Y/N sat between Lisa and Rosé, her black slacks creased sharp, sleeves rolled up, her phone tucked somewhere out of sight for once. She looked relaxed, or close enough to it to fool most of them.
"Okay," Jisoo said, padding in from the kitchen with another bottle of wine, cheeks flushed from laughter. "Before we get to the emotional stuff, we celebrate! My first collab deserves at least one toast."
"Two," Lisa said, raising her glass. "One for the song, one for your face in that teaser. You're unreal."
Everyone clinked glasses, laughter bubbling up again. The room smelled like pizza and perfume and something soft Y/N couldn't quite name, maybe nostalgia, or maybe just safety.
Then Jisoo turned toward her, mischief in her eyes.
"By the way Y/N," she said, "I didn't expect you to go to a YSL show with Rosé like that. You looked so good in that suit though."
Y/N froze just long enough for Rosé to grin and jump in.
"Didn't she?!" she said, dramatic, nudging Y/N's shoulder. "The whole internet thought so. And don't even get me started on the models at the afterparty. I swear one of them was near begging to get her number."
Lisa burst into laughter. "You're kidding!"
"Nope," Rosé said, smirking into her glass. "I should've charged for protection."
"You're all ridiculous." Y/N groaned, shaking her head.
"Oh, come on," Jisoo teased. "When you look that good, you can't just expect people not to notice."
The laughter rippled around the room again, genuine, easy.
Except for Jennie.
She was sitting at the edge, legs crossed, wine glass turning slow between her fingers. She smiled when everyone else did, even laughed once, soft and delayed. But it never reached her eyes. Not really. From where Y/N sat, she could see it, the tiny tension at the corner of Jennie's mouth, the way her hand trembled just slightly when she set the glass down.
And maybe no one else noticed, but Y/N did.
She always did.
For a heartbeat, their eyes met across the room, and the noise around them blurred. Jennie's lips parted, just barely, as if she wanted to say something. Y/N's chest tightened, every instinct screaming to look away.
Then someone called Jennie's name, Hyeri, laughing about some old memory from a trip, and the moment snapped. Jennie turned, joining in the joke like nothing had happened, her smile too quick, too polished. Y/N blinked, reaching for her glass again, the taste of red wine suddenly too sharp. The conversation swelled again, stories, laughter, plans. Lisa scrolling through her phone to show everyone a meme. Jisoo topping off glasses. And Y/N just sat there, smiling when she was supposed to, nodding at the right moments, all while the silence between her and Jennie buzzed like a fault line, one wrong word away from breaking open.
When Jisoo dimmed the lights, the laughter softened. The TV glowed for a moment before the opening notes filled the room, slow, pulsing, tender.
"Alright," she said with a nervous smile, settling beside Lisa. "Don't make fun of me. Zayn said it was good."
Rosé threw popcorn at her. "You are good. Shut up."
The first verse began.
Y/N's breath caught. The melody was soft, bittersweet, like something familiar and distant at once. And then the words came.
Her fingers tightened around her glass.
Across the couch, Jennie sat still, her chin tilted slightly toward the screen, eyes unreadable. But Y/N saw it, the faint tremor in her throat when she swallowed, the way her hands curled in her lap.
The pre-chorus rose, Zayn's voice blending into Jisoo's.
Cause someone like me, and someone like you, really shouldn't work..
Y/N's chest constricted. Jennie's eyes flicked to hers.
It wasn't deliberate, maybe just reflex, but the look landed like a blow. They both froze. That one lyric hung between them, alive, cruelly precise. Because it was them.
It had always been them.
Y/N forced herself to look away, pretending to study the screen, pretending her throat wasn't closing. But the memories came anyway. Jennie in the hotel rooms in her arms, a few years ago. The nights on Jennie's couch. Promises of "We'll face it together" murmured into her skin. She'd thought she'd buried it. But the song kept digging.
Jennie wasn't faring better.
To anyone else, she looked composed, legs crossed, expression calm. But inside, the lyrics crawled beneath her ribs. Her breath stuttered. She remembered Y/N's voice from years ago, soft, fierce, grounding. "You don't have to carry it all alone." She remembered how it felt to be held, how it felt to believe that maybe she didn't have to keep breaking herself to be loved. Jennie blinked hard. Once. Twice. Her vision blurred just long enough that the lights from the TV fractured.
And then, chorus came.
We should fall in love with our eyes closed..
The room was silent, except for the music and the faint clink of someone shifting their glass.
Y/N looked up.
Jennie was already looking at her.
It wasn't longing exactly. It wasn't even sadness. It was something rawer, recognition. A shared grief. Like both of them were standing at the edge of what used to be, knowing they couldn't go back, but still aching for the touch that once made the world stop hurting.
Neither moved. Neither breathed.
The last note lingered in the air, trembling before it faded. Applause broke out, laughter, whoops, Lisa shouting, "Queen Jisoo!" and the spell shattered.
