Jennie didn't move, gaze still holding, unreadable now, the moment folding in on itself like it had never existed. Y/N retreated, steps sharp, chest burning, fingers trembling. Because if she stayed even a second longer, the truth in her own eyes would have betrayed her.
Before the next show, the prep room was a hive of chatter, stylists darting back and forth with curling irons, brushes, pins clenched between their teeth. Jennie sat in the makeup chair, her team hovering with two options in hand.
"Straight?" one asked, holding up a reference shot. "Waves?" another countered, tugging lightly at a strand of Jennie's hair.
Jennie didn't answer right away, her gaze half on the mirror, half lost somewhere else.
Y/N passed by at that moment, eyes on her checklist. She should've kept walking. Should've stayed quiet. But the sight, Jennie framed in that chair, hair loose and waiting, pulled the memory sharp and sudden.
Without slowing her step, without even glancing over, Y/N murmured to herself "Bangs." The word slipped out like muscle memory.
The way Jennie had worn it that night that kept playing in her head.
The air shifted.
Jennie froze for half a second, the faintest hitch in her composure. Her eyes flicked sideways, catching Y/N's retreating back. And then, so small, so private only those watching close would catch it, a smile ghosted across her lips. Not for the team. Not for the mirror. For the echo of a memory only the two of them carried.
She said nothing. Let the stylists keep debating. In the end, her hair fell into soft waves, the safer choice. But the word lingered between them, heavy and unspoken. Last tour, Y/N's voice had been Jennie's last word on styling, a quiet ritual, an intimacy folded into routine.
Jennie ignored it.
Hours later, the hotel lobby was hushed except for the warm spill of music from the bar, laughter, the clink of glasses. The post-show crowd had gathered there, a few dancers, stylists unwinding, Rosé with a glass of red balanced in her hand. Alison leaned in, whispering something in Jennie's ear. She shook her head, smirking, and then Rosé said something, sharp, playful, the kind of tease that only she could pull off.
Jennie's laugh burst free. Bright. Unrestrained.
Y/N froze in the doorway.
It wasn't just sound. It was memory. The same laugh that had spilled across Jennie's pillows, tangled between sheets. A sound Y/N once thought belonged only to her. The ground shifted beneath her feet, the ache so sharp it nearly buckled her knees.
Jennie's eyes lifted mid-laugh and found her.
For a breath, the world went still. Jennie tilted her head, just a fraction, subtle but deliberate. An unspoken question You're not coming?
Y/N's throat locked. Her body screamed to move, to go to her, but her feet held fast until Rosé's voice broke through the haze.
"Oh my god, Y/N! You actually came!" Rosé's face lit up, her hand lifting in a little wave.
Alison's smile followed, small, warm, almost knowing.
That snapped Y/N out of her trance. She forced a smile that didn't touch her eyes, angled toward Rosé instead. "Just stopped by to say I'll join you next time. I'm heading out for some air."
Rosé's smile faltered, just a shade, like she didn't quite believe her. "Don't get lost," she said softly.
Y/N nodded, already retreating, already turning away before she could second guess herself. She stopped in the quiet of the lobby, pulled out her phone, and called Jisoo.
"Do you need anything, unnie?"
Jisoo's voice was heavy with sleep. "I'm fine. Go. Rest."
So that was it. No anchor. No reason to stay. She slipped out into the night, the echo of Jennie's laugh still splitting her chest open.
What she didn't see was the way Jennie's smile dimmed the moment she turned away. The flicker of disappointment, sharp as a wound. Jennie's gaze lingered on Y/N's back until she vanished from view. Alison and Rosé exchanged a glance over their glasses, quiet sympathy in their eyes, before both looked back at Jennie.
Jennie didn't laugh again.
The Paris night wrapped around her the moment she stepped outside. Cool air, crisp with the faint trace of rain on old stone, bit against her flushed skin. The hotel doors closed behind her, the echo of Jennie's laugh still burned in her ears.
