A manager tells them that Starship’s collaboration with Yuehua has ended and Xuanyi, Cheng Xiao and Meiqi won’t be returning to the group. That’s how he puts it: their collaboration has ended, like that’s all it ever was, a business deal, an experiment maybe, one that’s time to put to bed.

“This – this can’t be happening,” Yeonjung says.

There’s a chorus of agreement around her.

“It’s not fair!”

“How can they do that?”

“Unnie, there has to be something we can do, right?” Luda asks Sojung desperately. “They can’t do this!”

Sojung looks pale, weary. “I don’t know if there is. I doubt our opinion matters to them.” She takes a breath. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll do all I can.”

Jiyeon is almost certain it won’t be enough, but she doesn’t put the thought into words. If there’s the barest hint of hope, then they’ll cling to it. There’s nothing else they can do.

The three Chinese members shuffle into the room. Cheng Xiao’s eyes are rimmed with red. Meiqi’s cheeks are blotchy. Xuanyi is the only one who doesn’t look like she’s been crying, but there’s something blazing in her eyes. Anger, maybe, or sorrow, or some combination of the two.

Hyunjung addresses Xuanyi, the two oldest members of the group exchanging a look. “Is there—” she starts, and her voice cracks before she can finish the question.

Xuanyi shakes her head, her expression wooden. A silence falls over them, thick and suffocating like the heaviest blanket of smog. Jiyeon wants to draw in a breath but feels like her lungs are filled with tar.

“They weren’t even open to discussion,” Cheng Xiao says. “They said the…the collaboration is not as profitable as they thought and they want to regain their losses while they still can.”

But how will they compensate for WJSN’s losses, Jiyeon thinks numbly. How are you supposed to have a constellation without three of its stars? They would forever be an incomplete cosmos.

“They wouldn’t listen to anything we had to say,” Meiqi says. “In fact, they sounded like they’re doing us a favour. Said we can come home now.”

Nobody asks them if that’s how they feel. Maybe they’re a little afraid to hear the answer.

Xuanyi still has not said a word. Jiyeon stares at her, willing her to say something, anything. Xuanyi avoids her eyes.

Jinsook starts to cry. Cheng Xiao walks over to hug her, while her own eyes well up, and Juyeon puts her arms around both of them. Dawon reaches for Meiqi, and then there’s a chain reaction of hugs, everyone trying to hug the Chinese members, to hold onto them while they still can.

Jiyeon stays out of the circle. She feels fixed in place, empty, like her insides have melted away and she’s just a walking skeleton.

“Jiyeon,” someone is murmuring. Xuanyi, her j blurring into a zh in the way she’s never been able to get rid of. She’s still hugging Sojung, but holds one arm open to make some room for Jiyeon.

Jiyeon shakes her head. It’s not that she doesn’t want to hug Xuanyi – of course she does, she wants to so badly she aches with it – but she’s afraid that once she holds onto her, she’ll never let her go.

Sojung releases Xuanyi and pushes her forward a little, towards Jiyeon. Xuanyi stumbles and Jiyeon reaches for her on instinct, catches her. She stops fighting and lets her body do what it’s been wanting to: she puts her arms around Xuanyi and holds her tight. She has to be almost crushing her, but Xuanyi is squeezing her just as tightly, like their bodies are trying to meld into one.

Xuanyi has her face buried against the crook of Jiyeon’s neck, and Jiyeon has her hands clasped around the small of her back, like they’re slow dancing to a song only they can hear. Xuanyi fits so well in her arms, feels so right, like she was made to be there. It’s not fair that Jiyeon has to let her go.

“Hey,” Xuanyi whispers. “Don’t cry.”

Jiyeon only realizes then that her eyes are wet, moisture b out of them to spill over her cheeks. Xuanyi raises a hand and wipes her tears away slowly, tenderly, fingertips brushing down her face like meteor trails. Jiyeon feels like she’ll feel their imprint forever, like they leave behind craters that’ll never heal.