Jennie was the first to speak. Her voice was steady, maybe too steady. "It's beautiful," she said, smiling at Jisoo, though her hands were trembling in her lap. "Your tone with Zayn's. It's perfect. It feels… honest."
Jisoo flushed, laughing. "Thanks. That means a lot."
"Are you crying, Jen?" Rosé leaned forward, teasing.
Jennie's laugh came too fast. "No, just— I got something in my eye."
But Y/N knew better.
A moment later, Rosé murmured something and touched Jennie's arm gently, a silent offer. Jennie nodded, setting her glass down and slipping quietly toward the kitchen. From where Y/N sat, she could see the faint tremor in Jennie's shoulders as she passed.
Jisoo hit replay on the MV, everyone talking over each other about outfits and production.
Y/N didn't move.
She watched the screen, but she wasn't seeing it anymore, just the reflection of Jennie's empty seat in the glass. A few minutes later, Jennie returned, smile freshly painted on, eyes slightly red around the edges.
"Sorry," she said lightly, picking up her phone. "Alison called, I have to head out."
Jisoo waved. "Of course. Go save the world."
Jennie laughed, the sound small, brittle, and reached for her bag. As she passed Y/N, their arms almost brushed. The faintest static crackled between them, that old, cruel familiarity. Jennie didn't look back. The door shut softly behind her.
No one else noticed.
But Y/N did.
Her gaze lingered on the closed door, her pulse thudding in her throat. She saw the sheen of tears Jennie had tried to hide, the smile that didn't belong to her anymore. As the song looped again in the background, Y/N leaned back into the couch, eyes stinging.
The lyric played again, a ghost on repeat.
Jennie slipped out, coat pulled tight, sunglasses hiding eyes that didn't need hiding. It was almost midnight. The driver straightened when he saw her but she just murmured, "Home, please," and climbed into the back seat. The door shut with a soft thud, sealing her in. The silence was instant, oppressive. Only the rhythm of rain against glass and the low hum of the engine filled the space. She closed her eyes, but it didn't help. Jisoo's song was still there, looping, haunting.
Her throat burned. She leaned her head against the window, the glass cold against her temple, the city lights streaking past like ghosts. She'd held it together, the smile, the polite small talk, the compliments that felt like splinters in her mouth. But the second the door closed, the performance ended.
Jennie's breath hitched. One tear slipped down, tracing a line through her makeup. Then another. It wasn't loud, the way she cried. Just quiet, broken exhales that caught in her chest. The kind of crying that doesn't ask for comfort, the kind that comes when there's no one left to see you. Y/N's face kept flashing behind her eyelids. The look during the song, the one that said, we were this. The smile from years ago, the one that made everything make sense. The sound of her voice, soft, patient "You're safe now."
Jennie swallowed hard, fingers digging into her coat.
"I told myself she'd be happier," she whispered. "I told myself I was doing the right thing." Her voice cracked. "Then why does it feel like I'm dying every time I see her?"
The driver didn't look back. Maybe he couldn't hear her over the rain. Maybe he pretended not to. She stared out the window, Seoul passing in streaks of light, and thought of all the times Y/N had held her together. The nights she'd stayed through panic attacks, the laughter that used to spill so easily between them, the promises whispered in the dark. They had meant it, god, they had meant it. But love, for Jennie, had always come hand in hand with fear, of the spotlight, of the whispers, of losing herself in someone else. So she'd done what she always did. She ran. She built walls. She turned her heart into something neat, controlled, survivable.
The car slowed at a red light. For a moment, everything stilled, the rain, the engine, the world. And in that pause, the truth rose sharp and merciless.
You were good to me.
She almost said it aloud. The words hovered on her lips, too soft for the world, too heavy for the silence. When the light turned green, she wiped her face with the back of her hand, straightened her shoulders, and whispered, "No more."
By the time she reached her apartment, she'd rebuilt the mask.
"Good night," she murmured to the driver, stepping out.
The penthouse was spotless when she entered, too clean, too quiet, every surface gleaming like it was mocking her. She dropped her bag by the couch, kicked off her heels, and headed straight for the kitchen. The first glass of wine went down too fast. The second was slower. By the third, the city had blurred into a mess of light and shadow. Jennie stood barefoot by the window, glass in hand, watching Seoul breathe,alive, endless, indifferent.
She whispered it to the skyline, to herself, to no one.
"She's my soulmate." The words cracked on their way out, barely a breath. "And I have to let her go."
It wasn't bravery. It wasn't strength. It was surrender dressed as survival. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass, mascara smudged, hair falling loose, city lights bleeding into her outline. A woman trying to convince herself that love is something she can outgrow. A woman who knows she's lying. Behind her, the song kept playing in her head, gentle and cruel. Jennie closed her eyes. For a moment, she let herself imagine Y/N's voice saying her name one more time, warm, steady, safe.
Then she opened them again, lifted her glass in a silent toast to the city, and whispered.
"You were too good to me."
The lights flickered against her face like the heartbeat of something she'd already lost.