On the day of the shoot for their comeback music video, she’s given a metallic blue wig and instructed to cut it off exactly two centimeters above her shoulders. Her real hair, dyed the same color two days ago, is gathered under a cap and untouched. She thinks she’s giving the director panic attacks every time she so much as snips off two millimeters more of the instructed length. She starts doing it on purpose just so she can feel anything other than the eroding, unsettling feeling lodged between her ribs.

It’s proving to be harder than she thought to ignore Lia. Certainly no easy feat, when they live under the same roof and spend nearly every waking hour together, but Ryujin’s nothing if not persistent. In high school, when school held prom and wouldn’t let girls without a male date join the couple dance, she stubbornly led her best friend to the floor and slow-danced until the principal gave up trying to shoo them off. She became the first—and only—baseball player in her school team after she heard about the no-female rule. When Ryujin has a goal, she works towards it, and nothing will stand in her way—especially her own little stupid feelings.

The first few days were the hardest. Lia demurely asked her why she didn’t come down at midnight, and Ryujin had to make up a lie about being sick, and repeated the lie again the next day until Lia stopped trying. It hurts when Lia stopped approaching her, seeing the honest, open smile that she’s grown accustomed to disappearing into the polished, fake ones that she puts on for show, but all Ryujin has to do to keep her resolve is remind herself of Yuna’s words, and she manages to carry on.

Still, it didn’t make the days after easier.

“Are you guys fighting?” Yeji asks one morning, whispered and worried.

“What?” Ryujin laughs. “No, what are you talking about? We’re good.”

Yeji tilts her head, watching Ryujin closely, and Ryujin hopes that her lie sustains. Thankfully, she’s always been good at that—something in her tells herself that she’s been doing that all her life, even to herself. “Okay,” Yeji relents slowly. “It’s just—you’ve kind of been distant.”

“Oh, have I?” Ryujin pretends to look miffed. “Sorry—it’s this comeback. It’s kind of stressing me out.”

“Well, make sure you rest well, okay?” Yeji says, and the genuine care in her voice almost makes Ryujin feel bad for lying. She reaches out and grasps her shoulder. “Feel better soon, Ryujinnie.”

Ryujin does feel better, especially today when she finds that it’d be a solo shooting day. At least alone, she can breathe easier, even if it’s because of the knowledge that there’ll be no one she’ll be lying to, at least for a few hours.

Still, the nagging feeling of wrongness stays.

*

If she could shoot every single scene alone, she would. Unfortunately, there are dance sequences that feature the entire group. So two days later, when the director arranges them for single shots in a dingy-looking set, Ryujin comes face to face with Lia.

Her hair’s shorter. It makes her look fresh, rounds out the edges of her jaw, pulled back from her hair with a set of gigantic hair-clips that are honestly terrible, but looks good on her. Lia can probably wear trash bag and make it work. She just has one of those faces that go well with anything.

It’s when Chaeryeong purposefully bumps her that Ryujin realizes she’s been staring.

“If looks could kill,” Chaeryeong starts, and Ryujin scoffs, thinking, okay, between the two of us, you’re the one with the stupid unreadable Looks, so shut up.

Instead, Ryujin overcompensates. “I just think the hair clips are too much.”

“Oh,” and it’s Lia’s sweet voice, clearly having overhead the conversation—and , it probably sounds awful without the context, and Ryujin wheels around, apology stuck to the roof of . Lia looks a bit like a deer caught in headlights, touching the edges of her hair clip with a look that Ryujin knows all too well—carefully concealed humiliation.

Ryujin stammers. “I didn’t mean—”

Lia laughs, and it’s the first sound coming out of that’s ugly, meant to mock and look down on herself. It makes Ryujin flinch. “No, it’s fine,” she says. “I mean, they’re pretty tacky, right? It spells out ‘bored’ too—pretty overkill, huh?”

Chaeryeong pouts, goes to cup Lia’s cheeks. “No, unnie, you look beautiful. Ryujin is just being mean.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Ryujin says helplessly. God, she just didn’t want to give Chaeryeong the wrong idea, how did it end up so messy?

Maybe this is why it’s the best that she cuts out Lia completely. Even when she didn’t mean to, she kept hurting her.

A high-pitched ringing sounds in the studio, and the crew takes its place. The camera starts rolling, and immediately, Lia changes. Perks up like a flower, the worst Ryujin’s ever seen. She hates that plastic saccharine-sweet smile, wishes she’d see that genuine one again, the one that caught her breath over the mirror, days ago.

But then, in front of the camera, they’re meant to look the happiest. It’s an unwritten part of their contract—under the spotlight, there can’t be anything less than a polished, advertisement-appropriate happiness.

And so Ryujin smiles, too.

And when, like some kind of sick joke, the director tells Lia to hop on Ryujin’s back and act like they’re having the times of their lives, Ryujin keeps that smile, no matter how badly she wants to explode at the feeling of Lia’s arms wrapped around her neck. A terrible closeness.

*

Ryujin will later remember only snapshots.

