huhtriever

[huhtriever]

the world is such a scary place right now. i hope you are all staying safe. it is truly heartbreaking to see these families be torn apart by ICE. if this is what you voted for, please unfollow and block me. it is more than politics, it’s humanity. fuck ICE!!!! fuck trump!!!!! and fuck the awful people who chose this!!!! i will never just stand back and watch this happen without speaking up. please know you can always talk to me or dm me. i’m here for anyone who needs it.

[huhtriever]

hi so since you’re accepting requests, i have an idea that i think you’d write well. so i was wondering if you could write a fic where manon and y/n were childhood friends who were always close to the point where everyone thought they dated? (the trope where everyone knew they were in love except them) but then they become distant when manon goes to korea and debuts in katseye. at first there was still video calls, texts here and there but eventually they stopped talking. skipping forward, after katseye makes it big, manon goes back to switzerland to visit family and by chance meets y/n and they reconnect and realize how in love they were the whole time. (this is just a loose idea but hopefully you can fulfill it, thank you, you’re an amazing writer btw💓💓)

Home - Manon Bannerman

synopsis: y/n and manon were inseparable — childhood best friends turned something more, even if they never said it aloud. when manon leaves to chase her dream, distance and silence grow between them. six months later, fate brings them back, where feelings resurface and nothing feels finished.

content warnings: brief mentions of alcohol use

pairing: manon x reader

you and manon grew up side by side.

matching scraped knees, bike rides until the streetlights flicked on, pinky promises whispered in the dark with hands clasped tight. she was the kind of constant you didn’t think twice about—the person who knew your favorite cereal, your middle name, the way you twisted your hair when you were nervous.

your families were close. always had been. sunday brunches, joint vacations, shared holidays like one big blur of warmth. she’d sneak into your bed after thunderstorms. you’d hold her hand through dentist appointments. you used to write each other notes and bury them in the backyard, convinced you'd dig them up someday and laugh.

and when you were fifteen, you started noticing how her smile stuck in your head longer than it should’ve. how she looked in golden light. how your stomach flipped when her hand lingered too long on your arm.

when you were sixteen, your pinky promises started feeling different. when you were seventeen, you stopped talking about who you were crushing on altogether.

you never said it out loud. neither did she.

but you think she knew. and you knew she knew.

people always said you’d end up together.

and maybe you believed them.

maybe that’s why it broke something in you when she told you she was leaving.

—

“i got in.”

you looked up. you were sitting on her roof, legs dangling over the edge like you used to do when you were ten and fearless.

“got in where?”

her voice was almost too quiet. “la. they want me to move out. full-time. it’s… real this time. dance. content. training.”

you stared at her. “wait, like… move move?”

she nodded. “yeah. june.”

your heart stuttered. it was april.

you forced your voice to stay level. “that’s... soon.”

“i know.”

you looked away. down at the street, at the empty sidewalk, at anything but her face.

“that’s... huge, manon,” you said, and your voice sounded far away. “you’re gonna kill it.”

she gave you a small smile. “you think so?”

you nodded, swallowing hard. “always.”

she nudged your shoulder. “you’ll visit, right?”

you tried to joke. “sure. if i’m not too busy, you know… doing nothing.”

she laughed softly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “shut up.”

you smiled, but it was paper thin.

she didn’t bring it up again. neither did you.

but you didn’t sleep that night.

—

at first, she kept in touch. late-night facetime calls where she showed you her tiny apartment, the weird cereal she found at a bodega, the bruises on her knees from over-rehearsing.

“tell me everything,” she’d whisper, even when she looked half-asleep. “what’s new back home?”

you’d tell her about small things. how your mom started burning toast again. how the gas station near home finally restocked her favorite candy.

she’d laugh and say, “god, i miss it.”

you’d say, “you miss me more.”

she’d smile. “maybe.”

but then the calls slowed. her texts came hours late. and when you did talk, she seemed somewhere else.

you’d ask, “are you okay?”

and she’d say, “yeah, just tired.”

but it wasn’t just tired. it was distant. like she was slowly drifting into another world where you didn’t quite fit anymore.

and still—you waited. held on. hoped.

until one night, you broke.

—

you didn’t plan to confess.

it was late, and you were drunk off nostalgia and wine. the house was quiet. your heart was loud. you opened your notes app and stared at the blank screen for a while before finally writing:

i think i’m in love with you. actually, i know i am. and i don’t know what to do with that.

you sat with it for twenty minutes, rereading it again and again. then, against your better judgment, you hit send.

you watched the message deliver. watched the time stamp shift.

read: 1:42 am.

no reply. not that night. not ever.

—

you didn’t talk for months after that.

and you didn’t try, not again.

not after the silence that followed.

you started dating someone else. a girl who worked at the campus bookstore and laughed at your jokes. she was kind. sweet. she liked you.

but you never let her into the room where you kept manon. that part of you was still locked up tight.

you smiled at parties. posted photos with friends. did your best to look whole.

but you never really felt it.

and then one night, your mom said it like it was nothing.

“oh, by the way—manon’s back in town. her mom’s hosting something this weekend.”

you froze mid-bite.

“what kind of something?”

“just a small get-together. family friends. you’re invited too.”

your chest twisted.

“cool,” you said, pretending your stomach didn’t just drop.

—

you told yourself you wouldn’t go.

then you stood in front of your closet for twenty minutes, trying to pick a shirt.

you weren’t even sure why.

but you went.

her house looked exactly the same. warm lights, rosemary candles, soft music playing in the background. it smelled like childhood. like everything you’d been trying not to remember.

you saw her before she saw you.

she was laughing in the kitchen, her hair tied back, sleeves rolled up. she looked a little older. a little sharper around the edges. but still her.

still the girl who once swore she’d never leave you.

and then she turned—and saw you.

she found you outside, later. away from the crowd.

“hey,” she said softly, like the word might shatter if she spoke too loud.

you looked at her. “hey.”

silence.

she shifted. “i didn’t think you’d come.”

“i almost didn’t.”

“so why did you?”

you looked down at your shoes. “honestly? i don’t know. maybe i just… wanted to see if you were real. or if i made you up.”

she bit her lip. “i’m real.”

“are you?” you laughed, but it sounded bitter. “because you disappeared.”

“yn”

“you read it.” your voice cracked. “you read what i sent.”

she looked away. “i know.”

“you didn’t say anything.”

“i didn’t know what to say.”

“anything, manon. you could’ve said anything. even ‘i don’t feel the same.’ at least then i wouldn’t have felt like i was shouting into a void.”

she stepped closer. “it wasn’t that.”

“then what was it?” you asked, louder now. “what was so hard about just being honest?”

she looked at you, eyes glassy. “i was scared, okay? i didn’t want to mess it up. i thought if i said something, if i admitted it... i’d never be able to focus. and i needed to focus. i needed to make it work.”

“so you left me hanging instead.”

“i didn’t mean to”

“but you did.”

the silence hurt more than the words.

she swallowed hard. “i thought i was protecting us.”

you shook your head. “no. you were protecting yourself.”

that landed.

she blinked quickly, like she might cry.

“i thought about you every single day,” she whispered.

“then why didn’t you act like it?”

“i don’t know. i don’t have a good answer. i was selfish. and i’m sorry.”

your voice came out quiet. tired. “you could’ve just told me you loved me too.”

her eyes snapped up.

“i do.”

you exhaled like it hurt. “then why does it feel like you don’t?”

she reached out, but didn’t touch you. “do you still...?”

you didn’t let her finish.

“don’t ask me that.”

“why not?”

“because if i say yes, you’ll break my heart again. and if i say no, i’ll be lying.”

her lips trembled. “i never stopped loving you.”

you closed your eyes. “then why did you let me go?”

she didn’t answer.

and this time, you didn’t wait.

you left before dessert.

she didn’t follow.

and maybe that’s how you knew.

-

hi! thank you so much for this request. i actually had a similar story idea for sophia i might still post it, not sure yet. i hope this one lives up to your expectations!

[huhtriever]

just friends - megan skiendiel

synopsis : they’re just friends, but the way they care about each other starts to feel like something more. As their dream gets closer, they have to decide what their hearts are really saying.

content warnings: emotional tension, slow burn, soft confession

pairing: megan skiendiel x katseye!reader

word count: 4.5k

they call it friendship.

when megan grabs your hand, fingers threading through yours, just before you both step onto the stage — your palms sweaty, your heart pounding, and hers steady, grounding.

when she waits for you outside the studio, even though her practice ended thirty minutes ago and her ride is texting her impatiently, but she doesn’t move until you’re done.

when she slips into the vocal room quietly, like she knows the pressure’s eating you alive, and hands you two squished protein bars with a look that says she won’t let you burn out tonight. “figured you’d skip dinner again,” she murmurs, like it’s a habit of hers to notice.

it’s just friendship.

everyone says so. you say so, too.

but then there are the moments —

the way she looks at you, eyes soft and unguarded, like she’s memorizing the shape of your silence.

like in all the noise of this competition, you’re the one thing that makes her feel like she can breathe.

and maybe that’s still friendship.

or maybe it’s something no one wants to name yet.