It takes Jiyeon a moment to remember that they’re not actually alone. Cheng Xiao has her arms wrapped around Dayoung now, and Meiqi is saying something to Soobin. Nobody is looking at them except for Sojung, who’s frowning, but not in a disapproving way. More like—thoughtful, concerned. Jiyeon takes a step away from Xuanyi, feeling like she’s been caught doing something wrong.

Xuanyi goes to Cheng Xiao and Meiqi and pulls them into a hug, an arm around each of them. Their foreheads press together, like they’re sharing a prayer, and Jiyeon suddenly feels like she’s an outsider intruding on a scene she isn’t meant to witness. The feeling is accompanied by a burst of panic: is that how it’s going to feel from now on? Is this going to break them?

“It’ll be okay,” Xuanyi says, releasing the two younger girls and addressing them all. “We’ll still be a group even if it’s not official.”

Cheng Xiao nods profusely, and Meiqi wipes her eyes while following suit. They all make gestures or statements of assent. Jiyeon closes her eyes and tries to will their hopes into reality.

Sometime later, Jiyeon finds herself in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed and aimlessly kicking her legs like she’s treading water, trying to stay afloat.

Sojung follows her into the room. “Are you going to tell her?” she asks without preamble.

“Tell her what?”

Sojung gives her a look. “Jiyeon,” she says, using her leader voice.

“What would be the point now,” Jiyeon says blankly. “She’s leaving.”

“I mean, it’s China, not the other side of the world.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything anyway.” Jiyeon looks at the floor. “It’s too risky, in our line of work. Plus, it’s hard enough to stay together when you’re in the same country, not to mention when you aren’t.” She stops swinging her legs. “I don’t even know if she feels the same way.”

“It feels like you’re trying to talk yourself into thinking that maybe it’s better if she doesn’t.”

“It probably is,” Jiyeon says, “but it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Jiyeon…”

“I can’t imagine it, with only ten of us.” She isn’t saying it just to change the subject; she really is struggling with the thought. “It’s nothing like when Yeonjung joined us.”

“It’s the difference between gaining and losing something, right? Or someone in this case. Someones.”

“It’s not fair,” she says, petulant, almost child-like.

“It’s not.”

“I wish…” Jiyeon sighs, letting her sentence drift away, incomplete, the way they would be from now on.

Sojung puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “I do too.”

Jiyeon helps Xuanyi pack. She doesn’t know why she’s subjecting herself to this, really, but given how she helped Cheng Xiao and Meiqi it doesn’t feel right not to help Xuanyi too. Also, Xuanyi really needs the help, she’s barely gotten any of it done.

“What have you been doing,” Jiyeon says. “You started packing yesterday and you barely have anything to show for it.”

“I guess I’m just…not very efficient.”

Considering she’s seen Xuanyi power pack like a mom high on caffeine, she highly doubts that but she doesn’t call her out on it. Maybe Xuanyi is trying to delay the move, like if she doesn’t finish packing she won’t have to go. If that were the case, Jiyeon would take all her things away and lock them up so she can’t get them.

“Move over,” Jiyeon says. “I’m taking charge.”

Xuanyi smiles and sprawls on the bed. “Go ahead.”

“By that I didn’t mean lie down and do nothing.” Jiyeon nudges her in the side, and Xuanyi whines but doesn’t move.

“Come here for a second,” Xuanyi says, patting the space beside her. Jiyeon hesitates for a moment before lying next to her, careful to leave a few inches of space between them. “I always wanted to put glow in the dark stickers on my ceiling,” Xuanyi suddenly says.

“Really?”

“Yeah, of stars. The moon.”

Jiyeon tries to picture it, raising your head and looking at the mimicry of a night sky on your ceiling. “Why didn’t you get them?”

“Never had my own room. Not everyone is like me and wants stickers.”

“Maybe you’ll have your own room in China and you can get them then.”

Xuanyi gives her a heavy look. “I don’t want to leave, you know.”

“I never said you did,” Jiyeon says. “I know – I mean, I assumed that you don’t.”

“No, I’m not saying that you do. I just—I don’t want to leave.” Xuanyi turns toward Jiyeon and hides her face in her neck again. “I don’t want to leave you. All of you.”

