Guys this is sequel of A Soulmate Who Should Have Stay
The air outside YG was thick enough to taste, late August air clinging to skin, heavy with rain that never came. Inside, the building was alive in the way only YG could be, elevators dinging, sneakers squeaking on tile, bass lines bleeding through the walls from practice rooms. The smell of espresso and exhaustion hung in the air. Y/N moved through it all like she belonged to the rhythm, not fast, not slow, but efficient, precise. Her tablet was tucked under one arm, phone buzzing in her other hand as she scanned through three schedules at once.
"Y/N! Jisoo's vocal check just got moved up an hour!" A voice called from down the hall. "Got it," she said, already adjusting times on her tablet. "Let the team know I'll handle it."
Jisoo's comeback prep alone was enough to eat a person whole, choreography checks, MV discussions, costume fittings, promotional timelines stacked on top of the Deadline tour's return in a few weeks. But when Y/N wasn't at YG, she was back across the river at The Black Label, helping Meovv girls with their own October comeback.
She'd started with them long before the tour, they were hers, in a way, a project she'd helped shape. When she'd walked into Teddy's studio earlier that month and asked if she could keep helping between tour breaks, he hadn't even looked up from his monitors.
"If you can handle both, do it," he'd said. "But don't take the full workload for Meovv, yeah? Pinks should be your priority right now."
She'd nodded. "Of course."
He hadn't needed to say more. Y/N knew exactly where her priorities were supposed to be. Still, every hallway, every whispered conversation, every group chat ping seemed to circle back to one person.
Jennie.
Jennie for Beats by Dre, Jennie with her Stanley collaboration, Jennie at the Ray-Ban event. She was everywhere. Y/N pretended not to care, not to listen. Pretended the sound of that name didn't twist like wire around her ribs every time it was spoken.
They hadn't really talked since that night.
There were moments, though, tiny collisions in shared spaces. A glance across a meeting table, a polite exchange when recording schedules overlapped, a quick nod in passing near the elevators.
Words that sounded civil but felt like standing on glass.
It was survival. It had to be.
Y/N had told herself distance was good. That keeping things professional was the only way to breathe without drowning. But sometimes, when her phone buzzed on her desk late at night, a new notification, a message lighting up the screen, her pulse still jumped before her mind could catch up.
And every single time, it wasn't her.
So she'd exhale, bury herself back in her spreadsheets, and remind herself that this, the work, the noise, the endless motion, was all that was left. It was easier to drown in chaos than to sit still long enough to miss her.
The meeting room on YG's fourth floor was always too cold, a deliberate kind of cold that kept tempers manageable and eyelids open after twelve-hour workdays. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence between voices. Laptops clicked. Water bottles passed across the table. Y/N walked in behind Jisoo and the other manager, tablet in hand, smile perfectly neutral. Jennie was already there, third seat from the end, hair tied back in a sleek ponytail, posture straight, pen poised above her notes.
She didn't look up. She didn't have to.
Y/N felt it anyway, that familiar prickle along her spine, the one that said Jennie knows you're here.
She slid into a chair across the table, the polished surface between them feeling far too small and far too wide all at once. She opened her tablet, pulling up the updated schedule for choreography revisions. Her voice stayed even, practiced, as she leaned toward Jisoo.
"They pushed the rehearsal to Thursday," she murmured. "That should give you an extra day to rest before fittings."
Jisoo nodded, whispering "Thanks."
Across the table, Jennie's pen tapped, quiet, rhythmic. The sound was barely audible over the conversation, yet Y/N couldn't unhear it.
"Let's finalize visuals for the shoot," one of the PR heads said, clicking through slides.
Jennie leaned forward then, her tone clipped but calm. "I think the second concept works better. It feels more grounded. Less performance, more presence."
Professional. Controlled. Every syllable precise.
When the meeting finally wrapped, chairs scraped and staff began packing up, voices rising into small talk. Y/N gathered her things, keeping her eyes on the screen, anywhere but her. But then Jennie passed behind her. Close enough that the air shifted. A brush of perfume. That same warm, clean scent Y/N used to wake up to. Her breath caught. Her fingers froze.
Jennie didn't stop. Didn't say a word.
"Jennie! Lunch?" Lisa called down the hall, cheerful, oblivious.
"Yeah," Jennie's voice answered, smooth and steady.
The door shut. The scent lingered.