momo is good at remembering, and she likes to think she remembers anything and everything, big or small, even significant or miniscule.

she remembers the time she fell off her bike and chipped her tooth when she was four after begging and pleading with her dad for hours to take her training wheels off when she saw her sister zooming around the park.

she remembers signing a contract she barely understood the words of and meeting a girl so bright and bubbly that she was sure even the sun was jealous.

she remembers the stress of being pitted against the people she called her friends for months. remembers the pain of being knocked down week after week. remembers when she realized she wasn’t the best, but was just  good.

she remembers spending hours in the practice room after staring at the tv, seeing their faces as they rose and fell in ranks. she remembers being called back. being invited. being  wanted.

she remembers the loss of sleep, but the love of doing what she always dreamed of. she remembers the shows, the tv spots, the people who came to know and love her despite her flaws.

momo remembers the first encore and standing ovation. she remembers the first time sold out in minutes! was attached to their name, soon followed by sold out in seconds! 

she remembers the auditoriums. then she remembers the stages. the halls. the theaters. the cons. the arenas. the dome.

(she remembers the screams of her name mere hours ago; the cheers and shouts of more! more! more! still echoing in her ears. 

momo remembers sana’s choked, wet hum of admiration that she muffles embarrassingly against momo’s shoulder, awed at what they achieved, but sad that it’s over. she remembers mina’s gummy smile and fingers interlocked within her own, squeezing tight, grounding her.

momo remembers how dahyun had stumbled over her japanese, countless lessons flying out the window in an instant for a moment of pure and unrestrained joy. the audience laughs, momo remembers smiling.

she remembers jihyo, jeongyeon, and nayeon huddled together off to the side, crystal tears spiraling down their cheeks as they whisper quiet congratulations to each other from years of struggle. nayeon holds jihyo tight as she shakes, momo remembers hearing i told you it’d happen—i told you. 

momo remembers chaeyoung wiping tears from a silent tzuyu’s cheek, their two youngest saying nothing as they took it all in, hands clasped tightly. and momo remembers that they didn’t let go until they fell asleep in the car ride on the way to the hotel two hours later.

momo remembers rolling her eyes as sana presses an overzealous kiss to her cheek, that tinkling, familiar giggle following close behind as her arm wound around momo’s waist.

we made it like we promised, momoring! momo remembers smileing when sana reaches out with her free hand to tug mina closer into their embrace, closer into their mini family they’ve developed within their larger one.  we made it.)

momo remembers everything.

//

but momo also remembers chungha.

she remembers chungha’s laugh and her smile. remembers the way her nose scrunched when she tried to look intimidating, and how her eyebrows furrowed dangerously when focused on a new move.

she remembers the way chungha’s fingers fit between hers (not like sana’s, which are always flitting about whenever she manages to grab momo’s hand, tightening and squeezing because she doesn’t know exactly how she wants to show her affection with the gesture), like it was natural, not a big deal, but meaningful all the same.

she remembers how chungha called her mo, so softly, so sincerely, a stark contrast to the usual loud  momoring! she gets from sana when she’s excited or the soft  mo-chan mina throws her way when it’s late at night and she’s at her softest.

she remembers how chungha kissed her (not wet and theatrical on her cheek like nayeon, begging for reciprocation but also not even shy and reserved on her forehead like tzuyu or mina, offering a moment of muted affection whenever they deemed fit), like it was easy, like it was something she always did, no matter what.

momo also remembers leaving chungha at the river. remembers how chungha didn’t chase her, didn’t even call out for her. remembers how she never heard that familiar text tone. remembers how chungha’s managers ushered her away whenever they happened to cross paths at events.

(remembers how chungha seems to have moved on.)

momo remembers chungha too easily, too vividly.

and now, as they both stand outside of momo and sana’s hotel room and pointedly avoid eye contact, momo wishes she didn’t remember at all.

it’s awkward. it’s so, so awkward, and momo doesn’t know what to do. neither of them has said anything since chungha’s initial hello when momo opened the door. but that was five minutes ago and it’s just awkward.

“so,” chungha starts, finally, pulls the cap that’s already low over her eyes even lower. “you had a killer show.”

momo swallows harshly and wills herself to not stumble at finally hearing chungha after all this time. she nods, has to tell herself it isn’t egotistical to agree that they had a killer show. they earned it, she earned it.

momo at her lips, realizes how dry they actually are, then bites at them instead. “i know it’s late, but you know.” she clears , scratches at her chin, “congrats on the music show wins. you deserve it, that’s big.

chungha chuckles, momo locks her knees. “mo, you did a dome show! that’s big, not my wins.”

momo shakes her head quickly, desperately. wants to tell chungha that her wins are big because they’re hers. wants to tell her that a dome wouldn’t be possible without that first win. wants to tell her that she deserves it all, because momo knows what she’s been through to get there, just like chungha knows what she went through.