I don’t want to leave you. The words reverberate in her ears, makes blood pound in her temples, throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“I don’t want you to leave either,” Jiyeon whispers, her voice cracking, her eyes stinging. “I don’t—it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” Xuanyi whispers. “I hate it. I hate them.”

It’s the bluntest thing Jiyeon has ever heard from her. Xuanyi isn’t the type to bad mouth people, always insisting on seeing the positive. For her to say that she hates them, she must have so much negativity pent up Jiyeon is surprised she hasn’t exploded with the force of it.

“I hate them and I lo—” Xuanyi breaks off, staring at Jiyeon.

“You…?”

“I love Wuju Sonyeo,” Xuanyi says. “I wish.”

She stops there like Jiyeon had earlier. Jiyeon wishes too.

They continue packing, mostly in silence this time, working efficiently side by side like two robots. Jiyeon has gotten used to letting her body move mechanically while her mind is drifting elsewhere; she’s sure Xuanyi is the same.

“This is mine,” Jiyeon says in surprise, holding up a pale blue off the shoulder top.

“Oh,” Xuanyi says. “I think I borrowed it once and forgot to give it back. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You can keep it if you want.”

“No, it’s yours.”

“You’ve already had it for so long. Just keep it.”

“Okay, but only if you take this,” Xuanyi says, passing her a white sweater. “I know you like it.”

“I do,” Jiyeon says. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Jiyeon can’t help but feel that they sound like they’re making a transaction. One blue shirt for one white sweater. Debit is equal to credit. Business partners like Starship and Yuehua.

Our collaboration with Yuehua has ended. Ended ended ended.

“Jiyeon?”

“What?” Jiyeon feels like she’s surfacing from a daze.

“Are you okay? You just zoned out on me there.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” she lies. “What were we on?”

“Is there anything else you want? Or any of the other girls would want?” Xuanyi smooths her hand over a black crop top. “I think Juyeon liked this. It might be a bit short on her but it should be okay.”

“If you give away half your wardrobe, what will you wear?”

“It’s no big deal, I can always buy more clothes.” Xuanyi fiddles with the button of another top, a flannel one she’s worn so many times it feels as soft as a dream. “Maybe if you wear my shirt, you’ll remember me.”

Jiyeon feels like there’s something lodged in . “I could never forget you. We. None of us could. Ever.”

“I’ll never forget you either,” Xuanyi says quietly. “I’ll never forget all of this.”

I don’t want to leave you. I’ll never forget you. I lo—

“I’m going to ask Juyeon if she wants this top,” Xuanyi says, standing up and heading towards the door.

“Xuanyi.”

She turns around, only halfway, so Jiyeon sees a sharp slice of her profile. She remembers, suddenly, when they debuted and Xuanyi’s cheeks had been full, round. Jiyeon had loved squeezing them, and Xuanyi would give her a disgruntled look but never tried to stop her. Now Xuanyi’s cheeks are hollow, her jaw sharp, time having taken the softness there. Time takes so many things; Jiyeon wishes it would let them have this moment a little longer.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” Jiyeon says. It feels like a goodbye, even though Xuanyi isn’t due to leave yet.

Xuanyi nods solemnly. “I will. You too. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Jiyeon says, and Xuanyi gives her a look she can’t quite read before walking away.

Jiyeon picks up the flannel shirt, remembering all the times Xuanyi had worn it, how she would sit cross-legged on the floor while she ate her beloved seaweed, her hair a mess and her face bare. She always looked extra young then, like one of the maknae line rather than the unnie line, and Jiyeon had an urge to wrap her up, in her blanket, in her arms, in her memory.

She brings the shirt to her face; it’s as soft as she remembers and it still smells like Xuanyi. Jiyeon holds onto the garment with a white-knuckled grip and wishes she could hold on to its owner. Wishes Starship, Yuehua, time would be kinder to them. Wishes.

A/N: Gah, this made me super emo to write. I wanted to do something a bit different in terms of them retaining memories from their past lives (or rather, not), but also I don't really know what I'm doing so #yolo