You’re selfish, aren’t you, Eunbi?

She knocks exactly three times, pulling back when a rustle comes from the other side of the door. Plasters a smile, waits patiently for the clicking turn of the doorknob.

Falters a little when Minjoo emerges, tired eyes brightening a little when their gazes meet.

“Unnie,” Minjoo says, opening the door wider. “Hello.”

“Hey,” she says, resisting the urge to ask are you okay. Minjoo tends to duck away from direct questions like that, smile thinning as she lies through her teeth with a yes, or I’m fine, or of course. “How is Yujin?”

Minjoo’s expression falls slightly, brows furrowed with concern. “I confiscated her phone,” she says quietly, eyes flickering as though she’s about to glance back. “She’s sleeping now, and—hopefully dreaming of nice things?” Her smile widens faintly, like the thought of Yujin dreaming of nice things makes the day a little brighter (she’s right).

Eunbi mirrors her smile, and reaches out to rest one palm over the hand holding the door. “It’s lunch hours already,” she says, “do you want to eat now?”

Minjoo shakes her head, as expected. “I’ll wait for Yujin. We will eat, don’t worry.”

“If you don’t show up in the kitchen before 3 pm, I’m legally allowed to—”

“Blow my phone up with messages demanding for us to get our asses there, yes, got it, leader-nim.”

Eunbi huffs out a short laugh, the weight in her chest lightening for a moment. She steps forward and tugs Minjoo down, loops her arms around the younger girl’s neck to hug her. There’s a surprised intake of breath, one hand hesitantly curling around her waist,

“Unnie—?”

“I’m glad you’re here, Minjoo-yah.”

The next intake of breath is slower, the girl inside her embrace tensing up for the briefest moment. But along with the faint exhale, Minjoo softens, crumbling into her almost,

“Don’t do this, Unnie.”

“No,” Eunbi whispers, bites her lower lip because her heart is heavy again, “no, you need to hear it. I’m glad you’re here for Yujin. For me. For us. I’m glad you’re here with us.”

A faint sniffle. She holds the younger girl tighter, feels her heart break at the doubts filling Minjoo up after all this time, after months and months of running and hurting and growing. She holds her tighter and feels her chest constrict at the choked ‘ah, I promised Yujin to not cry,’

“No one’s crying,” Eunbi murmurs, even as Minjoo lets out a wet laugh, “we’re breathing. That’s what we’re doing. Breathing produces H₂O too.”

“Right,” Minjoo croaks, not refuting the ridiculous statement, not pulling out, not ducking away. “Right.”

A face presses down her shoulder. A second ticks by and the fabric of her shirt dampens, but she doesn’t point it out; she just holds her, lets her cry. Lets her shake and break and she whispers to her all things she’s thankful for about her, Minjoo, you’ve done a lot of things for this group, you’re a part of this group, you’re the Minjoo of this group, you’re you, and that’s enough.

That’s enough.

 

 

*

 

 

You’re selfish, aren’t you, Eunbi?

The chair next to her scrapes the floor as it gets pulled back, and then it squeaks faintly under Hyewon’s weight. “Yena and Chaewon went to Chaeyeon’s dorm,” Hyewon says, pulling a bowl of rice Eunbi’s prepared towards herself. She looks at the other two bowls Eunbi’s filled up and the quietude around the table suddenly seems more profound.

Eunbi swallows and nods, “Okay.” Yena must’ve gone over for Yuri, and Chaewon for Hitomi. The same way Minjoo is there for Yujin, they are taking care of each other, too, the kids. She forms a smile and glances at the other, “Okay, I’ll shoot a message to remind them to eat.”

Hyewon inclines her head, taking out a pair of chopsticks from the utensil holder. She lifts the plate filled with stir-fried egg and tomato, scoops a decent amount of it over her rice. She takes the plate with sliced meat next, and puts a few on Eunbi’s untouched bowl.

“Don’t worry about the rice,” she says, in response to Eunbi’s surprised look. “I’ll eat it so it won’t go to waste. You eat too.”

“I was planning to stick to the egg and tomato—”

“Nope, too late,” Hyewon shakes her head, the corners of her lips curling up, “it’s in your bowl already, if you don’t eat it the cows will cry.”

Eunbi huffs an incredulous breath, punching the other’s shoulder lightly, but she finally picks her chopsticks up and Hyewon’s smile deepens, taking the gesture as a win.

“If I gained weight because of this—”

“It’s just one meal,”

“As I said, if I gained weight because of this,” Eunbi repeats, poking the tantalizing slices atop her rice, “I’m dragging you out for a week of morning jog.”