—

the days inside dream academy blur at the edges. dance evaluations. vocal assessments. endless group missions. there’s barely enough time to sleep, let alone sort through the weight pressing on your chest.

every breath feels borrowed. every movement judged.

today was brutal.

eight straight hours of choreography. the mentors weren’t happy. nothing about your performance clicked. not sharp enough. not synchronized enough. not enough, period.

you’re still on the practice room floor long after the others have cleared out, your legs stretched in front of you, muscles screaming in protest.

you’re trying to coax your body into silence, trying to push past the feeling that you’ve somehow failed again.

then you hear footsteps — soft, familiar.

you don’t need to look. you already know who it is.

“should’ve known you’d still be here,” megan says as she drops beside you, folding herself neatly into a cross-legged seat. her voice is warm, light with just enough teasing to soften the concern underneath.

“you know the staff’ll kill us if we’re not back by lights-out.”

you sigh, barely glancing up. “i needed to fix that transition. i was offbeat.”

she tilts her head, watching you like she’s trying to figure out how to get through the wall you keep rebuilding.

“you always say that,” she replies. “even when you’re the cleanest one in the room.”

you stare down at your hands. your knuckles are red, fingers sore.

“i can’t afford to be the one who messes up,” you say quietly.

there’s a pause. a soft breath.

“you’re not.”

you blink, and when you look over, her eyes are already on you — steady, unwavering.

megan jokes more than she comforts. she laughs more than she lectures. but right now, she’s all calm fire and quiet certainty.

“you’re one of the strongest here,” she says, like it’s fact. “you don’t have to tear yourself apart to prove it.”

your throat tightens. words don’t come. maybe they’re stuck behind everything you’ve been holding back.

so you say nothing.

she nudges your knee with hers, a small smile pulling at her lips. “wanna walk back together?”

you nod.

she stands, holds out her hand.

you hesitate — only a second — before you take it.

her grip is firm. warm. grounding.

you don’t let go. not right away.

and she doesn’t, either.

the dorm hallway is quiet when you return — the kind of quiet that hums just beneath the surface, filled with the soft sounds of distant breathing, creaking floors, dreams whispered behind closed doors. most of the trainees are asleep. or pretending to be.

you and megan don’t go into your room right away. instead, you both sink to the floor just outside the door, backs against the wall, shoulders nearly touching under the glow of the low corridor light.

she leans her head back and exhales like she’s been holding her breath all day. maybe she has.

“this place is like a pressure cooker,” she murmurs.

you nod, a quiet hum of agreement slipping out.

the silence stretches. not awkward. just full.

“i’m scared sometimes,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

you glance at her, surprised. “you never look scared.”

she huffs a soft laugh. “that’s the point.”

then, turning her head toward you — “but you make it easier.”

your heart trips. stumbles. nearly falls.

but you catch it before it can go anywhere.

you pretend you didn’t hear what she really meant.

instead, you raise an eyebrow.

“so i’m your emotional support trainee now?”

“obviously,” she grins, that familiar spark returning to her voice. “you’re contractually obligated to hold my hand during evaluations and share all snack rations equally.”

you glance down. at some point during the walk back, she’d taken your hand again. fingers threaded through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you lift your hands slightly.

“oh, is that what this is?”

“exactly,” she says, grip steady, not letting go. “friends do that, right?”

you smile. but it’s tight at the edges, like it’s holding something in.

“yeah. friends.”

you say it like a promise.

you say it like a lie.

—

the next day, someone asks about you two.

it happens between reps, during a quick water break in the middle of vocal drills. everyone’s tired, laughing too loud, sweaty and stretched thin by the pressure. emily's the one who says it — half-joking, half-curious, her voice laced with mischief.

“are you and megan, like… together-together?” she asks, grinning over the rim of her water bottle.

you laugh. automatically. it’s easier than saying anything real.

“what? no,” you say, brushing it off. “we’re just friends.”

megan echoes you a second later, voice light.

“yeah, just friends.”

but there’s a flicker of something when your eyes meet — quick, unspoken.

you both look away before anyone can catch it.

later that night, after lights-out, you’re sitting on your bunk with a towel draped over your head, drying your hair in slow, distracted motions. most of the room is quiet, save for the low hum of the hallway light and the occasional creak of the beds.

megan climbs up beside you without a word, folding her legs underneath her, the mattress dipping with her weight. she’s in one of your old t-shirts — the one she always steals — and her hair’s still damp too, curling slightly at the ends.

“hey,” she says gently, nudging your shoulder with hers.

you peek out from under the towel, raising an eyebrow.

“about what emily said earlier…” she starts, then hesitates. her fingers pick at the hem of the shirt.

“do you think it’s weird that people think we’re, y’know—” she trails off, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before darting away.

“a thing?”

you inhale slowly. “i don’t know. i guess… i get why they might.”

she blinks. “do you?”

you try for a laugh, but it comes out a little too soft, a little too unsure.

“i mean, we are always together,” you say, counting it out on your fingers like it’s some kind of joke.

“we hold hands a lot. we share snacks. we sleep in the same bed, like, all the time. we talk about things no one else knows. stuff i’ve never said out loud to anyone else.”

her expression shifts — something flickering behind her eyes — but she doesn’t interrupt.

she just listens.

“so yeah,” you say, your voice quieter now, words slower, heavier, “i get it.”

there’s a pause. long enough to feel like it means something.

she pulls her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around them.

her voice is small when she speaks again.

“we’re just friends… right?”

you look at her.

her face is turned slightly away, but you can see the way her jaw tightens, like she’s bracing for something.

you want to say yes.

you want to say no.

you want to say something that makes sense.

but you don’t know how to name the way your heart reacts to her voice, to her laugh, to her hand in yours like it belongs there.

so you don’t say anything.

just sit there in the dark, towel half-on, trying not to fall apart under the weight of everything unsaid.

that night, you lie side by side in the narrow dorm bed, just barely close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s presence. the room is dark except for a sliver of hallway light seeping through the bottom of the door. the soft hum of the air conditioning fills the silence, steady and low, like background music for a scene you’re both too afraid to write.

you’re both on your backs, staring at the ceiling. neither of you has moved in a while.

then, softly —

“hey,” megan says.

you turn your head slightly, your voice low. “yeah?”

she hesitates. just a second.

“i like being your friend.”

you nod, eyes still on the ceiling. “i like being yours too.”

another pause. the kind that stretches, tugs at the air.

“but sometimes…” she says, voice barely more than a breath now, “it feels like more.”

you turn to face her.

her face is close. her eyes, wide and unsure, search yours like they’re trying to find a safe place to land. like she’s afraid of what she’s just said and even more afraid of what you might say back.

your hand inches toward hers, slow and uncertain. you don’t take her whole hand — just brush your pinky against hers. a tiny, deliberate touch.

“i know,” you whisper. “i feel it too.”

she doesn’t say anything. neither do you.

but her pinky curls around yours. tentative at first. then firmer.

and that’s it. no more words, no big confessions. just the quiet weight of understanding settling in between you.

your pinkies stay tangled through the night.

like a secret promise neither of you is ready to name — but neither of you lets go.

it’s the final stretch.

the mentors say it like it’s something to celebrate — eyes bright, smiles wide.

“only two weeks until the finale!”

the room claps. some cheer. others just nod, already halfway gone in their heads.

but to you, it doesn’t feel like a victory.

it feels like a countdown.

to what, exactly?

you’re not sure.

winning. losing. disappearing. becoming someone else entirely.

your body moves on autopilot now — dancing, singing, smiling when the cameras are on.

your brain never shuts up. it replays everything: rehearsal footage you’ve watched a hundred times, corrections from mentors that live under your skin, that one note you keep missing, the mirror image of your own tired eyes.

you barely sleep. and when you do, it’s restless.

and megan —

megan’s not around much anymore. they’ve split you into different teams for the final mission. new choreography, new partners, new walls between you.

but still, she finds ways to be there.

an energy drink appears in your locker one morning, the can cold against your fingers. a neon sticky note clings to the side in messy handwriting:

“drink this or i’ll fight you — megz ♡”

you smile for the first time that day. maybe the first time that week.

she sends you voice memos at 1 a.m. — soft humming, snippets of lullabies, her voice low and close like she’s just on the other side of the wall.

