worried as I am.” He said bluntly.

Father’s expression was almost impossible to read, but Freminet managed to catch a hint of surprise at his words. “I see. How did you come to that conclusion?”

It wasn’t denial, nor was it defensiveness. That was a good sign. Freminet continued, “There is a pinch between your eyebrows that you keep trying to smooth over. You’re gripping your teacup much tighter than usual. Your shoulders are tense. And you were far too quick to dismiss the twins’ concerns. You of all people would know that the situation is severe enough to allow a brief pause to their investigation, but you were swift in making sure they were kept as far away from the situation as possible.”

Arlecchino stared back at Freminet silently. She always had that unsettling way of watching him, as if she was picking apart the cogs and wheels spinning in his mind to know exactly what he was thinking.

“Observant as always, Freminet.” Freminet stood up straighter, pink touching his cheeks. “So, tell me this: what am I to do next?”

“You’re… going to find them yourself?” He asked slowly.

“That is correct. I will be.” Father agreed, and something inside him swelled. If only Lyney was still in the room, he would have collapsed with relief. “And what will you be doing?”

“Helping.” Freminet said without a thought.

“Incorrect. You are going to return to your room, go to sleep, and not say a word to your siblings.”

“But—”

“No. You are not involved here.” Arlecchino turned her back on him, looking out the window with her arms folded behind her.

“Father—”

“Do not forget that if you or your sibling’s interference costs me my mission, [Name]’s blood will be on your hands.”

Freminet recoiled sharply, as if she had struck him across the face. Arlecchino refused to lay a hand on any of them, but her words were more than enough to wound them.

“I—”

“I’m not looking for an argument, Freminet.”

Freminet shut his mouth with a click, lowering his head. He forced back the wave of emotions sweeping across him, sinking them so far into the depths of his mind that not even a champion diver like himself would be able to reach them.

“I am looking for an answer.” Father raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Father.” He said quietly.

“Good child,” She murmured, laying a gentle hand on the top of his head. “You are dismissed.”

-----

Arlecchino made her move at the stroke of sundown.

It was disgustingly easy to track them down, and the sheer incompetence only fuelled her rage until it burned brighter than the flames that curled beneath her skin. The assailants were sloppy, leaving plenty of traces for her to find, as if they were waiting for her to find them.

One of her agents had returned with a slip of paper that evening—a ransom note, crudely explaining that they had captured a House of the Hearth agent, and demanding a hefty sum in exchange for their safe return. She had chuckled at that last part. They would be lucky for her to leave them with their lives after what they have done, let alone a reward.

Their hideout was located in a quiet cave near the ocean, with an entrance half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. It was a quaint spot, a cosy place to sit back and watch the sun set over the water. She was sure the view behind her was breathtaking, but she made no move to take a glance for herself.

The vines made way for a long, narrow tunnel, ending with a wooden door. Arlecchino quietly turned the handle, scoffing under her breath when it turned without a key being inserted, and slipped through without making a single sound.

Six were scattered around the dingy room; one woman, five men. Seeming to be aged between their mid-twenties at the youngest, and early-forties at the oldest.

“Have we got a response yet?” The woman muttered impatiently, tapping her foot against the floor.

“How should I know?” One of the men grunted. “We left the note. Eventually it’s gotta make it’s way to the boss herself, and we’ll get the reward.”

“Just gotta be patient,” Another murmured. “Gotta be patient.”

Slightly past them was a wooden cage, secured with a metal lock.

They were in a heap on the floor of the cage, breathing weakly—Arlecchino quietly thanked the Tsaritsa that they were breathing at all—and looked to be passed out.

The fire inside her sang, and she could hardly breathe under the heat of it all.

“How long is this woman gonna take?” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Arlecchino chuckled, causing all of the six to jump. “Oh, then allow me to assure you that you won’t have to wait much longer at all.”

Instantly they were on their feet, grabbing whatever weapon was closest. Their expressions ranged from outright fear, to an egregious amount of confidence for how weak they were in comparison to her.

“Knave,” the closest man grinned crookedly. “How kind of you to join us. I’m assuming you’re here for—” he jerked his head towards the figure still unmoving. “—that one?”

“‘That one’?” Arlecchino repeated slowly, drawing her scythe to her side. “I am here for my child.”