Instead of a vehement rejection, the corners of Hyewon’s eyes crinkle, face brightening gently as she glances at Eunbi, then tips her head to the side.

“Sure,” she replies.

 

 

*

 

 

You’re selfish, aren’t you, Eunbi?

Minjoo and Yujin come down to the kitchen when the long hand of the clock strikes four, the short hand resting slightly below two. They’re cutting it close, but Yujin is tugging at the back of Minjoo’s shirt like a puppy, letting the fabric stretch a little as she follows the latter’s steps, and Minjoo looks at Eunbi with a gaze simultaneously sheepish and screaming don’t make me cry again Unnie or I swear to God—

“We have a bowl of tteokbokki in the fridge,” Eunbi says, and Yujin perks up, releasing her hold on Minjoo’s shirt, allowing the latter to move away to get them some rice. “You can heat it up if you want.”

Yujin nods, and her movement starts and stops in a short interval, next step faltering in a jolt of seconds. She looks at Eunbi again, and no sixteen year-old should look that gaunt, with lips twisting into a smile that comes off half a grimace.

“Unnie,” Yujin starts, her usually loud voice sounding faint. “I—I won’t check the internet. I lost my phone.”

Eunbi smiles, stifles a snort at Minjoo’s adamant it’s not lost, I’m just keeping it safe for the moment, “How was your sleep?”

“Relieving,” Yujin says, words halting as she frowns and tilts her head, “I… think? I don’t remember if I dreamed of anything.”

“Good.” Yujin looks at her with a gaze that’s both hesitant and expectant, and she lifts her eyebrows, “What?”

“Um.” Yujin scratches her neck, “It’s—a little silly, but—”

“Just say it,” Minjoo chimes in somewhere near the stove, probably heating up the aforementioned tteokbokki.

Yujin winces, gaze averting anywhere but her. “Um, um I just—I want to—would Unnie mind if—”

“She wants some head pats,” Minjoo finally assists, tone halfway between fond and miffed. “She said your pats are better than mine.”

“I didn’t say that!” Yujin yells, whirling around to point a betrayed finger at Minjoo, ears reddening. “I was just saying that Eunbi-unnie’s pats are more similar to my mother's, not—”

Eunbi suppresses a smile, and approaches Yujin from behind, lifting her hand and tiptoeing carefully to reach the younger’s head.

Pat. Pat. Pat.

Yujin freezes for a second, then Minjoo jokingly coos,

“Don’t tear up!”

“I’m not!” But her voice shakes a little, hand falling to her side.

Eunbi continues patting her head, moves to her hair at some point, perhaps it’s when Yujin turns around, perhaps it’s when Yujin bends down slightly to hug her, perhaps it’s when she begins to whisper Yujinnie, our strong puppy, our pride, our second maknae, our MC, our all-rounder. Ours.

Ours.

Yujin doesn’t cry when she finally pulls away, but her eyes are shining, and Eunbi pats her cheeks, ushers her to the dining table where Minjoo's waiting with warmed up foods. She shakes her head when they invite her to join, I’ve eaten, pats their heads as she walks away to leave the kitchen, enjoy the meal, don’t burn anything.

She steps away with a burn in her heart, a burn in her eyes, she brings herself to walk towards the living room, arms wrapped around herself, Minjoo and Yujin’s low chattering chasing behind her.

Ours, ours.

Ours.

 

 

*

 

 

You’re selfish, aren’t you, Eunbi?

The couch shifts under a new weight settling down, and Hyewon sidles up next to her, eyes trained on the screen of her phone, nimble thumbs moving to press on fast-moving colourful orbs. Eunbi glances at her, pauses at the warm shoulder brushing against hers, but is forced to swallow any questions down because her own phone lights up with a video call wanting to be answered.

She swipes up and Hitomi’s face fills the screen, head tucked under Chaewon’s chin.

“Eunbi-unnie!”

Eunbi blinks, checks the caller ID, and confirms that her sight hasn’t fooled her: the call comes from Chaewon’s phone. She bites back a grin and waves, left hand pulling the phone away to adjust her appearance. “Hi, Hii-chan. Chaewon-ah. What’s up?”

“Just reporting that Chaewon-unnie has eaten lunch,” Hitomi brightly says, eyes red-rimmed but smile genuine. “I just called my parents, too, and my mother wanted me to pass on a hello to you.”

Her smile falters. A lump forms in , past promises resurfacing in her mind. Please trust us with Hitomi, oh she said with a confidence she had no business to possess, I’ll take care of her, lift the burden of her being away from home—

“Eunbi-unnie,” Chaewon calls, tone all-knowing, and Eunbi blinks away the thought even as the ache stays,

“It’s nothing,” she says, forcing out a smile, even though Chaewon knows, even though she knows Chaewon knows.