“go to sleep, you stubborn gremlin,” she whispers in one of them. “you’re doing great, even if your brain says otherwise.”

you listen to them with your eyes closed, earbuds tucked in tight like they’re holding you together.

between rehearsals, she pulls you aside in the hallway — no words, just gentle fingers brushing a tear from your cheek. her thumb lingers there, warm and steady. then her arms wrap around you.

it’s quick, but not rushed.

soft, but not fragile.

she holds you like she means it. like she knows what you need before you can say it.

and still —

you don’t call it anything.

you could.

maybe you should.

but for now, it’s easier to leave it unnamed.

like saying the word out loud might break whatever delicate thing you’re both holding in your hands.

the dress rehearsal ends late.

your body feels like it’s unraveling — muscles trembling, lungs tight, skin clammy with sweat. your chest rises and falls too fast, too shallow. every step back to the mirror feels like it takes twice the effort it should.

your mentor’s voice echoes in your head, loud and sharp even though rehearsal is over:

“that was good. but is ‘good’ enough when the finale’s on the line?”

you slide down to sit against the mirrored wall, legs pulled up, head low. your reflection stares back at you from the floor — tired, dim, cracking. you press your palms against your eyes, trying not to cry.

and then —

megan.

she slips in like she belongs there. like she always does.

hair tied up in a messy bun. still in her rehearsal clothes, a sweatshirt tied around her waist. she carries two water bottles and something else you can’t see. maybe calm. maybe courage. maybe both.

she doesn’t say anything at first. just kneels beside you, setting one bottle near your foot.

“you okay?” she asks softly, like she already knows the answer.

you don’t lift your head. “no.”

she sinks down beside you, close enough that your knees touch. no hesitation. just quiet proximity.

you take the water bottle, but don’t drink it.

after a minute, you murmur, “they said i looked tired.” your voice is thin, raw. “like i wasn’t fully present.”

megan nods slowly, resting her arms on her knees.

“you’ve been running on fumes for weeks. i’m not surprised.”

you look at your hands. your knuckles are red again. everything feels like it’s slipping.

“i just— i want this so bad,” you say, voice cracking. “and i keep thinking… what if wanting it isn’t enough?”

her voice doesn’t waver.

“it is.”

a pause.

“you are.”

you let out a breath that feels like it’s been stuck in your chest all day. then you finally look at her.

“how do you always know what to say?”

megan shrugs, but there’s a small smile playing at her lips. not a light one — something deeper.

“i don’t. i just… feel it when you’re hurting.”

you open your mouth to respond, but she’s already continuing — voice softer now.

“i’ve been thinking about something,” she says, eyes not quite meeting yours. “since the hallway that night.”

you don’t have to ask what night.

you remember it like it never ended —

we’re just friends, right?

and the silence that followed.

“me too,” you whisper.

she turns toward you fully this time. her legs fold beneath her, hands clasped in her lap, expression more open than you’ve ever seen. like she’s stepped out from behind something.

“it’s getting harder to pretend like this is just a friendship,” she says. her voice isn’t shaking, but it’s close. “i’ve been pretending. a little. because it’s safe. because if i called it something else, i wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

you search her face — her eyes, the curve of her mouth, the slight furrow in her brow. she’s scared. and brave. all at once.

you speak carefully, like the words might break.

“and if we called it what it really is?”

her eyes lift to meet yours. something flickers there — fear, maybe. hope.

“what do you think it really is?”

you don’t answer with words.

you reach for her hand.

not out of panic. not to be reassured.

but because you want to hold it. really hold it.

not as comfort. not as friendship.

but something more. something truer.

she lets you.

her fingers thread through yours like they’ve been waiting. her palm is warm against yours, her grip light but certain. something passes between you in that moment — quiet, grounding, impossibly real.

no labels. no declarations. just this.

just you and her, sitting on a studio floor after midnight, holding hands like it’s the most honest thing you’ve done in weeks.

and neither of you lets go.

—

the next day is chaos.

nerves hang thick in the air, clinging to skin, pooling in corners.

final group practices run back-to-back. the mentors move like shadows through the rooms — clipboards in hand, cameras trailing behind them, eyes sharp with expectation.

some trainees cry. quietly, into their hands, or not quietly at all.

some go silent, disappearing into themselves.

you hold it together.

because you have to.

because falling apart isn’t an option when there are eyes everywhere, watching for weakness like it’s a flaw.

you’re about to step into the vocal room when a hand catches your arm.

you freeze.

you already know it’s her.

megan stands in the empty hallway, the bustle of the other rooms muted behind thick rehearsal doors. her fingers wrap gently around your wrist, not pulling — just holding.

you turn to face her.

her expression is bright and unsteady, like she’s feeling everything at once. adrenaline. hope. fear.

and you.

“if we both make it,” she says, her voice low, eyes locked on yours, “i want to see what this could really be.”

your breath catches. your heart stumbles.

you want to say me too, but the words don’t come fast enough.

instead, your voice breaks a little:

“and if we don’t?”

she doesn’t hesitate.

“then i’ll find you anyway.”

you nod, throat tight. “promise?”

she smiles — and it’s not the kind she wears onstage, all sparkle and polish.

it’s the real kind.

soft. quiet. sure.

unguarded.

“always.”

and then she lets go.

and you go.

but the promise stays, tucked inside your chest like a heartbeat.

that night, you lie awake again.

but it’s different this time.

no anxious spiraling, no rehearsals looping in your mind like a broken track.

just silence.

and her.

you let yourself remember — really remember — without pushing it away.

her hand in yours.

how it didn’t shake. how it didn’t let go.

her voice in the quiet, steady and low, saying things neither of you were brave enough to say before.

the way she looked at you — not like you were under pressure, not like you were competition, but like you were choice.

like the world could fall apart around you and she’d still pick you out of the wreckage.

every time.

you don’t have a name for it.

not yet.

maybe not for a while.

but as you lie there in the dark, the covers pulled up to your chin and the hum of the dorm filling the silence, you start to believe something you couldn’t let yourself believe before:

you don’t need one.

not tonight.

tonight, it’s enough just to feel it.

to know it’s real.

to know she feels it too.

—

the day the final lineup was announced, your heart felt like it might burst out of your chest.

everything had built to this — months of sweat and aching muscles, cracked voices and sleepless nights. and now, it all came down to one moment. one list.

when the names were read out, the world went quiet in your ears.

until you heard hers.

megan.

she was already crying — laughing through it, her hands covering her face, joy spilling out of her in every direction like she didn’t know how to hold it all.

she looked around the room, dazed, disbelieving, and then her eyes found yours.

and when your name was called too —

when the syllables landed in the air like they belonged there —

it hit you like a wave.

relief. disbelief. something that felt dangerously close to happiness.

you were debuting.

together.

the practice room — the one that had become your whole world — was too small to contain what you felt in that moment. it had held your worst days, your breakdowns, your whispered doubts at 2 a.m., and now it held this.

it wasn’t the ending you’d imagined.

dream academy had been a war zone of exhaustion, tears, pressure so heavy it left marks on your skin.

you’d been broken down, rebuilt, pushed past what you thought were your limits — again and again.

but now, standing beside megan on that stage, lights bright above you, her fingers brushing yours as the crowd erupted —

you didn’t feel broken anymore.

you felt invincible.

—

the months after debut have been a whirlwind — fast, relentless, a blur of motion and noise and barely-there sleep.

rehearsals stretch long into the night. music shows blur together. cameras catch you from every angle. interviews demand answers you barely have time to think through. fan signs bring smiles that feel real and exhausting all at once.

you wake up tired and go to bed more tired, your body running on adrenaline, caffeine, and the kind of stubborn hope that got you here in the first place.

choreography carves itself into your bones. your throat stings from endless vocal runs. you keep going. because you have to. because you want to.

and through it all —

there’s megan.

not just as a fellow member.

but as something steadier. something quieter. something that stays.

she catches your eye during performances and winks like it’s a secret only you two know — a flash of warmth in the middle of the chaos.

she sends you dumb, sweet texts between schedules.

“did you eat?”

“pls hydrate or i’ll come find you and make you.”

“ur cute. don’t tell the stylists i said that.”

she holds your hand under the table during late-night breaks — when everyone else is too tired to notice, when the cameras are finally off, when the world lets you breathe for a second.

it’s still not official.

you haven’t named it. haven’t talked about what it is or where it’s going.

the world around you is too loud for that —

too demanding, too public, too ready to turn something soft into something sharp.

but in the quiet, in the stolen moments no one sees —

you know.

she knows.

and that’s enough.

for now.

one evening, after a schedule that stretched you past your limit, you both collapse in the dorm lounge — bags dropped at the door, shoes kicked off without care, the buzz of exhaustion humming beneath your skin.

megan flops down beside you with a dramatic groan, pulling her hoodie low over her eyes like it might shield her from the world.

her voice is hoarse from singing, rough around the edges.

“remember when this felt impossible?” she says, half-laughing, half-wheezing.

you lean your head back against the couch and close your eyes, letting the ache in your body settle.

“sometimes i still can’t believe it’s real,” you murmur.

she shifts beside you. when you open your eyes again, she’s looking at you — eyes bright despite the bags underneath them, sweat-damp hair curling at her temples.

“i’m glad you’re here,” she says, quiet but clear.

“not just on stage. but here.”

she taps her chest with two fingers.

