Jennie blinked, startled by the force in Y/N's voice.
"You are not useless," Y/N said, the words trembling but fierce. "You are not lazy. You are not weak. Do you hear me? You're the hardest working person I've ever met. You break yourself down every single day just to build something for everyone else. And you think that makes you less? That makes you more."
Jennie's lip trembled, but she shook her head, eyes glossing. "You don't—"
"I do," Y/N cut in, louder, unable to stop. Her throat tightened, but she pushed through, words spilling hot and relentless.
"Jennie, you light up every room you walk into, even when you don't try. You hold yourself like you have to be ten different people at once, and you still make everyone believe in you. I've seen you exhausted, sick, broken down, and you're still stronger than anyone I know. Stronger than me."
Jennie's hands fisted at her sides, shoulders trembling.
Y/N's voice cracked then, softer but raw. "You're brilliant, Jennie. Do you get that? Brilliant. Not because you're flawless, but because you're you. And I f care what the internet says, or what the headlines scream. They don't see you. I do."
The silence after was brutal. The kind that shook in the walls, in the floor, in their bones.
Jennie stared at her, chest heaving. The mask she wore slipped, and suddenly, she was just Jennie, a girl with wet lashes and trembling hands, looking like she'd been holding her breath for years.
Her breath hitched once. Twice. And then she broke.
The sob tore out of her, violent, guttural, like it had been caged too long. Tears spilled fast, hot, unstoppable. Her body shook with it, every inhale ragged.
Y/N's hands twitched, aching to reach for her, but fear rooted her in place. She'd said too much. She'd gone too far.
"Jennie, I—"
But Jennie moved first.