Jennie's gaze lingered half a second too long before she turned to leave. She was already halfway down the hall when Rosé's voice carried out behind her, bright and easy "I'm so happy you agreed."
Jennie's steps faltered, just barely. A breath caught, a pause that no one noticed. Then she kept walking.
Back in the control room, Rosé glanced sideways at Y/N. "You won't back out, right?"
Y/N nodded faintly. "Yeah. I think I need it."
"Good. Maybe you'll finally remember how to smile for real again." Rosé smiled, eyes warm.
But when Y/N laughed, soft and hollow, it sounded like someone who wasn't sure she remembered how.
A few days later, with the moment the plane touched down, Y/N felt it.
The shift.
New York was nothing like Seoul. The air hit heavier, salted with exhaust and street food and rain, and everything moved at a pace that dared you to keep up. Rosé was already smiling as they walked through JFK, sunglasses low, hoodie zipped up.
"Feels good to be somewhere no one's watching, huh?"
Y/N only nodded, pulling their suitcases tighter. No fans. No photographers. No Jennie. It should've felt like relief.
But it didn't.
Their days blurred into hotel corridors and quick rehearsals. Rosé's team handled most of it, Y/N was there as an anchor, a familiar face, someone to run last-minute notes or double check. She threw herself into it like she always did.
At night, when Rosé went to meetings or fittings, Y/N wandered the city. She walked through streets with tea in one hand, her phone in the other. Her thumb hovered over the same video again and again. Jennie laughing at a shoot, light catching the edge of her smile. A few seconds long, harmless to anyone else. To Y/N, it was a blade. She scrolled past it, locked her phone, unlocked it again. Each glimpse, a billboard, a headline, a fan clip, pressed sharper against her ribs.
No matter how far she went, Jennie's face always found her.
The studio of The Howard Stern Show was colder than she expected, all metal scaffolding and humming lights. Cables snaked across the floor, technicians whispered through headsets. Y/N stood off to the side, half in shadow, as Rosé adjusted her mic. The set was stripped down, just the blond, a band, a stool, and guitar resting by her side. No lights flashing, no choreography, no layers of production to hide behind. Just her voice, raw and golden, threading through the air.
Rosé with a quiet smile, leaned toward the mic. The first few notes of Toxic Till the End drifted out, slower than usual, a heartbeat pace. The electric pop edge stripped away, replaced by something intimate. Fragile. Her voice carried like silk through smoke.
Y/N felt her shoulders loosen a little. It was beautiful, heartache wrapped in sweetness. But then, just as the song should've ended, it didn't. The band carried on, the melody lingering in the air. Rosé glanced down, fingers gently caressing the guitar, then began singing again, the words sinking into Y/N's chest before her mind had a chance to catch up.
Because maybe… you're gonna be the one that saves me…
The sound of it punched the air out of her lungs.
All at once, she wasn't in New York anymore. The studio, the hum of equipment? Gone.
She was back in Paris.
That room, and the quiet except for Jennie's shallow breaths. Her hands trembling, eyes glassy from panic as she whispered, "I'm sorry" and Y/N, sitting beside her, murmuring over and over, "You're safe. I've got you." Jennie's tears wet against her neck. The moment Jennie finally melted into her arms, her forehead pressed to Y/N's neck, the night turning soft again.
The next flash came sharp.
Spain.
Their hotel, lights too bright. Jennie crying. And Y/N, heart in pieces, walking away even though every cell in her body screamed to turn back.
And then, came the warmth.
The lights in Paris reflecting in Jennie's eyes. The feel of her hand finding Y/N's in the dark. The sound of her laugh, small and unguarded. That night in Seoul, when they were tangled together, Jennie's lips brushing her collarbone as she mumbled, "I love you."
Y/N's chest constricted. Her throat burned. She blinked hard, willing herself to stay here, New York, 2025, you're working, you're fine.
But Rosé's voice wouldn't let her go.
And after all… you're my wonderwall.
Something inside Y/N splintered, quietly, completely.
The studio applauded. People smiled, whispered, clapped. Y/N turned away, pretending to check her tablet, pretending her eyes weren't stinging. Her hand shook as she scrolled through notes she couldn't read. Rosé thanked, and laughed at something the host said. Y/N forced herself to breathe, to clap, to look normal. But her heart? Her heart was still back there.
With Jennie in her arms.
And the realization hit her like a second impact. It didn't matter how far she ran. New York, the other side of the world, Jennie was always going to live inside the echo.