“with me.”

your throat tightens. the kind of tight that only comes when you know you’re safe enough to be honest.

you reach over and squeeze her hand, fingers slipping into the spaces they know by now.

“i’m scared sometimes,” you admit. your voice is barely there. “of messing up. of getting lost in all of this. of forgetting who i am.”

she doesn’t answer right away. just shifts closer, until your knees touch, until her fingers begin tracing small, slow circles against your palm — grounding, familiar.

“we’ll figure it out,” she says, and her voice is steadier than you expect.

no hesitation. no maybe.

“together.”

and somehow, that one word is enough to make you believe it.

the days aren’t always easy.

some start with headlines you didn’t ask for — rumors twisted out of nothing, speculation packaged as truth.

your name becomes something people think they can own.

your smile, your silence, your every move — all up for dissection.

being an “idol” feels less like a dream and more like a cage some days.

a glittering one, sure, but a cage all the same.

your body’s tired. your voice thinner. the pressure never really lifts — it just shifts, presses differently.

but even on the hardest days —

when your heart feels heavy and your mask starts to slip —

megan’s tired eyes will find yours across a crowded practice room.

and suddenly it’s not so loud.

she’ll bump your shoulder as you pass, or mouth breathe like a prayer.

sometimes she just looks at you and smiles, small and real, like we’re still here, okay?

and that’s enough.

later, her laugh will echo through the dorm hallway — wild, unfiltered, the kind of sound that cuts through everything.

and you’ll remember.

you’ll remember why you chose this.

why you keep choosing it.

why it’s worth it.

because she’s in it.

because you’re in it together.

one night, after the lights fade and the broadcast signs off, after the makeup’s wiped away and the cheers are just an echo in your ears, megan tugs your sleeve and says,

“come with me.”

you follow her up to the rooftop, past the sleeping dorm floors and humming vending machines, past curfews and expectations. the city stretches out below — glowing, restless, alive.

you sit side by side, wrapped in mismatched blankets, your legs brushing. the air is cool and sharp, but it feels good — real, grounding.

neither of you speaks at first. you just listen to the wind, the distant hum of traffic, the quiet pulse of your own heartbeat trying to steady itself.

then, her voice breaks the silence. soft. steady.

“i’ve been thinking.”

you glance over, but don’t rush her.

she’s staring out at the skyline, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

“we don’t have to keep pretending this is just friendship,” she says, like she’s been holding the words in for too long.

your heart stutters.

catches.

waits.

she turns to you, eyes gentle but certain.

“not if you don’t want to.”

you look at her — really look — and it’s all right there.

every moment. every near-confession. every hand held in secret.

and suddenly, the fear feels smaller than the want.

“i want this,” you breathe.

your voice shakes, but your hands don’t.

she smiles — a quiet, beautiful thing, soft around the edges like dawn.

it makes everything inside you settle. makes everything feel possible.

she reaches over and takes your hand.

your fingers slide together like they’ve been doing this for lifetimes.

“then let’s not be just friends,” she whispers.

and for the first time, you don’t have to pretend anymore.

it’s not a dramatic confession.

no sweeping music, no fireworks bursting overhead.

no crowd to cheer, no cameras to catch the moment.

just two people.

quiet. steady.

holding on to each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

no grand promises — just the quiet kind, made with fingers intertwined and hearts open.

a choice.

a beginning.

you don’t know exactly what the future looks like.

there will be hard days. louder ones. secrets to keep and storms to weather.

but right now, under the stars and wrapped in soft silence, none of that matters.

right now, this is enough.

you and her, side by side, finally naming what’s always been there.

and in that moment —

when her head rests lightly against your shoulder, when the night wraps around you like a promise —

everything feels possible.

—

hope you guys like this one! i’ve been on a writing streak so be prepared for a few more stories this week 👅 thank you all for the support

[huhtriever]

out of my league - lara raj

synopsis: after a viral clip captures a teasing moment between lara and a staff, fans ship them endlessly — but it takes months for the two to realize the truth: the “baddie” they were looking for was standing right beside them all along.

content warnings: mild jealousy? not really tho, fluff

pairing: lara x staff!reader

word count: 800

the katseye studio was buzzing like usual—lights flickered, cables snaked across the floor, and the faint hum of a fan mixed with the distant clatter of equipment. lara sat perched on a stool, adjusting the mic clipped to her shirt, her eyes flicking between the camera and the crew bustling around her. the whole setup was casual chaos, but to lara it was home.

“okay, okay,” she said, grinning at the lens. “ladies, if you’re single and—”

just then, y/n walked into frame, holding a small reflector, her hair tied messily back, eyes half-focused on the light. she didn’t even look at the camera when she interrupted.

“—a baddie who’s probably way too good for me and way out of my league, then hit me up, i guess.”

lara froze, her sentence hanging in the air. she blinked, then burst into laughter, cheeks flushing as she glanced sideways at y/n, who shrugged with a sly smile.

“wait, what?” lara said, trying to sound annoyed but failing. “you seriously just said that?”

“yeah,” y/n said, shrugging again. “i was just trying to save you from rambling.”

lara rolled her eyes but the smile stayed. “i wasn’t even finished.”

“you were monologuing. i helped.”

lara leaned back a little, eyes twinkling. “calling yourself out of your league?”

“obviously,” y/n said, smirking. “i know where i stand. group photos don’t lie.”

lara bit her lip, then whispered teasingly, “i know where i’d put you.”

y/n glanced up, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “huh?”

“nothing,” lara said quickly, shooting a glance at the camera. “cut that out later.”

the crew laughed quietly, capturing the moment that would go viral for years to come.

months later, the clip had blown up beyond anyone’s expectations. social media buzzed with edits, memes, and fan theories.it was everywhere.

lara and y/n had grown close, texting and calling whenever they could, a steady friendship blossoming beneath the noise. but the slow burn simmered beneath the surface.

one night, y/n’s phone buzzed during a video call. she glanced at it and sighed, silencing it without answering.

“another girl sliding into your dms?” lara asked softly.

y/n nodded. “yeah, it’s exhausting.”

lara’s chest tightened unexpectedly. “must be tough.”

“you don’t have to entertain them,” lara said, voice low.

“easy for you to say,” y/n teased. “you’ve never had to deal with this.”

lara looked away, fiddling with the sleeve of her hoodie. “what if you didn’t want to entertain any of them?”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “wow. jealous, huh?”

lara groaned but smiled. “maybe.”

“well, now that you’ve admitted it, what’s next?”

lara grinned. “maybe i stop pretending and tell you how i really feel.”

the soft glow of the living room lamp made the space feel like a secret world, away from the noise of cameras and fans. y/n and lara sat close on the couch, wrapped in a shared blanket, mugs of tea warming their hands.

lara hesitated, twisting the hem of her shirt between her fingers.

“can i tell you something?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah, of course,” y/n said, turning to look at her.

lara swallowed, eyes searching y/n’s face for any sign of judgment.

“i’ve been scared to say it,” she admitted. “scared it’d mess up what we have. but... i like you. like, really like you. for a long time.”

y/n’s smile was gentle, knowing.

“i had a feeling,” she said quietly.

“no, like, before that stupid viral clip,” lara said quickly, relief blooming on her face.

y/n laughed softly. “oh yeah? so when you said, ‘i know where i’d put you,’ that was serious?”

lara nodded, cheeks warming. “yeah. i just didn’t think you’d want me back. you’re way out of my league.”

“i was joking back then,” y/n admitted. “but honestly... you were the baddie i was looking for.”

lara laughed, the tension melting away. “so, what now?”

“now? we stop pretending we’re just friends.”

their eyes met, and lara leaned in, brushing a shy, sweet kiss over y/n’s lips.

weeks after their relationship went public, lara found herself scrolling through her phone, a slow smile spreading as she saw notifications flooding in.

“look at this,” she said, nudging y/n, who was lounging beside her.

y/n peeked at the screen, eyebrows raising.

“no way.”

the tweets and comments were everywhere:

“the baddie she was looking for was standing right next to her the whole time”

“slow burn but so worth it”

“that clip aged like fine wine. the chemistry was obvious”

lara chuckled. “remember how awkward we were?”

“yeah,” y/n said, grinning. “you totally froze when i jumped in.”

lara nudged her playfully. “well, you did save me from my own rambling.”

“and you saved me from thinking i was just a background extra in your life.”

they shared a look, soft and full of everything they hadn’t said before.

“guess the fans were right all along.”

“definitely,” y/n said with a smile. “the baddie was never out of your league. she was just standing next to you.”

they laughed quietly, leaning into each other as the screen faded on their easy, perfect smiles.

—

new story gonna be out sunday 🤭 stay tuned! hope you guys liked this one

[huhtriever]

Messy - Daniela Avanzini x fem!reader

A/N: This is a rewrite of stay a little long! thank you for all of yall who liked my story. Enjoy!

Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: two friends finding their way back to each other after heartbreak. Through quiet moments and one special night, they realize their feelings run deeper than they thought.

