it's been months since the case was closed.

her accusers were charged with fines; there were media statements to clear it all up.

but jisoo is still scared.

scared, to open up her sns to await the still-present stream of anti-comments. scared, to be around whenever her members film dance practices, variety shows or vlogs. scared, that even though she's been proven innocent, no one would see her in the same way.

and so she waits.

and waits.

she's been waiting for too damn long. she dances with them, practices with them, but she spends her days locked away in an ivory tower while the rest of lovelyz hit the stage. she watches the clock tick as she types away into her laptop, shut in her dorm. 

jisoo only goes out at night, with myungsoo's old oversized sweater and a face mask that almost covers her nose. jisoo breathes in fresh air when it's midnight, and sees sunshine through four walls and glass windows. her company's alright. really. lee jungyeop sajangnim's been more than understanding. the infinite oppas are great. awesome. it's just; she's scared, and she's scarred. scars don't heal that fast.

she should know that it's already good enough that she wasn't kicked out of lovelyz back then.

still, her chest twists painfully in her chest, a mixture of pride and sorrow, when she goes over clips of her members doing so well on music and variety shows. as seven.

jisoo makes it a point to work excessively hard. nobody in this company wants to debut (again) as much as she does. the dance studio is littered with her trinkets, and where members practice twice a week, she does it everyday. she hopes her haters would see her effort, but then again, it's not that easy to change peoples' minds - especially when the same people still harass her when she's been proven to be innocent. jisoo wanders around the company sometimes, ending up at the producing studios and watching as people put songs together. 

they work tirelessly at the desk to produce something that they'll never sing, to write lyrics they'll never articulate. but they get paid for it, at least.

two months in, and seo jisoo is restless.

in those two months, she's picked up the guitar and perfected the cahon, she's learnt all of lovelyz's dances and even choreographed. a little. she's written over 46 songs, of which 19 of them range from semi-depressing to angry suicidal thoughts. but the rest are pretty much public-friendly enough.

the thing is, these two months aren't "paid-leaves". she needs money. This a lot for her, because this means public interaction.

(she sure as hell isn’t ready for that.)

Jiyeon doesn’t mind lending her money. Jiyeon is nice, Jiyeon is great, and she’s always embraced Jisoo as an equal part of Lovelyz. Still, what Jisoo hates is being a burden. And that’s what she was when they were fresh into the debut stage. She doesn’t want to be that anymore.

Jisoo begins to steal Sunggyu-oppa’s newspapers and cut snippets from the Job Ads section. However, nothing calls out. She cuts back on money by not visiting the psychiatrist or the hospital for mental post-trauma sessions, eating cup noodles and selling her clothes on Carousell from anonymous accounts.

Still, it’s not really working out.

The stress is getting to her, and Jisoo decides that she’ll go for another midnight escapade tonight. To let off steam, and to breathe in sweet carbon dioxide from resting trees and carbon monoxide from lone cars speeding across towns. Anything is better than staying in the company, between a rock and a hard place.

Seoul at night is probably a lot more interesting than in the day. When the hustle and bustle of the day that screams for attention in from every direction is gone, displaced, shut off, there’s so much more to notice.

Neon lights hang over shophouses and buildings, and advertisements go through playback after playback on the surface of shopping centres. And then there’s always the 24-hour McDonalds, which is cool and awesome and all sorts of almighty.

It’s somewhat chilly tonight, and Jisoo tugs the sweater closer around her frame. She walks along the pavement of the Han River, glancing at abandoned basketball courts and empty park benches. It’s 2 am. Great.

When she turns at a blind corner, there’s a sudden cry of “” in English and before she knows it, she’s collided head on with a cyclist.

She falls hard. Not in love, of course. But on her elbows. The face mask that had formerly dangled from her ears is lying somewhere on the road, and her hood is off her head. Jisoo doesn’t realize this yet. Pain explodes from her left elbow as she lays squirming on the ground.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” The cyclist says, now in Korean. He’s clearly wincing, and it occurs belatedly to Jisoo that oh, I think his knee might have been injured. It’s hard to make out his facial features in the poor lighting of uh, one lamppost per 20 metres of pavement. He leans over Jisoo, his face uncomfortably close as he kneels beside her.

“I’m okay! I’m okay! Go away!”

She attempts to shift out of position and there’s an unpleasant crack of joints in her elbow. It’s loud enough for the stranger to hear, and it almost mocks her previous claim of being alright. She isn’t alright at all.

“Is it dislocated? Holy sh-”

“Let go of my arm!”

The guy panic