Taeyeon watches from the doorway as Jessica’s parents fuss over her, her mom’s eyes still red-rimmed, while her dad keeps moving around like he’s incapable of standing still. Krystal’s voice, higher-pitched than usual, pours from the phone set on speaker sitting on Jessica’s lap.

Jessica keeps repeating that she’s okay, exasperation leaking into her voice along with the occasional English word, but she doesn’t actually look too annoyed. Some colour has come back into her face, and other than the fact that she’s in a hospital bed, there isn’t really a sign that she’s hurt at all.

Taeyeon doesn’t need to be reminded though. She remembers just fine, and she doesn’t think she’ll forget it anytime soon.

With a lump still in , she turns away from the room and lets her legs carry her aimlessly down the hall. Jessica’s family is there with her, a circle of concern, and there’s no place for anyone else. (There’s no place for her.)

If Taeyeon had looked back, she would’ve seen Jessica’s eyes following her and Jessica opening , as if to call out her name.

“Sungkook oppa said we have to go soon,” Sunkyu says, joining Taeyeon in front of the vending machine. “He sounded sorry about it, and he’s worried about Sica too, but—”

“Yeah, I know.” Taeyeon’s eyes scan over the options. For a hospital vending machine, there’s a surprisingly wide selection, from juice to milk to energy drinks. “We’ve been in this company long enough. I know.”

Sunkyu purses her lips slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. Taeyeon isn’t complaining, just stating a fact, one that they’ve all long acknowledged, silently and solemnly.

“Do you want anything?” Taeyeon asks absently. “They have chocolate milk.”

“No, I’m fine, but maybe get Fany one. She’s been chewing on her lip so hard I think it’s going to bleed soon. At least she’ll have a straw to chew on.”

Taeyeon mechanically feeds some money in, and as she starts to press the button for chocolate milk, Sunkyu grabs her wrist.

“Taeyeon, this isn’t like you.”

“What? Buying from a vending machine?”

“No.” Sunkyu frowns and presses another button on the vending machine. “You know Tiffany likes strawberry milk.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Taeyeon hears a clunk and watches as Sunkyu reaches in to grab the pink carton. “She does.”

“Okay, you need to stop this,” Sunkyu says firmly. “Jessica has a mild concussion, okay? Not a brain tumour. She’ll be fine.”

“I know that.” Taeyeon does know that. She knows that Jessica isn’t seriously injured, that she’ll recover soon enough, that she wouldn’t like Taeyeon worrying like this, but she can’t help it. She can’t. “I just – I—”

“You care about her,” Sunkyu finishes, her tone gentler now. “I know you do. We all do. But we aren’t all freaking out like you.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Taeyeon mutters, but her protest sounds weak to her own ears.

“You’re freaking out,” Sunkyu says. “It isn’t like you. You’re usually scarily calm.”

“I guess I’m not being my usual self then.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Sunkyu says with a chuckle, but there isn’t any real humour in her voice. “You’re reacting a lot worse than the last time something like this happened, actually.”

“The last time?” Taeyeon repeats, confused. “When did something like this happen?”

“When that man grabbed you and started pulling you offstage,” Sunkyu says quietly, and it all comes back to Taeyeon.

It’s been years, but she still can’t forget how it felt, to have him gripping her arm, pulling her away from the stage, from the girls, to be frozen with shock and distress. She had been so helpless, so weak. For almost a week afterward, she could still feel the clasp of his fingers on her arm, could almost see bruises welling, even though her skin had been unmarred.

The incident hadn’t left any physical marks on her at all, but it left an imprint that, even now, she could still feel.

“Does this remind you of that time?” Sunkyu asks. “Is that why—”

“I haven’t even thought about it until you brought it up,” Taeyeon says honestly. She rubs her arm idly, where he had grabbed her, and remembers Sunkyu coming to her rescue, followed by the MC, and she wonders what would’ve happened if nobody helped her. How far he would’ve taken her, what he would’ve done to her. The memory of her weakness, her uselessness, still disgusts and shames her.

Sunkyu looks apologetic. “I’m sorry about bringing it up.”

“It’s okay.” Taeyeon smiles a little. “If it weren’t for you…who knows what would’ve happened.”

“I was your knight in shining armour, wasn’t I?” Sunkyu says lightly.

“You sure were. My knight in a shining dress.”

Sunkyu laughs a little, and there’s even a trace of mirth in there. “You shouldn’t feel bad that you couldn’t be Jessica’s knight in a shining dress, you know,” she says, her voice still light, but with a serious edge. “There isn’t anything you could’ve done. You’re not a psychic; you couldn’t have seen it coming.”