—

yn hadn’t meant to stay in la, but somehow, the city had become a soft landing. it gave her room to breathe, to exist without expectation. and the katseye girls? they made her feel like she belonged. most of them, anyway.

she sat curled up on the couch in their shared living room, scrolling absently through her phone, the soft hum of music playing in the background as the others got ready for adela’s birthday party. it was supposed to be a fun night.

then the front door slammed open like a warning shot.

chris’s voice immediately filled the space—sharp, irritated, already at a boiling point. “you never listen, daniela. not when it matters. every damn time, you defend her.”

yn didn’t even flinch. she didn’t need to look up to know he was talking about her.

daniela’s voice followed, lower, panicked. “can we not do this here?”

but chris wasn’t the type to back down when his ego had been bruised.

“why is she always here, anyway?” he snapped, louder now, footsteps stomping into the room like a storm.

yn didn’t lift her gaze from her phone. “great question,” she said dryly. “i was just wondering the same about you.”

that made him pause. then scoff.

“oh, please.” he crossed the room until he was standing just a few feet away from her. “still acting like you matter. like you’re one of them. god, do you even hear yourself?”

yn looked up slowly, her expression unreadable. “i don’t really care what you think.”

he barked out a humorless laugh. “you should. because you're not part of this group—no matter how long you hang around. you’re just a leftover. someone the industry forgot about.”

yn’s fingers twitched around her phone, jaw tightening. that one stung more than she wanted to admit.

“and yet,” she said coolly, rising from the couch, “i’m still welcome here. unlike you.”

his smile twisted into something cruel. “you’re not welcome. you’re tolerated. there’s a difference. they let you stay because they pity you. your career's gone, your group’s dead, and now you’re just... floating. clinging to whatever scraps of relevance you can find.”

she inhaled slowly, chest rising. “and you? you’re just a parasite. sucking the life out of a girl who deserves better.”

chris stepped in closer, face inches from hers now. “you think daniela gives a damn about you? she doesn’t. she rolls her eyes every time you leave the room. she talks shit about how you’re always hanging around, acting like you’re some kind of big sister. it’s pathetic.”

the words landed like a punch to the gut.

for a second, something flickered in yn’s eyes—hurt, quickly masked by rage.

“then maybe we finally have something in common,” she whispered, her voice sharp like ice. “because i can’t stand being around you either.”

“enough!” daniela’s voice cut through the tension, shrill and trembling. she stepped between them, arms out like a shield. “chris, go to my room. now.”

he gave yn one last glare, jaw tight, before brushing past daniela with a muttered curse and stomping up the stairs.

the moment he disappeared, the room felt too quiet.

daniela turned to yn, her face tense. “you didn’t have to go that far.”

yn blinked, eyes steady. “no. but he did. and you let him.”

before daniela could respond, soft footsteps echoed down the hallway.

sophia and yoonchae stepped into view, both wide-eyed, clearly having heard everything.

“uh…” sophia hesitated. “is everything… okay?”

daniela didn’t say a word. she just walked away without looking back.

sophia and yoonchae turned to yn, concern etched across their faces.

“he’s wrong,” yoonchae said gently, stepping closer. “we do want you here.”

yn let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “tell that to daniela.”

the girls exchanged a look but said nothing.

because right now, they didn’t know what to say.

and yn? she was already sitting back down, phone in her hand, but her heart somewhere else entirely.

—

the girls arrived at the party later than planned. yn had brought yoonchae and sophia, while lara took the rest. the house was already buzzing—music pulsed through the backyard like a heartbeat, clusters of laughter rising and falling in waves. bonfire smoke drifted through the cool night air, mixing with the scent of spiked punch and expensive perfume.

yn had found a quiet corner with karlee, the two of them curled into an outdoor sofa that offered a little peace away from the noise. it had been months since they'd seen each other, but the conversation came easy. they slipped into old jokes, traded updates, and talked like no time had passed at all.

karlee laughed at something yn said, head tilting back, her hand brushing against yn’s wrist. it was small—barely a touch—but the kind that lingered. yn didn’t seem to notice.

but someone else did.

across the yard, daniela stood stiffly beside adela, megan, emily, and lara. she held a half-empty drink in her hand, pretending to listen to whatever megan was saying, but her eyes kept drifting—again and again—to the corner of the yard. to the way yn smiled. to the way karlee leaned closer. to the way yn’s eyes crinkled when she laughed.

she hated it.

she hated how natural it looked. how easy. how happy.

how not with her.

"you know," adela’s voice cut through daniela’s daze, low and direct, "i don’t get why you’re still with chris."

daniela blinked, startled. "what?"

adela shrugged, casually sipping her drink. "it’s obvious you’re not into him. it’s even more obvious who you are into."

daniela tensed. the glass in her hand felt too small, too fragile. "what are you talking about?"

megan gave her a knowing look. "come on, dani. you’ve been staring at yn and karlee like you’re ready to burn the couch they’re sitting on."

"i wasn’t glaring," daniela snapped, but the flush on her neck betrayed her.

lara raised an eyebrow, smirking. "sure. and you weren’t ‘intensely studying’ the way yn laughs when karlee touches her?"

daniela rolled her eyes, looking away. "you’re all reading too much into it."

"are we?" megan asked, arms crossing. "be real for a second. what actually happened between you two? back in korea?"

daniela’s body stiffened.

she didn’t answer right away. the weight of the question settled on her shoulders like something cold and familiar. her grip on her drink tightened.

then, finally—softly—"we… kind of slept together."

silence.

a low whistle from megan. "oh, damn."

lara leaned in. "and after?"

daniela felt her chest hollow out.

she remembered the way yn had looked at her afterward—bare, hopeful, vulnerable in a way that made daniela feel like she was holding something too valuable, too delicate.

"i want more than this."

and daniela?

she had panicked.

she had pulled on her jeans and left the apartment like it was on fire.

"she said she wanted to be more than friends," daniela whispered, her voice cracking at the edges. "and i… i freaked out. i left. didn’t answer her messages. i just... disappeared."

no one said anything.

daniela stared into her drink, the memory clawing at her chest like guilt that refused to leave.

when she finally looked up—

yn was looking at her.

their eyes met across the yard.

and for a second, nothing else existed. no music. no laughter. no crowd.

just the two of them.

yn didn’t look away. she didn’t smirk, didn’t scowl. instead, she gave daniela the smallest smile. it was soft. unbothered. maybe even kind.

it wasn’t bitter.

it was worse.

it was the smile of someone who had made peace with what had happened. someone who had moved on.

daniela’s breath caught. her fingers curled around her glass, nails pressing into the condensation.

because that smile—it meant yn had let go.

and daniela hadn’t.

"wow," adela muttered beside her. "you two still have unfinished business."

daniela jerked her head toward her. "we don’t."

too fast. too defensive. even she didn’t believe it.

megan rolled her eyes. "sure. that’s why you look like you want to bolt but can’t stop staring."

daniela wanted to argue. to throw out some sarcastic denial. but her mouth stayed shut. the truth sat heavy on her tongue, too loud to ignore.

she turned away, downed the rest of her drink in one long gulp, and muttered, "i need some air."

and before any of them could follow, she pushed through the crowd, needing space. needing distance.

but even as she walked away—shoulders tense, jaw clenched—she could still feel yn’s eyes on her back.

and worse, she wanted to turn around.

—

the party had started to thin out. music still played, but quieter now. people were scattered—some in the yard, others half-asleep on couches. yn ducked into the kitchen for water, her head still buzzing from the music and the heat.

she didn’t expect to see him.

chris.

pressed up against some girl on the counter. his hands on her waist, her fingers tangled in his hair. kissing like no one was watching.

yn stopped in the doorway. didn’t say anything at first.

then:

“wow.”

chris looked over his shoulder. didn’t flinch, didn’t move. “you lost or something?”

yn stepped inside. her voice low, controlled. “daniela’s outside.”

he shrugged. “cool.”

“you’re really doing this here?” she asked. “right now?”

“what do you care?”

yn stared at him. “you’re her boyfriend.”

he turned, slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “guess not anymore.”

her jaw clenched. “you’re disgusting.”

he let out a short laugh. “you’d know all about that, huh?”

yn’s eyebrows lifted. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he stepped closer. “don’t act surprised. you’ve always been in the way. hanging around like you belong. like you matter.”

yn didn’t respond. just looked at him.

so he kept going.

“she never picked you,” he said, his voice low. “you were just there. easy.”

before yn could say anything, a voice came from behind her.

“chris?”

daniela.

her voice was quiet, but it cut through the room.

chris blinked. turned toward her. “babe, listen—”

daniela shook her head. her eyes didn’t move from him. “don’t.”

“daniela—”

“we’re done.”

he stepped toward her, too fast. “come on. it’s not like that.”

“you kissed her,” she said. “it is exactly like that.”

then she turned and walked away.

yn watched her go, then looked back at chris.