(her fingers curl tightly into fists, and she remembers that she still has a cut on her palm from an accidental splinter two nights ago. it helps distract from the moment.)

but she doesn’t say anything. because she remembers that its been three years since the river, and she isn’t chungha’s mo anymore.

the silence stretches between them again.

there’s a shuffle from inside a few seconds later, the sound of a shout, a hurried reprimand, and then the door is swinging open wildly, shaking from the force of how it hits the wall behind, followed by a quiet, instantly chastised sorry! 

momo blinks. chungha clears now.

“uh, sana?” momo blinks again, reaches out to touch the girl’s shoulder, “you shouldn’t be up.”

(momo remembers shot after shot, sana’s wild, crazed laugh gurgling as she swallowed back whatever a step-past-tipsy nayeon passed her way.

it’s a toast to a job well done, jihyo had commented, eyes glossy and body sagging heavily against an already sleeping jeongyeon. the contents of her cup almost sloshes out as she slips, but she giggles and rights herself straight away.

she remembers mina’s surprisingly snarky i think six shots in two minutes is more than a toast, but the laugh she let out as sana sprawled across her lap, whispering sweet nothings about her cutie mina stole all the bite from the comment.)

“you!” sana huffs, shrugging off where momo’s hand had gripped her loosely at her wrist to keep her steady as she holds onto the door jam to stay upright. she jabs her finger towards chungha, eyebrows digging down in what momo assumes must be sana’s usual i’m-mad-at-you-but-i-won’t-say-it face and momo almost finds it cute if it weren’t for the fact that she  knows what an angry sana is like. and no matter how much she wants to pretend chungha doesn’t exist, even she doesn’t deserve that version of sana.

“you really must have some of, like, the biggest—“ sana gestures aimlessly, hands flapping toward the ground before lifting up her torso, “—steel s to come here!”

chungha her head to the side, finally glances at momo for the first time in the now (still awkward) ten minutes they’ve been out here. “steel s?”

momo sighs, rubs at her temple when sana seems to puff up that much more when she realizes she successfully confused chungha. “she means, like, balls of steel or whatever.” she starts pushing at sana’s shoulders, silently demanding, begging, for sana to go back in before she humiliates herself, and momo and chungha by extension, even more.

sana side-steps her easily, surprisingly nimble for someone who falls over anything even while sober, and suddenly crowds into chungha’s space. momo expects the worst. she expects sana’s frenzied, over-protective yelling in their mother tongue. she expects doors opening and eyes peering out, watching and witnessing the downfall of whatever they are. she expecta tears (from her or chungha she isn’t sure).

momo just, honestly, expects anything other than sana seeming to suddenly deflate as she looks over chungha with glassy eyes. she expects anything other than sana suddenly becoming quiet, voice cracking just so as she asks chungha, “why did you do that to her?”

momo feels her heart seize abruptly, hand flying to her chest on instinct just to make sure that it actually didn’t stop. neither other girl reacts, just continue to stare at each other, and momo almost reaches out to tug sana back again, to hug her and comfort her because this obviously upset her, too. all because momo, sana’s self-proclaimed  soulmate of the soulmates! was hurt.

(she remembers a clearly tired sana holding her as sobs shook her body at two am the night after chungha first left.

she remembers sana being the one to get her out of her room a week later, a promise of a calm day at the park whispered between them. she remembers ice cream and a bike ride. she remembers laughing as sana stuck her chopsticks up her nose.

she remembers sana’s disappointment when she found out chungha was back.

she also remembers sana’s reluctant acceptance of momo letting her back in.

she remembers sana’s fingers combing through her hair, lips pressed tight to her cheek and a quiet i’m here for you whispered into her ear when she returned from the river.)

“why did you leave her? again?”

chungha shakes her head, eyes cutting to momo quickly before she settles on sana again. “i didn’t—she left me at the river.” she crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly defensive, “she left  me.”

sana laughs and it’s so deep, so hollow, so uncharacteristically unlike sana that momo actually feels a shudder slither along her spine.

