She should run. She should stay.

It isn't always that Lia's always battling these two contradictions at any given moment, but the point where she begins to is a little blurred. The feeling, though—that she can recall clearly, the rope tight around her ribs, squeezing all the air out of her lungs. A feeling like she's being hunted, watched all the time. Stuck between two extremes: to face everything head on, damn the consequences, or put on a brave face, pretend everything is normal until her nightmares stop being made of it.

Sometimes, it's easier when she doesn't have to make the choice.

"I don't have an eating disorder," she tells dr. Yoo. After so many times yelling it at herself in her head, the words start to lose meaning. It's so hard to not feel like she's failing at convincing even herself.

Dr. Yoo is a patient woman. The wear of the years and the weight of her experience sit kindly on her skin, wrinkled as it is. The way she sits is elegant, a simple pearl necklace peeking out of a smooth blue blazer, hands clasped on the table that divides them, her smile kind, almost enabling. "Slow down, Lia," she says. "I haven't even asked you how you are."

A lump lodged itself in . She hates this question. It makes her feel like she's supposed to say she's doing fine—like when she had a fever but the show was starting in two minutes, and she had her responsibilities. Nobody wants to be a bummer and admit they're not doing fine.

"I'm..."

She tries to name a single feeling, grapple in the dark to settle on just one, but her fingers catch and drag and scratch along the surface of her heart, and she goes numb.

"... fine."

"Even with all the news about you?" dr. Yoo asks.

"Ah, it's not as bad as it seems, Doctor," Lia says, and she hopes it sounds sheepish, abashed, like she's answering all the fun questions. She's spent too long schooling her face into a neutral expression to let it fail. "Really, the reports make it all seem very severe. You know how the tabloids go."

"Even more serious than how Ryujin made it out to be?"

"Yes."

Dr. Yoo rearranges her hands on the desk, reaching for a gold-lined pen in her pocket, the same gliding ink used to sign the giant stack of NDAs their manager left before the session started. She opens a Moleskine notebook, writes just discreetly enough that Lia gives up trying to peer at it. "Lia," she says, and her tone's taken that gentle edge, coaxing. "I thought I told you the first time not to lie."

Lia doesn't let her smile slip.

She isn't giving anything away.

The first time she faced dr. Yoo, she spilled her guts. Told her about the deep, bone-settling insecurity that threatened to eat her alive, the suffocating weight on her chest that never left, no matter how many praises her group was receiving, the undeniable, humiliating part of herself that couldn't love men the way her parents wanted her too. Told her about the first time she met Ryujin, fifteen years old and fresh-faced, a determination and easy self-confidence that felt so out of reach, a blinding presence that made her chest feel tight. Icarus flying straight into the sun, foolish and in awe. She had been stupid, let the doctor know too much—and now, she's going to reach into her mess of thoughts and try to sort it out, and on a good day Lia doesn't even want to look inside her head, there's no way she's letting dr. Yoo anywhere closer.

She must not give anything away.

When she does, she slacks. Everything she lacks at shines on, pushing her far and far away from the sheer talent of her groupmates, an ugly spotlight on everything that makes her unworthy. No one must think her that; guard herself, chin up. Do not let anyone in.

Especially not the way she'd let Ryujin into her life.

Look at the damage you've caused, it all screams at her. Look at what happened when you let your guard down.

"Lia?"

"I'm telling the truth, doctor."

Dr. Yoo adjusts her glasses. "Why do you think your manager felt it's necessary for you to meet with me again?"

"It's..." Overreaction. "Precaution."

"What is it you think your manager is cautious about?"

"The group image, of course."

"Why do you think it's so important?"

"We're idols, doctor. We sell a fantasy. We're not supposed to have flaws." A beat. "I'm sure she's worried all the... controversy surrounding this will get to me. Last year hasn't been kind to many idols, as you probably. These things can really shake up someone’s psyche. It's sweet, really, but I can assure you, I'm dealing just fine with all this. My groupmates are very supportive."

Dr. Yoo considers this, then leans in. "Can you tell me how your groupmates are helping you deal with the controversy?"

"Chaeryeong is the easiest to talk to. She's been through a similar situation at the beginning, so she understands me best," Lia says. "And Yeji is such a good leader, she reads so many articles and books on how to help someone going through a panic. Yuna helps with self-care days, leaves food for me when I forgot to eat. Never leaves me alone."