“hope it was worth it,” she said.

something in him snapped.

he shoved her. quick, sudden. not enough to knock her over, but hard enough to send a message.

a few people near the door turned.

yn straightened. “did you just put your hands on me?”

he didn’t answer. just stared at her, jaw tight.

“you’re real brave when it’s a woman in front of you,” she said.

he laughed once, bitter. “you think you’re better than me? you’re not. you think daniela wants you? she doesn’t. you were a mistake.”

yn didn’t move. didn’t flinch. just stared back.

“then why are you so angry?”

he didn’t answer.

ethan walked in. stopped cold. “what’s going on?”

jace followed. saw yn’s face. then chris.

“you need to leave,” ethan said.

“now,” jace added.

chris stood there for another second, breathing hard.

then he stepped back. muttered something under his breath. left.

no one said anything for a moment.

yn exhaled. looked down at her hands. they were shaking, but not from fear.

ethan broke the silence. “you alright?”

“yeah,” she said. “just tired.”

jace handed her a paper towel. “she saw?”

“yeah,” yn said quietly. “she saw.”

she didn’t need to chase after daniela. not yet.

not until the room stopped spinning.

not until her hands were steady again.

—

it had been a while since the whole thing went down.

yn was sitting alone on the couch outside, arms tucked around her knees, the cool night air biting at her skin. the music inside had faded to something low and distant, and the party had thinned out. people whispered, but she didn’t care.

all she could think about was daniela.

her phone buzzed.

fifi:

hey wya? we’re ready to go

meg and lara are staying the night, so it’s js us plus dani and manon

yn:

im outside, i’ll meet yall in the car

fifi:

okay!

yn stared at the screen for a moment before locking it. she leaned back, let her head fall against the couch cushion, and closed her eyes for just a second.

just enough to breathe.

just enough to get through the rest of the night

the car ride home was nearly silent.

outside, the streets were empty, the city winding down after a long night. inside the car, only the soft hum of the radio played, some mellow r&b song filling the quiet gaps between the girls. yoonchae was passed out in the backseat, her head resting awkwardly against the window, her soft snores the only real sound. the others—manon, sophia, daniela—were quiet, faces lit by the glow of their phones, or just staring out at nothing.

yn kept her hands steady on the wheel, eyes on the road. but her mind wasn’t really on driving.

every few minutes, she caught herself glancing in the rearview mirror—not at traffic, but at daniela.

she was sitting back there, head tilted toward the window, her profile half-hidden in the dark. but yn could still see the shimmer on her cheek, the redness around her eyes. she’d been crying.

yn didn’t say anything.

she just turned the music down a bit and kept driving.

when they finally pulled into the driveway, the headlights briefly lit the front of the house before fading. the engine died, and one by one, the girls climbed out of the car, murmuring quiet goodnights as they slipped inside.

all except yoonchae.

she hadn’t moved.

yn came around and opened the back door, leaning in.

“chae,” she said softly, shaking her shoulder. “hey. we’re home.”

yoonchae groaned a little, cracking one eye open.

“carry me?” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and half-asleep.

yn stared at her for a beat, then rolled her eyes with a tired smile.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, before hoisting her up into her arms.

yoonchae looped her arms lazily around yn’s neck.

“you smell like tequila,” she said, voice muffled against yn’s hoodie.

“you smell like old drool and bad decisions,” yn shot back.

“mmm. whatever.”

yn carried her inside, down the hallway, and into her room. she laid her gently on the bed, pulled the blanket over her, and brushed a few strands of hair from her face before leaning down and kissing her forehead.

“night, chae.”

“night,” came the sleepy reply.

yn stood and turned to leave, but as she reached the door, she saw sophia step out of the bathroom, towel in hand.

“you should stay the night,” sophia said, drying her hands. “you’ve had a long day.”

yn gave a soft shrug. “i’m fine, soph. i drove you all home, didn’t i?”

“still.” sophia leaned against the doorframe, giving her a look. “you were drinking. and, you know, punched in the face.”

yn smirked. “a little bruising builds character.”

sophia didn’t laugh. “just stay. megan and lara’s room is empty. you know they won’t care.”

“i don’t want to overstay,” yn said quietly. “this isn’t my house.”

“yn,” sophia said, stepping closer, voice low and sincere. “you don’t have to keep acting like you’re just visiting. you’re part of this group whether you like it or not.”

yn opened her mouth to answer—but another voice interrupted them.

“stay.”

they both turned toward the hallway.

daniela was standing there, arms crossed tightly, her face a little blotchy, eyes rimmed with red. her voice was shaky, but clear.

“please stay,” she said again. softer this time.

yn stared at her for a long second.

she didn’t have it in her to say no.

“…okay,” she said finally.

daniela blinked, like she hadn’t expected her to say yes.

“i’ll go grab some clothes from my car,” yn added, brushing past the awkward tension in the air.

daniela nodded. “okay.”

sophia stepped aside as yn walked past, and neither girl said anything else.

outside, the air was cool, quiet. yn made her way to her car with a weird tightness in her chest—not anger, not sadness exactly. just something heavy.

—

yn sat in the backyard, tucked into a chair with a blanket draped over her lap. the katseye house had gone quiet. the back porch light spilled onto the grass, but the rest of the yard was wrapped in shadows. it was calm out here. calm in a way she hadn’t felt all night.

the screen door slid open behind her.

she didn’t turn around.

there was a soft pause, then careful footsteps on the wood.

“hey,” a quiet voice said.

daniela.

yn took a breath but kept her gaze on the yard. “hey.”

daniela walked closer, the air shifting slightly with her presence. she stopped beside the empty chair across from yn.

“can i sit?”

yn nodded once.

daniela lowered herself into the seat, pulling her sleeves over her hands. the silence between them stretched out—comfortable at first, then tense.

“i couldn’t sleep,” daniela said, almost like she was confessing it.

“me either,” yn said.

daniela looked down, rubbing her thumb along her palm. “i keep thinking about it. everything. and i feel so... fucking dumb.”

yn glanced at her. “you’re not dumb.”

“i am,” daniela said, a sharp laugh catching in her throat. “i let him lie to me. cheat. and everyone saw it except me.”

“that’s not true,” yn said quietly. “you just wanted to believe he loved you. that’s not stupid.”

daniela wiped at her eyes roughly. “i should’ve listened. to you. to the girls. to myself. but instead i defended him.”

yn stayed silent.

“and you…” daniela swallowed. “i treated you like you didn’t matter.”

yn’s chest tightened, but she kept her voice calm. “you don’t have to say that.”

“i do,” daniela said, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “i do because it’s true. and i know it’s too late to take it back.”

yn looked at her for a long moment. “what are you trying to say?”

daniela hesitated. “i’m sorry.”

yn blinked.

“not just for tonight. for before. for everything,” she added, voice barely above a whisper. “especially... for korea.”

the words hung there like a held breath.

yn sat back, the memory hitting harder than she expected. it had been buried under everything else—buried on purpose.

“why bring that up now?” yn asked, her voice careful.

daniela looked at her, eyes glassy in the low light. “because it mattered. to you. to me. and i ran from it like a coward.”

yn didn’t respond right away. she stared out into the dark yard, into the space where everything between them used to live.

“you hurt me,” she said finally. “you kissed me like it meant something. like i meant something. and then you acted like it never happened.”

“i know,” daniela said softly. “and i hated myself for it.”

“then why?” yn asked, her voice cracking slightly. “why do that to someone you care about?”

daniela swallowed hard. “because it was easier to lie to myself than admit i loved you.”

the silence snapped between them.

yn turned slowly, her heart pounding. “say that again.”

daniela met her eyes. “i loved you. i think... i still do. but back then, i couldn’t face it. i was scared. so i pretended it didn’t mean anything. i pretended you didn’t.”

yn looked away. “that night wrecked me.”

“i know.”

“i don’t know if i can go through that again.”

“i’m not asking you to,” daniela said quickly. “i just needed you to know. that it wasn’t nothing. that you weren’t nothing.”

yn nodded slowly, eyes stinging.

daniela leaned forward, voice barely a breath. “i don’t deserve another chance. but if i asked for one... would you even think about it?”

yn was quiet for a long time. then, softly:

“i don’t know.”

daniela nodded, trying to hide the hurt. but yn caught it

daniela didn’t say anything right away. she just sat there, watching yn’s back as she moved toward the door, the porch light casting a soft glow around her.

“give it time,” yn said again, quieter this time, like she was saying it more to herself than to daniela. “you just got out of a relationship. let’s not rush.”

daniela opened her mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to agree but the words never came.

yn reached for the handle, paused, then glanced over her shoulder.

“goodnight, dani.”

daniela gave a small nod, her voice caught somewhere in her throat. “goodnight.”

the door clicked shut behind her, leaving daniela in the quiet stillness of the backyard, alone with her thoughts and everything she didn’t say.

