Tonight, Paris was hers alone.
Across the world, the city outside Jennie's window was asleep, or pretending to be. Even the neon had dimmed, leaving only the low hum of streetlights and the faint buzz of her air conditioner. She hadn't meant to wake. Sleep came in fragments, twenty minutes here, half an hour there. Her body ached with exhaustion, but her mind never stopped. The moment she closed her eyes, it played the same reel of flashing lights, camera clicks, the sound of a voice she could no longer hear.
Jennie blinked against the glow of her phone, the screen too bright in the dark.
4:07 a.m.
A new flurry of notifications blinked at the top. She didn't have to open them. She knew better, but she did.
Paris Fashion Week. YSL. Rosé.
And beside her? Y/N.
The first photo hit like a blow. Y/N in black suit, sleek and composed, a faint smile curving her mouth as she steadied Rosé. In another, with the glow of the Eiffel Tower in the back, Rosé leaned in, laughing, her hand looped easily through Y/N's arm.
The world saw two professionals.
Jennie saw everything she'd lost.
Her chest tightened until breathing felt foreign. Her thumb hovered above the screen, as if scrolling would somehow make it hurt less. But every image made it worse, Y/N's posture, that steady calm, the way she carried herself like she'd built walls high enough that no one could ever climb them again. Walls Jennie had forced her to build.
A video auto-played. The audio crackled faintly, laughter, cameras, Rosé saying something that made Y/N look over, smile soft and real.
That smile.
It stopped Jennie cold.
The same smile that used to bloom for her, just for her, in quiet backstage corners. The smile that had undone her every time. Her throat burned. Her hand trembled as she set her phone down, face turned away like she couldn't bear to look at it. She pressed her palms against her eyes. She thought about calling, about breaking her own rules, about saying the words she'd been swallowing.
But she couldn't.
So instead, she sat in the dark, tears she refused to name sliding hot and soundless down her cheeks. In her mind, Y/N was still there, the warmth of her palm against Jennie's neck, the quiet murmur, "You're safe." But the image twisted. Now it was Y/N standing beside someone else, smiling like she'd finally found peace.
Jennie curled forward, breath shuddering out of her. The loneliness hit in waves, sharp, relentless, the kind that doesn't leave bruises you can see.
"She looks happy." She whispered it to no one, barely a breath.
It should've been enough. It should've meant relief.
But it felt like grief.
Jennie stayed like that until the sky outside began to pale, the night thinning to gray. When she finally stood, she went to the window, the city spread beneath her like a wound that never closed.
Later, under the heavy Paris sky, Y/N stood at the edge of the YSL afterparty balcony. She'd traded her black shirt for white, the top buttons undone, hair falling into her eyes. Music pulsed from inside, champagne glittering in the air, but out here, it was quieter, just the city humming below.
Rosé leaned against the railing beside her, nursing a drink. "You okay?"
Y/N smiled faintly. "Yeah. I think so."
It wasn't a lie. For the first time in months, she felt lighter. Maybe it was the champagne, maybe the distance, maybe the way Paris always seemed to hold memories gently, even the painful ones. But even as she laughed with Rosé, something in her chest tugged, an echo of another night, another city, another version of herself standing on a balcony beside Jennie. Inside, the party roared louder. Y/N turned back toward the light, a small smile fixed in place.
By the time Y/N, Rosie and Lisa landed back in Seoul, the city had shifted again, early autumn creeping through the streets, the heat finally breaking. Jet lag clung to her like fog, but work left no room to rest. The next morning, Y/N was already back, reviewing Meovv's choreography revisions, fielding updates from Blisoo about Jisoo's schedules. Everything back to order. Routine. Control.
Almost like she'd never left.
Almost.
Because the memories, still slipped through at the quietest moments, her laughter under the Eiffel Tower lights, the weightless feeling of walking through a crowd without looking over her shoulder. And, always, Jennie's ghost somewhere behind it all.
So when Jisoo's invitation came through group chat "movie night + wine + Eyes Closed premiere" Y/N didn't hesitate.
Jisoo's apartment always felt like a safehouse, warm light spilling over soft furniture, a faint scent of candles, music humming from a speaker somewhere near the kitchen. It was the kind of space that made you forget, for a little while, that the world outside never stopped watching.
Tonight, the living room was full.
The girls were there, of course. Rosé radiant as ever, Lisa already halfway through her second glass of wine, Jennie quiet in the corner of the couch, and a few of Jisoo's closest friends, faces Y/N had seen at dinners and wrap parties. The laughter was easy, the conversation flowing, cushions shifting as people found comfortable spots to sink into.