One thing is clear: they are at a game show. Their new song is a hit, so obviously, they go and promote themselves at game shows. She is not familiar with the emcee, only knows that he is somewhere in the mid-thirties, and he's been smirking in a way that makes Ryujin's skin crawl since they introduce their names. Ryujin's not even sure what game they're playing, if it's supposed to be her turn.

But it's supposed to be funny, light-hearted. Cheeky, maybe. A dance challenge of some sort, and Lia, smiling and beautiful and always with the most creative ideas, says, "Ah, listen, if it includes dancing, just assume I'm not joining."

And Ryujin laughs, because in the history of dancing games, Lia is always the worst. She's always laughing too much to take it seriously, but to her it's kind of endearing. A relieving contrast to the way that she's always on the edge of punishing herself during practice. Ryujin loves this joking, laughing Lia.

And then the emcee says, "Why won't you dance, Lia? Stop being so lazy!" And he laughs and laughs and Lia laughs, too, but Ryujin can't find where the funny part is.

"If I play, I'd get the choreography wrong and lose you guys points," Lia reasons.

“Ah, really? Isn’t that just you trying to get out of dancing?” the emcee says. Ryujin feels the beginning of heat in her blood, the one that’s unpleasant, threatening to break out of her veins. If the emcee continues, she thinks, she can’t be held accountable for what she’s about to do next. Yet, unfailingly, the emcee continues, prodding at Lia with a smile that’s sickly saccharine, “You need to try harder than your members, Lia! Don’t you know the fans don’t like—”

“No!”

It’s only when Ryujin looks up to find all eyes on her that she realizes the guttural, forceful sound came out of her. But at this point, her brain fails to catch up with , and words rush out from her tongue in quick succession, angry and bitter. “Don’t say something like that. You don’t know how hard she’s kicking underneath.”

The emcee blinks. “Ah, I only meant—”

“Do you know how words can hurt? Goddamn, every other year we trend this in hashtags, but the day ends, and what? You turn around and do the same thing over and over again? For entertainment?” Ryujin snaps. “Lia tries harder than anyone in this team! That ‘lazy dancing’ that you’re talking about—that was one time! One ing time! Did you know that she had a fever, in that show?”

Yeji puts a hand on her shoulder, panicked. “Ryujin—”

“No, this against Lia has to stop!” Ryujin brushes her off. “Why do you like picking on people so much, huh? Is your life that sad that you need to make yourself feel better by belittling others? Isn’t it enough that she felt guilty every time she eats because some of you lowlifes think that it’s fun to pick at her weight? How far are you going to push—”

And she’s yanked bodily back, nearly stumbling into Chaeryeong, who’s rooted in her spot, frozen. It’s Yeji, and she’s gripping her shoulder hard enough to bruise. She’s no longer the sweet, charming leader that Ryujin knows her as—her eyes are ablaze with anger, and worst of all—disappointment.

“Ryujin!” she barks at her. “Enough!”

This is about the moment Ryujin realizes she’s ed up.

“Cut,” she hears the director say. The lights dim. Commercial rolls.

She’s probably scarred the emcee for life in addition to getting them blacklisted off this show forever, but she can’t bring herself to care. Next to Yuna, Lia stands, still as a statue. When she looks at Ryujin, she looks deeply hurt.

And Ryujin’s heart breaks into pieces.

*

Everything after that is a blur. Ryujin is dimly aware of other things happening—Yeji pulling her aside before their manager can chew her out, her eyes sharp and knowing and worried, saying something that Ryujin can't remember, but is aware enough to understand it means to hurt. Chaeryeong doesn't even look at her, and it's even more awful than being sized up. She's at Lia's side, Yuna holding on to the crook of Lia's elbow, and Ryujin feels like she should say something, explain, but the fact remains that she just exploded on national television, and put ITZY under the spotlight this time for all the wrong reasons.

It's when Lia rounds on her later that Ryujin's focus returns. Hyper aware suddenly of her surroundings.

It's late at night, maybe after midnight. If you ask Ryujin why she went downstairs after weeks of firmly planting herself on the bed, Ryujin won't be able to tell you the answer. Her feet just sort of take her there, like they know that Lia will be waiting in the kitchen.

She looks up when Ryujin steps into the kitchen.

And she looks betrayed.

"Lia..." her voice is humiliatingly shaky. . Ryujin can't ing cry; she's the one who made all the mess. She doesn't deserve to cry.

"It's not your call," Lia says. Then, with something fierce, "Ryujin, did you know that? It's not your goddamn call."

"I'm sorry," Ryujin says. What else is there to say?

Lia looks away. The fluorescent light paints her in a harsh light, sheds shadows on the parts of Lia that are the sharpest. "I don't understand you," she whispers. "You've been ignoring me for days, haven't let me said a single word to you."

"I'm not..." Ryujin begins her lie, but even she can't believe it. Lia certainly can't, if the arch of her eyebrows is any indication.

"We live together," Lia says. "Do you know how hard it is to not talk to each other? If we haven't, is because one of us is actively avoiding it. And it sure isn't me."

Ryujin stares at her feet. "I'm sorry, Lia."