—

it had been three weeks since everything went down.

three weeks since the party, since chris, since daniela finally saw things for what they were.

since then, things between yn and daniela had shifted—quietly, but unmistakably.

they texted constantly, called when they could. even in different cities, it felt like they were closer than ever.

the girls were in new york for interviews, the usual whirlwind of press and travel.

yn stayed back in la, but that didn’t stop her from checking in constantly.

yn: when do you guys get back?

daniela: saturday, like 3am i think. why?

yn: let me take you out.

daniela stared at the message, her heart skipping a beat.

not “wanna hang out?”

not “do you wanna do something?”

but let me take you out.

she wasn’t used to someone asking like that—like she was someone worth planning for. it made her blush.

yn: dani?? you left me on read that’s crazy

yn: hello???

yn: damn. blocked in real time?

daniela: YES

daniela: sorry, was just… reading

yn: is that a yes yes or like a scared yes?

daniela: it’s a yes yes

yn: good. i’ll pick you up at 4 on saturday

daniela: okay

daniela: i gotta go, they’re calling us to set

yn: alright, go be famous. talk later

daniela: always

—

the day of the date had finally arrived, and yn was half-excited, half-nervous.

she had planned it all—every detail—but hadn’t told daniela much. just that she needed a change of clothes, a swimsuit, and an open mind.

her phone was propped up on the dresser, olivia and nailea on a video call.

"okay but hear me out," nailea said, eyeing yn’s reflection. "that shirt is nice… but maybe something a little more—"

"sexy," olivia added, smirking.

yn adjusted her black jeans and rolled her eyes. "i’m not trying to seduce her. it’s a date, not a movie scene."

"who says you can’t do both?" nailea shrugged. "it’s a skill."

"you’re both annoying," yn muttered, but there was a small smile playing on her lips.

olivia leaned closer to the camera. "are you nervous?"

yn hesitated. "yeah. a little."

"because it’s daniela?"

"because it matters."

nailea softened. "you’ve got this."

"you don’t even know the plan," yn said, grabbing her phone and sitting on the edge of her bed.

"so tell us," olivia said.

"first stop: go-karting. she’s always wanted to but never has."

"then dinner—nothing fancy, just somewhere good. and after that, i’m taking her to this place on the beach. she liked it the first time we found it."

they both went quiet for a second.

"damn," nailea said. "you’re not playing around."

yn’s phone buzzed.

dani:

okay… i’m lowkey nervous.

should i be?

yn:

nah, not at all.

you’re gonna be fine, i promise.

dani:

easy for you to say, you know the plan.

i’m just over here guessing.

yn:

exactly. it’s part of the charm.

trust me, you’ll like it.

dani:

you sure?

yn:

positive.

leaving now — i’ll see you soon.

olivia, watching her face, grinned. "you look smug. i’m into it."

"she’s gonna be a wreck," nailea added. "text us everything or i swear."

"yeah, yeah," yn said, grabbing her jacket. "i gotta go."

"don’t mess it up!" olivia yelled just before the call ended.

yn double-checked she had everything—keys, wallet, backup plan (just in case), and the tiny folded note she’d tucked into her pocket earlier that morning. her nerves buzzed under her skin as she locked her front door and headed out. the evening was warm, the city alive in its usual way, but it all felt muted compared to what was coming.

she tossed her backpack in the back seat and slid into the car, tapping the steering wheel like it might calm her down. it didn’t. before she could talk herself out of it, she opened her gps and found the nearest flower shop. roses—daniela liked roses. maybe cliché, but yn didn’t care. sometimes cliché was good, especially if it made daniela smile.

fifteen minutes later, yn was back in the car with a simple bouquet: red roses, tied with a satin ribbon. classic. easy. hopeful.

by the time she pulled up in front of the katseye house, she’d started overthinking everything—the flowers, the plan, the way her palms felt kind of sweaty on the wheel. it was just daniela. but it wasn’t just daniela. not anymore.

she sat there for a few minutes before finally getting out and heading to the door.

it swung open before she could knock.

yoonchae blinked at her. “unnie? what are you doing here? did i forget something?”

“uh—no. i’m here for—”

“she’s here for me,” daniela called from inside.

yn turned—and immediately forgot how to speak. daniela stood in the hallway in fitted light wash jeans and a simple cropped white tee, hair soft around her shoulders, skin glowing under the warm lights.

“sorry, i just need like two minutes,” daniela said, smiling. “come in.”

yn stepped inside, still holding the flowers awkwardly. “uh… these are for you.”

daniela’s eyes widened. she took the bouquet gently, her fingers brushing yn’s. “you got me flowers?”

yn shrugged, trying to look casual. “figured they’d make you smile.”

daniela smiled down at them for a second longer than she needed to, then turned to head down the hall. “i’m gonna put these in water. don’t let the girls interrogate you while i’m gone.”

too late.

as soon as she disappeared, lara leaned in, grinning. “so. where are you taking her?”

“let me guess,” megan added. “something dramatic?”

“it’s a surprise,” yn said, settling on the couch.

sophia gave her a look. “no funny business.”

“we’re going go-karting. then dinner. then… a spot that means something to both of us.”

the room went quiet for a second.

“okay, damn,” manon said, impressed. “she’s pulling out meaningful now?”

“that’s sweet,” megan said. “rom-com level.”

“still no funny business,” sophia repeated.

yn held up both hands. “i know. i promise.”

daniela came back in, setting the flowers in a tall vase on the counter.

“you ready?” yn asked.

“yeah,” daniela said, grabbing her bag.

“yn,” sophia called as they headed for the door.

yn stopped. “i know, i know. be responsible. no funny business. don’t stay out too late.”

sophia nodded. “good. have fun.”

“bye, mom,” daniela teased with a laugh as they stepped outside.

yn moved ahead to open the car door for her. daniela raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.

“wow. chivalry?”

“just setting the tone,” yn said.

daniela slid in, still smiling. “guess we’ll see if you can keep it up.”

as yn rounded the car to get in on her side, yoonchae called out from the porch, “unnie! don’t mess this up!”

yn groaned as she got in. “why does she always do that?”

daniela was laughing softly beside her. “maybe she just believes in you.”

yn turned the key in the ignition, stealing a quick glance at her. “ready?”

daniela looked at her, eyes bright. “yeah. let’s go.”

the drive had a kind of quiet magic to it.

not the dramatic, heart-pounding kind—more like the slow, steady hum of something that felt inevitable. yn had one hand on the wheel, her other resting against the open window frame as warm air streamed in, playing with the loose strands of daniela’s hair. a soft playlist played in the background—low, comforting, with songs they both knew but didn’t sing along to. there was no need.

the silence between them wasn’t awkward. it was full, not empty. a shared calm that didn’t need to be broken.

daniela had her legs pulled up into the seat, arms loosely wrapped around them, head tilted slightly toward the window. every now and then, she’d smile—small, secretive, like she was catching herself being too happy and trying to reel it in.

yn saw it. and felt it.

she glanced over again when they hit a stoplight near the edge of town.

“you okay?” yn asked, keeping her tone casual.

daniela turned her head slowly. “yeah,” she said, after a beat. “i just… i haven’t done something like this in a long time.”

yn glanced at her. “like what? gone on a date?”

“yeah,” daniela said, then added more quietly, “but also… looked forward to one.”

those words landed heavier than yn expected. it settled somewhere in her chest, warm and steady.

she pulled into a narrow gravel driveway, headlights casting long shadows ahead. at the end of the path, strings of lights glowed above a tucked-away go-kart track—quiet and half-lit like it was waiting just for them.

“you trust me?” yn asked, turning off the engine but staying in the seat.

daniela looked at her, searching her face like she was double-checking for cracks.

“i do,” she said softly. “probably more than i should.”

yn didn’t respond right away. she just smiled, unbuckling her seatbelt. “then come on.”

when they stepped out and the track came fully into view, daniela froze.

“wait—are we…” her eyes widened. “go-karting?”

yn grinned, the gravel crunching beneath her boots as she walked around the car. “you said once, forever ago, that you’d never been. figured it was time.”

daniela looked around, taking it all in—the lights, the worn track, the rows of helmets lined up behind a gate.

then she turned to yn with a look that made yn feel like the only person on the planet.

“you remembered that?”

“of course i did,” yn said. “you were so weirdly sad about it. like you missed a rite of passage or something.”

daniela laughed under her breath, a little shy now. “this is actually... kind of perfect.”

“you sure?” yn asked. “i know it’s not some fancy rooftop dinner or whatever.”

daniela stepped closer, close enough that yn could smell her perfume—something floral, subtle, familiar. “yn,” she said gently. “you remembered something i said once, and you made a whole night out of it. that’s more than perfect. that’s…” she exhaled. “that’s what people don’t do for me.”

yn’s mouth opened a little, but no words came out. she just held eye contact, heart beating so loud she could hear it.

finally, she smirked. “okay. let’s go see who drives better.”

—

turns out, daniela was vicious behind the wheel.