She hesitates, and it’s her first mistake.

And dr. Yoo jumps in. "And Ryujin?"

Lia's trained herself to react only a certain way when Ryujin is involved, these days. She cringes when she remembers the Paris vlogs, how she'd clung to Ryujin's chest and yelled from the second floor that she wants a beach house, Ryujin telling her, even before she knew Lia better, how glad she was to have known Lia, although Lia would never, in a million years, know why the hell she would be. It was distracting to be with Ryujin in Paris; it made Lia forget what she's supposed to hide, this big, stupid, dangerous feeling that made her chest hurt and float, the people and the building around her so different from what she's used to of Seoul's skyscrapers that Lia felt, for a long stupid while, safe from the rest of the world.

Lia is to be normal when Ryujin is brought up. It's humiliating enough that the group members know—she only ever told Yeji, because she trusts her as their leader, and Yeji deserved to know in case it—in case it ruined anything, but Chaeryeong and Yuna found out on their own, through whispers and looks, patting her shoulders and assuring her they still love her, all the things that made Lia wonder so loudly why why why. If she could find a way to kill these feelings, she would, but they’re so big, all encompassing, that trying to shove it into a room doesn’t fit. She’s bleeding all over with it, and she can only hope everybody’s blind to it.

And in the mess of everything, Lia's too exhausted not to react. She flinches.

"She's—"

God, she tried to help, is the thing.

She caught Lia and didn't tattle, didn't scrutinize her lack of form or discipline and instead goaded her into spending midnights sitting around the kitchen eating whatever air-fried snacks caught her fancy. It's insane to Lia. Ryujin's always been so effortless, moves through life unfazed, unaffected by words written on screens whether they are praises or insults—she just goes on. Ryujin doesn't give a .

She gives a about Lia. Gave a about Lia.

It's not to diminish the efforts the other girls are doing to help her, because she knows that the first time this happened, Chaeryeong probably saved her life by telling their manager about it. But like all things when it gets too hard, the girls swept it under the rug. Doesn't talk about it, and Lia's grateful, because she doesn't want to, most of the time, but Ryujin, with her unrelenting smile and concerned looks that she probably thought were subtle but not at all—it makes Lia want to spill her guts.

It made Lia kiss her.

"Is it true that you have been spending more time with her than anyone else?" dr. Yoo asks.

"No." A pause. "I can't count down the minutes—"

Oh, lies. Lia's well-aware of all boring minutiae when it comes to Ryujin: she can tell you right now that it has been seventeen hours and thirty-two minutes since she kissed her. She can figure out the seconds too, probably, if anyone asks.

"—but it depends on what you classified as spending more time, really."

"What is it that you do?"

"We just eat."

"Why eat?"

"Oh, I have no idea, doctor. She probably just got hungry and I happened to be there."

True for the first night. No clue about any other night after that.

"Has it become a routine?"

"Not as of lately."

"What happened?"

"Ah, she probably just stopped being hungry."

And Lia's always ing hungry, like a human pig, always gobbling up—

God, she wants to throw up.

"And you?"

She has to throw up.

"I was hungry!" she snaps, her resolve breaking. "Fine. I was ing hungry. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Once she admits it, it's irreversible. The doctor asks more questions, and Lia tries to backtrack, but it's too late now, with her guts spilled on the floor and bleeding all over, too much and mortifying and horrible, the last thing she ever wanted. The doctor pokes and prods, and like a dam, Lia breaks.

"What were you doing in the bathroom, Lia? Yuna told me... some things."

I don't have an eating disorder, Lia keeps telling herself. It's all necessary actions—if she restricts her diet, loses a little more weight, maybe she'll start feeling like she's doing enough. Putting in as much effort as the other girls. Fitting in, finally, no longer the silver-spoon girl with a plain face and a voice that's too low to sing any songs they put out with stability, body that doesn't move quite right.

She'll be—she'll be enough.

But even to her, it sounds like a lie.

And she's getting tired of lying, and so she says it, too small at first, the doctor straining her ear too hear it, and once again, louder, and she can't take it back. "I was throwing up," she says. "I... I threw up everything I ate. I made myself throw up."

The doctor leans back.

Lia's been broken before, but right now, she begins to unravel.