“she may have walked away, but you let her. you didn’t fight for whatever you have. again.” sana turns to momo suddenly, eyes surprisingly sober despite the slight sway as she stands. “tell her to leave, momo. tell her you’re done and better off and that you can’t keep doing this.”

momo tightens her fists, feels that splinter scar throb. she wants to listen to sana, she does, but she can’t. because sana may be  sana, but chungha is… so much more than  just chungha.

she looks away, can’t dare see what she knows is bitter disappointment shine in sana’s eyes.

it’s quiet for a tense moment, then, “fine. i get it. it’s fine—fine.”

sana’s shouldering past her a moment later, stopping just long enough to grip loosely at momo’s fingers with her own. it’s grounding, a small light at the end of the dark tunnel that is made up of momo letting sana down. she doesn’t say anything, she squeezes once, gently, then lets go and heads inside.

the booming click of the lock in the silence of the hall sounds like a gunshot.

//

momo finally turns to chungha again after what feels like hours, though her body pleads with her to turn and go beg for sana’s forgiveness for her still being too weak to say no to chungha. but she doesn’t. she stays rooted in her spot, heart pounding erratically in her chest.

that scar still throbs from where momo tenses and untenses her hand, but she pays it no mind. she shifts from foot to foot, warily, then, “why are you here?”

chungha shrugs, lets a smile slither across before it’s gone again. “for the show.”

(momo thinks that if she strains her ears hard enough, if she picks and chooses what vowel goes where, she’ll hear the silent for you that she’s longed for since years ago.)

“i always promised i’d see you to the big time,” chungha continues, finally making eye contact. momo wishes she’d look away again, because chungha looks so earnestly sincere in her intentions that it makes momo want to turn tail and run because chungha can’t do that anymore. she can’t disappear time and time again and expect momo to just wait and jump back in when she decides it’s a good time to remember that momo exists.

(momo always remembers that chungha exists.

she remembers when she hears the excited whispers of trainees in the halls, the did you know chungha trained with some of the twice members before? imagine her and momo! hitting her ears before she forces herself to turn away.

she remembers when she stays up late, watching video after video of the latest dance to chungha’s song, learning the smallest details in hopes that whenever they manage to attend a program or event, someone asks her to show off a cover of the hottest song of the month.

she remembers when chungha’s face is stretched across a store she happens to be shopping in, those familiar eyes staring back at momo as she rushes through the building.)

“you made a lot of promises that you didn’t keep, though.” the words aren’t harsh or malicious, not even really accusatory. they’re just words, facts, a statement as ordinary as mentioning that the sky is blue. they’re what momo whole-heartedly knows. “so what’s so special about this one?”

chungha in a quick breath before her lips twist into an unsavory frown and momo can see how she has to force herself to not deflect the question. for as much as chungha is a caring and compassionate person, momo also knows that she’s just as flighty. she doesn’t enjoy confrontation, and chungha would say or do just about anything to avoid it with a smile and a laugh.

(“do you think we’ll debut together?” momo asks, pressing her cheek closer to where it rests against chungha’s shoulder. she feels her tense, then relax, and finally shrug. 

“we just had a trainee showcase—which you killed, by the way—i don’t think they’re thinking of debuts just yet, mo.” 

momo shrugs, covers as she yawns, then flicks her eyes to where their dance teacher motions for them to begin stretching. “i think we’ll debut together. there’s no way we’d leave each other behind.” 

chungha smiles, and if momo pays a little more attention she’s sure she’d see how it’s weak at the corners. but she doesn’t, so instead she smiles back. 

“show me that new move you were practicing, mo.”) 

“i know i don’t have the best track record sometimes,” chungha starts as she twists her fingers together, “but i’m here now for this. and i know it isn’t much, but it’s something. and i’m not expecting a congratulations or thank you note for finally being here, but i  am here because i promised this specific thing.”

“you also promised you’d always answer my calls,” she raises a finger, “and that you’d never leave my side,” another, “and that you’d always love me.” a third finger goes up and momo stares at the girl before her, dares her to deflect or walk again again. “you broke all of those, multiple times.”

“you also walked away. back at the river.”

momo blinks.

“i walked away because i knew you weren’t going to walk forward.”

almost as if waiting for that cue, chungha instantly takes a step toward momo. she reaches out, desperately gripping at momo’s hand and holds it tight between her own. “i know and i have to make up for that somehow. i’m walking forward.”

momo hears the door behind her click as it’s unlocked again, cracking open just enough for her to push it the rest of the way. she isn’t surprised that sana had obviously been listening the entire time, nor is she upset. despite her disappointment, momo knew sana would still be there to help her through whatever was thrown her way. so she reaches back and fumbles for the door handle, knuckles white as she grips it tightly.

“it’s too late, you know that just as well as i do now. you can’t fight a losing battle.”

momo twists her hand out of chungha’s grip, has to quickly backstep into the entry of the door when the older girl tries to reach for her hand again in a sudden bout of desperation.

“congratulations again.” she swallows, stares at the floor as she starts to shut the door, “you deserve everything you’ve gotten.”