“you’re actually evil,” yn yelled as daniela flew past her on the third lap, laughing.

“what? i’m just talented!” daniela called back, not even looking as she sped around a turn.

“that’s not talent, you literally cut me off!”

“tactical driving!” she yelled.

yn tried to catch up, narrowing her eyes, focused now. “you wait, i'm gonna lap you on this next one!”

by the end of the race, they were both breathless, helmets off, hair a mess, and smiles permanent.

“you cheated,” daniela accused again as they walked back to the car, bumping shoulders.

“you just said you were talented two minutes ago.”

“i can be both,” she said proudly. “talented and morally questionable.”

yn laughed, tossing her keys in the air and catching them. “okay. but you owe me a rematch.”

daniela grinned.

—

they didn’t go anywhere fancy for dinner—just a little italian place on the edge of the city, tucked between a laundromat and a florist. it had chipped paint on the sign and the menus were slightly worn, but there was something warm about it. familiar.

they’d been there once, months ago, with the rest of the girls. daniela had tried the pasta and declared it the best she’d ever had, then laughed so hard at something megan said that she cried into her napkin. the memory clung to yn. maybe because daniela looked the most like herself that night. maybe because yn hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

they were seated at a corner table by the window, where soft yellow lights outside cast sleepy shadows on the wood-paneled walls. the place smelled like garlic and warm bread. a quiet buzz of conversation filled the background.

yn sat across from daniela, chin resting in her hand, eyes flicking between daniela’s face and the untouched glass of water in front of her.

“you remember this place?” yn asked, even though she already knew the answer.

daniela looked up from the menu, her mouth quirking. “of course. this is where i fell in love.”

yn blinked, heartbeat stuttering.

“with the pasta bolognese,” daniela finished, grinning.

yn rolled her eyes, laughing. “you almost had me.”

“you almost had yourself,” daniela teased. “you looked ready to propose.”

“only if the pasta says yes first.”

they kept it light—at first. joked about their worst interviews, retold childhood stories. yn talked about the time she accidentally wore two different shoes on stage. daniela nearly spit out her drink.

“how did no one notice?” daniela asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin, still laughing.

“my manger noticed. she told me after the show,” yn said with a groan. “i wanted to disappear.”

“honestly, it’s iconic. very avant-garde.”

yn smiled. “yeah, that’s what i’ll tell myself.”

then daniela leaned forward, chin in hand now, mirroring yn’s posture. her voice dropped a little softer.

“i once forgot an entire verse during a live show,” she said, shaking her head. “just blanked. so i danced instead. full choreo. no lyrics.”

yn laughed, nearly choking on her drink. “you’re kidding.”

“nope. they all thought it was a remix version. i just never corrected them.”

“you’re a menace.”

“i’m a professional,” daniela corrected, sitting up straighter.

yn watched her for a second, caught off guard by how easily they’d slipped back into this rhythm—like no time had passed. like nothing had ever hurt.

the food came, but it sat mostly untouched, pushed to the side of their plates. they were more interested in each other.

“hey,” daniela said softly after a lull, her voice a little hesitant. “can i ask you something?”

yn looked up. “of course.”

“why now?”

“what do you mean?”

“us,” daniela said, eyes flicking between yn’s. “why… after everything. why now?”

yn exhaled through her nose, sitting back slightly. she thought for a second before answering.

“because,” she started slowly, “before… i think i wanted you to love me more than i wanted to love myself. and that wasn’t fair. to either of us.”

daniela’s expression softened.

“but now?” yn continued, her voice steadier. “now i know who i am. and i want you to see that version of me. the one who doesn’t need fixing. the one who just wants to show up.”

daniela looked down at her hands, her fingers curling slightly against the edge of her plate. when she looked back up, her eyes were shining.

“you always showed up,” she said, barely above a whisper. “even when i didn’t deserve it.”

“don’t say that,” yn said gently.

“but it’s true.”

they sat in the soft glow of the restaurant, the rest of the world fading out.

daniela told a story then—about her dad trying to fix the ceiling fan one summer and accidentally launching it across the living room. she laughed in the middle of telling it, hands moving animatedly, eyes crinkling in that way yn always loved.

and while she talked, yn just… watched.

the way daniela’s fingers curled around her glass. the slow, subconscious way she’d tuck her hair behind her ear when she laughed. the softness in her voice when she said yn’s name, like it was something she’d been holding onto for a long time.

yn didn’t interrupt. didn’t speak.

she just listened.

and felt everything.

—

after dinner, yn didn’t say much—just drove.

they left the city behind, the hum of traffic fading into stillness as trees started to line the road and stars peeked through the deepening sky. soft music played low from the car speakers, something acoustic and warm. wind threaded through daniela’s hair as she leaned into the seat, watching yn with half-lidded eyes and a curious smile.

“you’re being mysterious again,” daniela said, glancing at her. “should i be worried?”

yn chuckled, her grip on the steering wheel loose but steady. “not unless you’re afraid of surprises.”

“i’m not,” daniela said. “but i’m also not dressed for hiking or getting kidnapped, just saying.”

“noted,” yn said with a small grin. “good thing i canceled the hike-slash-kidnapping portion of the evening.”

daniela snorted. “very considerate.”

they fell into an easy silence again, the kind that said everything without needing to say much at all. daniela reached out eventually and rested her hand gently on yn’s knee. her thumb brushed small, lazy circles there, like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

yn definitely realized.

“you always do this when you’re content,” yn said after a few minutes, her voice soft.

“do what?”

“the hand thing. it’s like… your version of purring.”

daniela laughed, her thumb pausing mid-circle. “shut up.”

“i’m serious,” yn grinned, glancing at her. “you’re the human equivalent of a very affectionate cat.”

“you’re lucky i’m feeling content, or i’d bite.”

“see? cat.”

eventually, yn pulled off onto a gravel road, marked only by a small wooden sign: blue pine lake. lanterns lined the path like they were lighting the way just for them. daniela straightened in her seat.

“…wait,” she said slowly, recognition sparking in her eyes. “i know this place.”

yn just smiled.

they drove a little further, the trees opening up to reveal a small, warmly lit cabin tucked at the edge of the water. fairy lights wrapped around the porch posts, flickering gently like fireflies in the dark.

yn parked, then looked over at daniela, her heart beating loud in her chest. “come on,” she said quietly. “we’re staying here tonight.”

daniela stared at her. “you rented an airbnb… for one night?”

“i wanted the day to feel like more than just a date,” yn said. “i wanted it to feel like a memory.”

daniela blinked, then smiled—soft and full and stunned. “you’re kind of insane.”

“only kind of?”

“only because this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

they stepped out of the car, and yn grabbed their bags. inside, the cabin smelled like cedar and cinnamon. it was cozy—small but full of little details: a record player humming an old soul song, a stack of books on the windowsill, a handwritten welcome note on the counter.

daniela walked in slowly, her eyes wide. “yn,” she whispered, spinning in a slow circle. “this is… unreal.”

“too much?”

daniela turned to face her. “no. it’s perfect.”

—

they made tea in the little kitchen and carried their mugs out to the back deck. the lake stretched out like glass, the moon casting silver trails across the surface.

daniela leaned against the railing, shoulder brushing yn’s. “i didn’t know how much i needed this until right now.”

yn looked at her sideways. “the airbnb? the lake?”

daniela turned her head, catching yn’s gaze. “you.”

yn’s breath caught, and for a moment, she forgot how to speak.

so she didn’t.

she just reached out and laced their fingers together. daniela squeezed her hand gently, grounding them in the moment.

—

later, they ended up on the floor by the fireplace, wrapped in blankets. a movie played in the background—some old black-and-white film neither of them were really watching. the glow from the fire painted daniela’s face in flickering gold, her head resting on yn’s shoulder.

daniela’s fingers found yn’s hand again, tracing the lines of her palm, slow and gentle.

“you always do that when you’re nervous,” yn murmured.

“do what?”

“trace things. like you’re trying to memorize them.”

daniela looked up at her, their faces inches apart. “maybe i am.”

yn felt something catch in her chest. “what are you trying to memorize?”

daniela didn’t answer right away. she just looked at her, really looked. then, barely above a whisper—

“can i kiss you now?”

yn’s voice was a breath. “yeah. please.”

and when daniela leaned in, it wasn’t hesitant. it was soft but sure—like something both of them had been waiting to do for far too long.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t fireworks or sparks—it was warmer than that. steady. like slipping into a favorite song. like finding something familiar in someone new.

when they finally pulled apart, daniela rested her forehead against yn’s, her voice barely audible.

“i think i’m falling for you.”

yn smiled, her heart full to the brim. “then it’s mutual.”

they stayed like that, the fire crackling, the world small and quiet around them.

and for the first time in a long time, everything felt like it was exactly where it should be.

—

A/N: hope yall like this one! i will be posting more soon! let request if yall have any suggestions also lmk if you want to be part of my taglist