Y/N's heart twisted so hard it hurt.
But as quickly as it happened, it was gone. Jennie straightened, pulled her cheek from Y/N's hand, the familiar mask sliding back into place. Her breathing was steadier now, but her voice was paper thin when she finally spoke.
"You don't have to—"
She didn't finish. Just shook her head faintly, turning her gaze to the window, to the dark sky where no one could see her.
Y/N froze there, crouched in the aisle, a hundred words burning in her throat. Don't have to what? Don't have to care?
But she said none of them.
Instead, she swallowed it all, stood up quietly, and slipped back into her seat.
Laptop was still open, schedule glowing in blue light, but she couldn't read a single word. The only thing in her head was the echo of Jennie's breath syncing with hers, the phantom weight of her leaning closer.
The hum of the plane filled the silence. Y/N stared into the dark for the rest of the flight, pulse racing, unable to decide which was worse, that Jennie had still needed her, even for a second, or that she'd pushed her away the moment she let herself be seen.
SoFi's backstage thrummed with motion, the air humid and heated from the lights, cases stacked high, grip crew darting between gaffer towers. Voices rose and snapped into headsets, a roadie shouted a cue, a stagehand rolled a crate, and monitors blinked red, hungry. The walls felt too close for a night that grand, the sound of the stadium seeped through in low, constant pressure.
Y/N carved a small pocket of stillness at the quick change stalls, headset in place, pen tapping the margin of her tablet. Jisoo was calm in the wings, and Y/N's job was to keep the rest of the world from crashing into her.
"You know," Lisa's voice cut through, playful and sharp, "your face right now is terrifying."
Y/N blinked, glancing over. Lisa leaned against a flight case, sipping from her water bottle like she had all the time in the world.
"My face?" Y/N asked.
"Yeah. That manager face. All serious. Like one wrong move and you're gonna shout at someone."
Y/N snorted and pulled an exaggerated scowl, brows furrowed, lips pressed thin. Lisa laughed so hard she almost choked on her water.
"God, I missed this," Lisa wheezed, setting the bottle down. "You're the fun manager. Not like those others. Tell you what," She jabbed a finger in Y/N's direction, grinning. "When this is over, you should come work at LLOUD. You and Alice would be the dream team."
Y/N rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now, shoulders easing for the first time all day. "Sure. I'll add "Lisa's babysitter" to my résumé."
The joke had Y/N laughing when movement brushed the edge of her vision.
Jennie passed by in full stage styling, hair done, mic in hand, the team clustered loosely behind her. She didn't say a word. Didn't even slow down.
But her eyes? Her eyes stayed.
A lingering look that stretched too long. Heavy enough that her stomach knotted, but instead of faltering, Y/N laughed louder. She leaned into Lisa's shoulder, swatting her arm, forcing the sound out until it rang almost too bright. Lisa gave her a side glance, knowing, quiet. She didn't say it, but the look asked Who are you trying to convince?
Y/N snapped her gaze to the monitor, pretending to be fully absorbed in Jisoo's performance. But for the rest of the day, she kept her distance, ducking out early, rerouting her steps, avoiding any chance Jennie might corner her again.
Jennie hadn't said a single word.
Los Angeles blurred by in a haze of sunburned nights and adrenaline. Two shows down, both flawless on paper, glowing reviews, no visible cracks. Y/N told herself it was good. Professional. Exactly what she was here to deliver.
But she felt Jennie's gaze like a phantom, replaying that silent moment backstage whenever she closed her eyes. Lisa's laughter had faded. The schedules, the notes, even the chaos hadn't been enough to shake it.
She avoided her as best she could. Kept her eyes locked on Jisoo, on staff, on anything else. And Jennie let her, mostly. No words, no slip ups. Just distance.
The next stop was Chicago.
A colder city, sharper wind. By the time Y/N was threading her way through the backstage corridors on show day, she thought maybe she'd managed to reset, to level herself out.
Soldier Field's back corridors pulsed like arteries, stacked flight cases lining the walls, crew weaving through with radios pressed to their mouths. Every sound bled upward, fed by the crowd outside, their roar seeping in through the walls like a storm pressing against glass. Y/N kept her bag hugged close, phone in one hand, weaving through the narrow artery of bodies. She had her head full of timings, cues, Jisoo's notes for the encore, all precision, all order.
Then the crowd shifted. And there she was.
Jennie.
Moving toward her down the same corridor, water bottle swinging loose at her side. No way to turn off, no side door to duck into. Just the inevitability of their paths crossing in too tight space.
Y/N told herself to focus on the far end of the hall, to keep her stride brisk and professional, to not even register her. But the closer Jennie got, the heavier the air felt. The clamor of crew dulled to a low hum, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Then it happened.
The brush.
Not shoulder to shoulder, no. Hand to arm. Fingertips ghosting over the inside of Y/N's sleeve, fleeting, feather light, but deliberate enough to burn. The kind of contact that left sparks in its wake, that stole the rhythm from her lungs.
Y/N stumbled half a step, whipping her head around, words rising hot in her throat.
"What the—"