Jennie cracked one eye at her, feigning outrage. "Broadening my horizons tastes like garlic rubber. You're lucky I didn't spit it onto your plate."
That sent Y/N off again, burying her face in the pillow. Jennie swatted blindly at her arm, but the grin tugging at her lips gave her away.
The laughter ebbed slowly, softening into something quieter, looser. The room stilled around them, Paris humming low beyond the window. Y/N rolled onto her side, gaze catching on the shimmer of the Eiffel Tower framed by the sheer curtains. Without thinking, she reached, looping an arm around Jennie's waist and drawing her close. Jennie didn't resist. She shifted back instinctively, her bare skin meeting Y/N's front, the fit so natural it stole Y/N's breath. Like they'd been built for this. For each other.
Jennie exhaled, a long, quiet release, her shoulders loosening under Y/N's hold. Her hand slid down, resting lightly over Y/N's arm where it wrapped around her. The silence wasn't heavy. It was warm.
"Look," Y/N murmured, her voice a low vibration against Jennie's spine. She nodded toward the window. The tower glowed steady and gold, the moon spilling silver over the rooftops. Jennie's eyes followed the line of Y/N's chin to the view, the city endless, glittering.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
"Mm," Y/N hummed, pressing a kiss to Jennie's bare shoulder, then another, softer, just behind her ear. Her lips lingered there as she spoke, voice barely audible. "But still not as beautiful as you."
Jennie's breath caught audibly. Her fingers tightened over Y/N's arm, grounding herself in the hold.
Y/N kept going, words spilling before she could stop them, every one true. "Nothing else matters here. Not the cameras. Not the noise. Just this. Just you. I wish I could keep you safe like this forever, even from yourself." Her lips brushed another kiss into the soft curve of Jennie's neck, gentle and reverent.
Jennie's eyes slipped shut. She let herself melt, let herself forget the world that always screamed at her, always demanded. For once, there was quiet .
Slowly, she turned in Y/N's arms, rolling to face her. They stayed close, knees brushing, Y/N's arm still holding her tight. Jennie's eyes found hers in the muted glow, wide, glimmering with something unspoken but undeniable.
"I think I could love you." Her voice broke the silence, a whisper so fragile Y/N almost missed it.
Y/N's heart stopped, then surged. But her answer came steady, unguarded, truer than anything she'd ever said.
"Maybe I already do."
Jennie's breath trembled, her gaze dropping to Y/N's lips and back again. Then she leaned in, slow, tentative, as if testing whether the world would let her have this. Their lips met, soft and aching, a kiss that carried every unspoken word they hadn't dared say aloud.
When they broke, Jennie tucked herself back into Y/N's chest, her face pressed into the curve of her neck like she could hide there forever. Y/N tightened her hold, burying her face in Jennie's hair, inhaling the warmth of her skin.
Outside, Paris glittered, silent witness to a secret they would never speak of again.
Y/N blinked, her reflection caught faintly in the glass. For a moment, she almost expected to see another shape behind her, a smaller frame, dark hair spilling loose, the weight of someone pressed into her chest. But there was nothing. Just her.
The Eiffel Tower glittered outside exactly the same way it had two years ago, golden against the midnight dark. Unchanged. Eternal.
Everything else had changed.
Her eyes stung, and she forced a swallow past the ache climbing her throat. The silence in the room felt cavernous, too loud, like it was mocking her with its emptiness. The bed behind her was untouched, sheets still perfectly folded. No laughter spilling into the night, no warm body pressed against her, no whispered almost confessions.
Just silence. Just absence.
Her hand curled against the window frame, nails digging into her palm. Paris wasn't just another stop on the tour, it was theirs. Their secret, their city. The one place that had once made the impossible feel simple, safe, inevitable. Now it was a mirror. A cruel reminder of how much time could strip away. Of how something so fragile and beautiful could be reduced to a ghost that lived only in memory.
Her vision blurred, one hot tear slipping free, carving down her cheek before she could catch it. She swiped it away quickly, almost angrily, but the heaviness in her chest didn't move. It stayed, pressing down, a knot of longing and grief tangled so tightly she couldn't tell them apart anymore.
Two years ago, Paris had felt like a promise. And now? Now it was a wound that refused to close. And Y/N couldn't decide which hurt more, the memory of what they'd been, or the truth of what they weren't anymore.
Show day in Paris didn't feel like the others. The roar of the crowd outside had a different pitch, fans already singing through the walls. Even backstage, it seeped in, a heartbeat Y/N couldn't escape. She moved with practiced efficiency, headset crackling, tablet in hand, phone in hand as she snapped photos of Jisoo's stage outfit. She leaned close to the stylist, quietly confirming adjustments, cross-checking the setlist timings.
Her hands stayed steady. But the rest of her? The rest was a mess.
Everywhere she looked, the memories slipped through. In the reflection of the full length mirror, the shimmer of sequins caught the light almost the same way the Eiffel Tower had from Jennie's hotel room window. In the perfume the stylists misted, something floral and sharp that twisted memory into her lungs. Even in the laughter of the crew, for a split second, she thought she heard hers.
And just like that, she was back there, bare skin, whispered confessions, the kind of night that branded itself into bone.
She blinked hard, forced herself back to the now, reminding herself that this was work. This was Jisoo's night. Nothing else mattered.
Jennie was flawless on stage. Polished. Commanding. Like the world bent to her rhythm. Y/N told herself to keep her head down, to focus on Jisoo's cues, the details, but her pulse never settled.
During Lisa's solo, Jennie was already waiting for the next act. Her mic loosely in one hand, hair falling in waves over her shoulders, chest rising and falling with the exertion of the set. She scanned the crowd backstage, and landed on Y/N instantly. A flick of her fingers, sharp and sure, beckoning her closer.
Y/N's breath caught. She didn't want to move. Every muscle screamed for her to stay put, stay safe. But her body betrayed her, legs carrying her forward before her mind caught up.
Jennie tilted her head, fingers brushing the wire running down her back. "Can you fix this? Alison's back at the barricade."
The excuse was thin, almost unnecessary, there were other hands here, plenty of them. But she'd asked Y/N.
Only Y/N.
Y/N swallowed hard and reached. The wire had tucked low at the base of Jennie's neck. Carefully, she eased it free, fingertips grazing hot skin as she worked the cable back into place. She told herself her touch was steady, professional, nothing more than what the job required. But it didn't feel that way. Not when her fingertips skimmed along her spine. Not when the heat of Jennie's skin radiated straight through her hand. Not when her perfume rose between them, dragging the past back into her chest like a knife. Her breath stirred against Jennie's neck as she leaned in, too close, closer than she should ever be.
Jennie shivered, barely, but enough that Y/N felt it like electricity.
Her fingers weren't steady anymore, not when her palm brushed the curve of Jennie's shoulder blade, not when every inch of closeness dragged the past back, nights pressed together, laughter in the dark, secrets murmured into skin.
Then Jennie turned her head. Close enough that their faces were inches apart, their breaths mingling in the dim.
Time stopped. The stage noise blurred into nothing.
Y/N's heart slammed hard enough to hurt. For a beat too long, she swore she saw it, something raw, unguarded, flickering in Jennie's eyes.
Want. Ache. Recognition.
It almost undid her.
She pulled back sharply, too fast, words clipped. "You're good."