She hadn't planned to walk. She hadn't planned anything. But her feet moved anyway, carrying her down streets her body remembered even when her mind begged it not to.
First, the narrow bridge.
Y/N's steps slowed as the iron arches loomed into view, familiar even under the hush of night. The last time she'd been here, it hadn't been alone. She could still feel Jennie's hand in hers, small, tense, trembling just enough to betray how dangerous it felt to sneak out. Their hoods pulled low, coats swallowing their frames, sunglasses ridiculous under the streetlamps.
"Just an hour," Jennie had whispered, her breath puffing white in the night air. "No one will know."
Her grip had been tight, not just protective, but desperate, like she was clinging to Y/N as much as the freedom of that hour. They had leaned over the rail, their shoulders brushing, staring down at the Seine rippling gold under the city lights. Y/N remembered Jennie's laugh, low and nervous, when a boat passed beneath them and someone on deck pointed their way. Jennie squeezed her hand harder, muttering, "See? Nobody noticed."
Y/N hadn't corrected her. She hadn't said, They noticed. They just didn't see. She'd just smiled, letting Jennie's fingers lace through hers in the shadows, letting the secret feel like theirs alone.
Then, the little bakery on Rue Saint-Honoré.
Y/N's stomach twisted when the pale pink awning came into view, edges still fraying from the wind. She could still see Jennie ducking through the door, oversized sunglasses slipping down her nose, grin bright and reckless.
"Macarons are essential research," she'd declared, her voice muffled behind the scarf wrapped clumsily around her mouth.
They hadn't dared sit inside. Instead, they perched on the curb outside, knees knocking together as they balanced a pastel box between them. Jennie had picked through the colors like a child, declaring each one her new favorite, until she broke into helpless laughter when the cream smeared on her thumb.
Y/N remembered the way Jennie had sucked the frosting away absentmindedly, eyes glinting mischievous when she caught Y/N staring.
"You're spoiled," Y/N had teased, shaking her head.
Jennie had leaned in, conspiratorial. "I'm cultured."
Then she'd laughed again, that unguarded, head tipped back laugh that Paris had stolen and tucked into Y/N's chest forever.
Her chest pulled tighter. She should have turned back.
But she didn't.
Her feet slowed without her permission, carrying her toward the curve in the river. She knew it before she even saw it, the hush of water lapping against stone, the lamppost glow haloing the worn bench.
Their spot.
Y/N stood there frozen, lungs stuttering in her chest. It looked the same. Exactly the same. She could almost see Jennie curled into her side, scarf sliding loose, voice brushing against her ear. Here, Jennie had whispered those nothings soft enough to vanish in the night air, things she'd never dare say when the sun was out. Here, she had rested her head on Y/N's shoulder, her hand tucked into Y/N's coat pocket like it belonged there, like for one impossible hour she could be free of everything and everyone else.
Y/N's knees threatened to give, so she sank onto the stone bench, hands gripping the edge until her knuckles blanched. The memories came sharper than she was ready for, the sound of Jennie's laugh, the weight of her leaning against her, the whispered promise Y/N hadn't realized she'd memorized.
And then, inevitably, the aftermath.
The texts and calls that stopped. The silence where Jennie used to be. No answers, no closure, just absence, raw and total. Like Y/N had been easy to put down, easy to forget.
Her chest throbbed with it, a wound that still hadn't learned how to scar. No matter how many months passed, no matter how hard she tried to move forward, Paris told her the brutal truth.
She hadn't healed. She couldn't.
She didn't know how long she sat there, time blurred. All she knew was the ache, the way the city pressed down, smothering, unforgiving. The buzz of her phone cut through, jolting her back. She fumbled it out, screen glowing with Rosé's name.
Her thumb hovered. A part of her wanted to let it ring out, to stay cocooned in this ache where no one could reach her. But she couldn't do that to Rosé. She never could. With a shaky inhale, she answered.