Two of the men—the ones closest to the cage—looked at each other nervously. Arlecchino smiled. It was a pity the rest of the group didn’t share the sense to fear her, but they would learn soon enough.

“Well you see, we’ll be happy to hand them over—” the man’s grin widened. “For a price, of course.”

“A price, you say?” She mused. “How about this. You step aside, I retrieve my child, and offer you a quick death. I would say that is more than fair, considering what you have cost me.”

The smile dropped off the man’s face. “That ain’t an option, lady.”

“Then I think you misunderstand.” She took a step towards him, then another, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Boss—” one of the men tried to say.

“Shut it.” the first man hissed, bringing his shovel up in a defensive position. It was almost laughable, how he thought that would protect him.

“You made four mistakes tonight,” Arlecchino said smoothly. The tip of her scythe brushed the floor, sending a loud scraping sound across the walls. All of the people inside the room winced at the sound, but Arlecchino was unfazed as she continued prowling towards them.

“One… you failed to cover your tracks, making it remarkably easy to track you down.” In one swift motion, she lunged. The group barely had time to blink, before her scythe sliced across the chest of the closest one.

There was silence, before the man made a low gasp, bright crimson blood spilling down his shirt. He collapsed forward onto the ground with a thud, and the room erupted into chaos. A scream tore from the throat of the woman, and she dropped to her knees at his side, desperately clutching his shoulders. Arlecchino aimed a quick strike at her back, and she fell against the man heavily.

“Two, you left the door unlocked.” A pair charged towards her, hammers and shovels swinging. She knocked the weapons from their hands with one hit, and knocked them down with a second.

“Three—” One snuck up from behind, quickly tossing a string of rope over her head and around her neck, pulling harshly to cut off her breathing. An elbow in his ribs winded him enough to loosen his grip, and a knock to the head with the hilt of her scythe sent him to the floor. “You brought far too few people to last in a fight against me.”

The final man stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, shrinking against the bricks. Arlecchino walked with slow steps, stalking towards him like an animal cornering their pray. He shielded his face with his hands, in a desperate attempt to protect himself. Once she was about a foot away, she stopped, leaning in close.

“And four.” Arlecchino grasped the man by the throat, digging her nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. “You hurt my fucking child.”

She tossed his body to the side, watching him hit the wall with a thud and collapse to the ground like a ragdoll.

“Pathetic.” She scoffed under her breath, stepping over his limp body. Her anger wasn’t nearly quelled—an inferno is not easily cooled, after all—but seeing them all lying lifelessly across the floor of their own base at least brought some vindication. She turned her back to the man, looking over at her child.

They were curled up in the cage like a trapped animal, rattling breaths ringing through the bars. Arlecchino gritted her teeth at the sight, making sure to step on the nearest captor’s fingers as she walked over. She swung her scythe against the lock, shattering it into bits of metal.

Her hands were gentle in reaching into the cage, hooking a hand under their knees and cradling their back with the other. They made a pained cry, and Arlecchino hurried to pull them out. She held them close to her chest, letting their cheek rest where her heartbeat pounded against her chest. Her face didn’t falter from that stony expression, but inside she was burning with fury.

“My child,” She murmured, more to herself than the shivering form in her arms. There was something dangerous in her tone, a note of warning to the assailants still conscious enough to hear her voice. She kissed their forehead, a tender gesture out of place among the bloodshed. “Didn’t I promise you that while you’re with me, no one can hurt you?”

“F-Father…?” A broken whisper slipped through their lips, followed by a sob, first sinking Arlecchino’s heart then shattering it into two.

“Shh… it’s okay. It’s okay, darling, I’m here.” She crooned, carrying them out of the room and through the tunnel. All throughout the journey through the tunnel and back onto the beach, she didn’t stop murmuring comforts and pressing kisses to their head in the most maternal way she’d ever remembered acting.

“I’m sorry, Father…” they mumbled, cheek pressed against her chest.

“Darling…” Arlecchino hummed, even as the smouldering ashes in her chest began to spark and flicker. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

The night was cold, but her child was a warm weight in her arms. She revelled in the warmth, a gentle reminder that they were still alive.

“We’ll be home soon,” Arlecchino promised, even though they were barely conscious enough to hear her. “Soon.”