"I thought I did something wrong," Lia ignores her. They're at opposite ends of the kitchen aisle, Ryujin hovering near the entrance, where the light doesn't quite reach. Lia is washed in silver light, striking and angry and defeated all at once. With every word, it seems that the distance is farther. "Our—late nights, they're some of the most fun part of this. A little secret, something shared just between the two of us, a special thing, you know?”

Ryujin swallows. “Lia—”

Lia's voice grows quiet. "I thought I was becoming your friend."

Something in Ryujin's heart break. "Lia, you're my friend."

"Then why aren't you acting like one?" Lia shoots, hits right where it hurts. To Ryujin's horror, her eyes are glossy with unshed tears. "Ryujin, I was so confused. You acted like I didn't exist for days and then suddenly, you exploded at a stupid comment. Jumped in defending me, saying all those things..." she runs a hand down her hair. "Doesn't mean any of the words you said is true, and I'm still mad at you for assuming all that about me and blasting it on live television, but—, Ryujin. You defended me. Why?"

"How could I not?" Ryujin says back at her. She spreads her arms, laying everything bare in the wide space between their bodies. "Lia, he was calling you lazy, goading a reaction out of you—he wants to see you hurt, it's the same that a lot of idols are put through. Same a lot of idols don't make through."

"You couldn't have just deflected?" Lia says. "Why—why did you have to mention anything about—the food, the—the guilt—Ryujin, you could've just—let them. I'm not weak, I can take it."

And that is, officially, too much for Ryujin.

She crosses the room in two wide strides and grabs her by the shoulders. She doesn't care that the force of it nearly knocks Lia down, or that it slams her right up the aisle, Ryujin's nose just a mere breath away from Lia's. She needs Lia to hear it. "You shouldn't have to take it," Ryujin grinds out. "Lia, you're ing amazing. You're none of the things that those stupid people say about you. You're not weak because some of those comments get to you—Lia, you have to see for yourself, you're worth so ing much."

Lia's body has gone rigid in Ryujin's arms. "You...you're just saying that."

"Lia. Lia. I'm not, you need to understand—" Ryujin's breath shudders violently out of her nose. She squeezes Lia's shoulders. "I care about you, Lia. That's why I stopped coming here at night. How can I, when every time, without fail, you locked yourself up in your room for hours, only to reemerge near the morning, looking paler than a ghost?"

Lia's mouth opens, closes. A dark understanding passes over her brown eyes. "Yuna," she croaks out. "Yuna told you."

"I don't know what I did to hurt you that much," Ryujin confesses, "but I don't want to keep doing that." She loosens her grip of Lia's shoulders, exhaling slowly when she sees that under her grasp, the fabric of Lia's sweater has creased dangerously. "I don't want to hurt you, Lia."

"So you thought you'd ignore me?"

"I didn't know what else I could do!"

"Talk to me," Lia's voice borders dangerously on a sob, and Ryujin's heart breaks and breaks and breaks—God, here she is doing it again. Hurting Lia when it's the absolute last thing that he wants to do. "I would've told you. I would've—Ryujin, I would've told you everything."

Something heavy hangs in the air between them, Ryujin struggling to take in and understand this moment of vulnerability, of Lia practically giving her permission not just a glimpse, but a full observation of all her cards. She would've told Ryujin everything, and Ryujin realizes far too late that in her hands, incapable and inexperienced, she's holding Lia's bleeding heart.

Lia looks up, and Ryujin only registers thinking, God, stop looking at me so sadly, before Lia's lips are on hers.

*

Ryujin’s brain does this thing. When she feels overwhelmed, when things at home become difficult and there’s too much going on all at the same time, she lists off all the things that she knows to be true. When high school teachers confuse her, and it’s the day before an exam, she lists off:

One: x is an unknown variable. Two: y is equal to 2 x’s. Three: y is 8. Four: x is 4.

It becomes a habit, grounds her especially on days where her anxiety is at an all-time high. Before debut, before a comeback, before thousands of audience come to see a live show. It helps her be mindful of where she is, so she doesn’t lose sight of herself, the kind of person she wants to be.

So.

One: x is an unknown variable.

Two: y is Ryujin kissing her back, and there should be a correlation between x and y, except Ryujin can’t really find it in herself to do the math. All she knows is that Lia tastes like strawberries on her lips, and it’s everything Ryujin wants out of a kiss. All the boys that she’s kissed won’t be able to hold even a candle.

It’s over far too soon—Lia jumps back, like she isn’t the one who kissed her in the first place, and looks up at Ryujin with the same look in her eyes when Ryujin finds her looking for snacks the first time, all those weeks ago. Caught red-handed.

“I’m—” Lia says, and she sounds breathless, her breaths quick like she’s waiting on an impending panic attack. “Ryujin. I’m so sorry.”

And she dashes away from Ryujin so fast that the whiplash has Ryujin reeling violently, unbalanced in this world where her lists refuse to compute x and y, where she can still taste Lia on her lips, forlornly staring at the empty space where Lia had been just mere moments ago. Kissing her.

“Well,” Ryujin says to the air in front her. “Well. .”