“I know, but.” Taeyeon sighs, but it doesn’t release the pressure in her chest.

“But what?” Sunkyu asks softly.

“I don’t know.” Taeyeon trains her eyes on the carton of strawberry milk in Sunkyu’s hands. It’s probably warm by this rate. That wouldn’t be very nice to drink. “I’m tired of being helpless, I guess.”

“Taeyeon.” Her name is a sigh from Sunkyu’s lips, a sigh containing equal measures of concern and frustration. “Why do you always blame yourself for everything? This wasn’t your fault. And what happened before, that definitely wasn’t your fault either.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault. I just—”

“Taeyeon, Sunkyu,” Sungkook says briskly, coming around the corner. “Are you girls ready to go?”

Sunkyu looks at him pleadingly. “Can’t we stay a little longer?”

“We have to go now,” Sungkook says, his voice gentle but firm. “Jessica’s parents are here with her. She’s in good hands. I know you girls are worried; I’m worried too, but there isn’t anything we can do just by being here anyway.”

“Oppa, Jessica needs her rest,” Taeyeon says. “She’ll get it, right? You won’t…” Make her come back right away. Push her before she’s ready. Cut short her recovery. Of course she knows that Sungkook wouldn’t want to do that; he cares about Jessica, he cares about all of them, almost like they’re his daughters, but at the end of the day this is his job, they’re his job, and it’s almost easy to forget that fact but Taeyeon knows she shouldn’t.

“I want what’s the best for Jessica, just like you do.” Sungkook pats Taeyeon on the shoulder, his expression understanding, reassuring. “It’ll be alright, Taeyeon. You don’t have to look so worried.”

“I think that look is stuck on her face, oppa,” Sunkyu says. “We haven’t seen anything outside of it this whole day.”

“Well, that’s not good.” He clucks his tongue. “I’m sure your smile would be dearly missed, Taeyeon.”

“I’m not Tiffany, at least.” Taeyeon glances at the vending machine, a crumpled bill still in her fist, and she sees that there’s only one bottle left of green Gatorade. It’s not green apple, like she assumed, but lime cucumber.

She can’t bear to look at it any longer, and her hand tightens around the money in her hand as she and Sunkyu follow Sungkook down the corridor, until the bill is crushed beyond salvation.

None of them talk much on the van. Sooyoung tries to engage Taeyeon in some light-hearted chatter at first, but all Taeyeon contributes is an occasional “hmm” and “yeah”, and Sooyoung eventually gives up. Sunkyu asks Taeyeon if she wants the strawberry milk (Tiffany said she wasn’t thirsty), and Taeyeon says no, not just because she prefers chocolate. Sunkyu plays with the carton for a while with the absentminded manner of someone who just wants to occupy her hands, but she keeps the straw where it is.

Hyoyeon is listening to music, which Taeyeon thinks is a pretty smart idea. Music is one of the only things that let her block the world out now, although sometimes, in many ways, it feels like music is her world. Other times, it feels like her life couldn’t have been less about music, which is funny but not really, considering how she’s a singer. (But then again, she’s an idol first and foremost, and there’s a difference.)

Tiffany spends most of the ride looking out the window, although her eyes look distant and Taeyeon doubts she really sees what’s out there. Yuri puts an arm around her and pulls her closer, and Tiffany lets her head fall onto Yuri’s shoulder, her hair falling like a curtain around herface, hiding her expression from them.

Yoona’s face is completely blank, something that she’s mastered as an actress. The expression reminds Taeyeon of Jessica, and she feels an additional throb on top of the tightness in her chest. Juhyun is clutching her Keroro keychain, something Jessica won in a toy claw machine during their trainee days, with white-knuckled fingers. She doesn’t actually keep her keys on it anymore, but she’s kept it with her for years.

Taeyeon understands. She still has the ticket stub from one reckless sunny day when they snuck to the amusement park without their managers’ knowledge or permission, faces clean of makeup and lit up with the prospect of freedom. Taeyeon had almost gone deaf from all the lecturing they endured after they came back (as the leader, she got an extra heavy dose), but it was worth it.

Those angry, disappointed words were a worthy price to pay for that afternoon of playing and laughing, of finally being in the public eye without scrutiny, without staring, without fans swarming up and closing in like a claustrophobic tide. Perhaps for ordinary people, it wouldn’t have been a particularly memorable day, but for Taeyeon, for them, it was and still is something significant, something special. That’s why she’s kept the ticket stub even until today, after all.

They have more freedom now (they’re allowed to date, for one, and they’re more personally involved with their music), and Taeyeon can’t help but wonder what the price for it is, and if it’s worth paying.