"Y/N? Where are you?" Rosé's voice was soft, but threaded with worry. "It's been hours."
Y/N's throat tightened. She forced steadiness into her tone. "Just walking. Needed some air."
"Three hours of air?" Rosé pressed gently. Then, quieter "She's asking about you."
Y/N froze. "What?"
"She—" A pause. "Jennie had a few drinks." Rosé exhaled into the line. "Alison and I just got her upstairs. She kept saying your name."
Y/N's grip tightened on the phone, the world tilting around her.
"She's fine," Rosé added quickly, as if cushioning the blow. "I just thought you should know."
Y/N shut her eyes, the ache doubling, the river's reflection shimmering with all the things she could never let herself reach for again.
By the time Y/N finally pushed back through the hotel doors, the night had settled heavier on her shoulders, each step dragging like she'd left pieces of herself by the river. She just wanted to disappear upstairs, lock the door, let exhaustion drag her under.
Her phone buzzed again.
"Unnie?" Y/N answered, voice low.
"Are you back at the hotel?" Rosé's tone was hushed, urgent. "Can you come up?"
Y/N stopped cold in the middle of the lobby. Her pulse spiked. "What's wrong?"
"Jennie—" Rosé exhaled, the sound ragged. "She's a mess. Alison and I tried to calm her down, but she's on the edge of a panic attack. Please."
The word lodged deep in Y/N's chest. She closed her eyes, fighting the wave of conflict rising sharp and immediate. She couldn't. She shouldn't. But she was already moving, already crossing to the elevators before her mind caught up.
The door opened to Alison's face, pale and tight with strain. Relief flickered in her eyes the moment she saw Y/N, as if she'd been holding her breath and could finally let it out. She stepped aside without a word.
The room was dim, curtains drawn against the Paris night, but Y/N's eyes found her instantly.
Jennie sat curled on the edge of the bed, legs drawn in, hair a messy halo around her face. Her makeup had streaked, black smudges along her cheeks, lips trembling. Her hands wouldn't stay still, twisting in her lap, clutching the sheets, pressing against her knees like she was trying to hold herself together. Her breathing was shallow, ragged, breaking apart with hiccupped sobs.
The sight hollowed Y/N out. Gone was the polished, untouchable Jennie the world adored, the one who had left her, the one who could slice with a look. This Jennie was raw, devastated, cracked wide open.
Her head snapped up the second Y/N stepped inside.
"Y/N," she choked, the word strangled and wet, her voice splintering in the middle. Her eyes, wild, red, desperate, cut straight through the armor Y/N had spent months building.
Y/N didn't think, she moved. Instinct overrode everything else, the part of her that had always known how to catch Jennie before she shattered. She crossed the room in quick strides and crouched low at the bedside.
"Hey." Her voice came soft, steady, the same tone she'd used on the flight, the same tone she'd used years ago when panic attacks struck in airports and hotel lobbies. "It's okay. Breathe with me, remember? Nice and slow."
Jennie's gaze locked onto her like a drowning woman finding air. Her fingers fumbled forward blindly, clutching at Y/N's sleeve, knuckles white.
"I can't—" The words broke apart, a gasp, a sob. "Don't go—please, don't—"
Y/N's chest hurt. She caught Jennie's trembling hands, grounding them between her palms. "I'm here," she whispered, low and sure. "I'm right here. Look at me. You're safe."
And that was it, the dam broke.
Jennie lurched forward, collapsing against her. Her arms wrapped tight around Y/N's shoulders, clutching like she was terrified Y/N might disappear if she loosened her grip. Her sobs tore out of her, harsh and desperate, shaking through both of them.
"I'm sorry," Jennie sobbed, muffled into Y/N's neck. "I'm so sorry… I'm so—" The words tumbled over themselves, a litany, endless, like apologies could stitch together everything that had been broken