“I’m not finished,” Hitomi then continues, lips pursed in dismay. “My mother wanted to tell you, too, to take care. To remember to take a breather sometimes! Did—did I use the right word? Take a breather?”

Chaewon smiles, peering down and pinching the younger’s cheek. “Don’t worry, Einstein, you got it right.”

Eunbi heaves a deep breath, trying to embrace it, the warmth, the warmth from Hitomi’s ever-so-kind mother, the warmth from seeing Chaewon and Hitomi banter lightly like this, “Thank you.” She looks at Hitomi’s soft smile, looks at Chaewon’s clear eyes, a slight stain under her eyes—

A slight stain of tears under her eyes.

She frowns, shoulders slackening. “Kim Chaewon.”

Chaewon groans. Hitomi just says, “I told you she’d figure it out.”

“Have you been crying?” She feels her stomach sink, worried and regretful over not being there, questions already filling up her mind because Chaewon didn’t say anything this morning, didn’t seem worse, didn’t seem anything but okay when she checked up on her.

Chaewon looks at her and sighs, “Not for long, please don’t look at me like that.” Eunbi doesn’t budge, and Chaewon sighs again, moving down the side to rest her head on Hitomi’s shoulder.

“It’s because of Sohee and Suyoon. Rascals sent me some onion messages.”

“Oh,” Eunbi says, mind flashing back to the encouraging messages she has received from them too.

“Did I just hear you call Juri an onion?” Hyewon quips, closing the rhythm game app in her phone and leaning in, brows raised as she stares at the screen. Hitomi blinks,

“Oh, Hyewon-unnie is there too? Hello!”

“Hello, Hii-chan.”

“The messages were the onion,” Chaewon clarifies, looking very much like she’d rather not explain why. “Juri didn’t message me, she messaged Yuri.”

“Why would the messages be called—ah.” Hyewon nods slowly, catching on, and then switches topic without as much as a blink. “What’s for lunch over there?”

Chaewon snorts, gratitude faint in her smile. “Why, did Eunbi-unnie not feed you enough?”

“I did,” Eunbi defensively says, eyes wide.

“She did,” Hyewon confirms, “force-fed me three bowls of rice.” Eunbi elbows her in the rib, and Hyewon winces away, yelping. “I’m just joking!”

Hitomi furrows her eyebrows, “Eunbi-unnie too, you’ve eaten, right?”

“Of course,” Eunbi smiles, “don’t worry about that.”

Chaewon squints at her, but Hitomi continues, “What are you up to after this, Unnie?”

“Probably checking up on Yena, I’m worried she might have set your kitchen on fire without your knowledge—”

“You know the fire alarms would’ve alerted us for that, right,” Chaewon points out.

“—and then checking up on Wonyoung and Nako, since they must be together.”

Hitomi hums. “No, actually, Wonyoungie is with Saku-chan.”

“Yeah,” Chaewon nods, “Nako is in the kitchen, stress-peeling apples with Chaeyeon-unnie.”

“Apples!” Hyewon moves forward, almost pressing her face onto Eunbi’s phone, “Bring back some, Chaewon!”

Eunbi pulls her back with barely a grunt, still stunned over the unexpected pairings blindsiding her prediction. “Stress-peeling apples?”

“While jamming to TWICE and Chungha-sunbaenim’s songs,” Hitomi informs her.

“Ah.” She… can see them doing that, actually. That seems very on-brand for them, especially if Chaeyeon’s adding little dances here and there, with Nako belting out at random moments and using the handle of the knife as an impromptu microphone. She softens at the thought of Wonyoung huddling at the corner of Sakura’s bunk, the both of them talking in low voices, about the air up there, and the air down there, and every little suffocating breath threatening to choke them up in-between.

When she comes back to the on-going conversation, Hyewon is chanting, “Apples, apples, apples,” right hand moving as though she’s waving a lightstick.

“Unnie, I can’t just go steal peeled and sliced apples,”

“You can, you’re just a coward—”

Hitomi grins, “What Chaewon-unnie meant to say is, she promised to sleep over and accompany me tonight.”

“Oooooohhhh,” Hyewon annoyingly drawls, eyebrows wiggling, and Chaewon grimaces even as Hitomi laughs.

“I’m ending this call, oh my God, you’re terrible—”

“Oooohhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Eunbi-unnie don’t skip dinner!”

Eunbi blinks, “That’s my l—” and the call flatlines, screen fading into her phone’s wallpaper. She huffs out a brief chuckle, glancing at Hyewon.

“You scared them away.”

“Me?” Hyewon repeats, pointing to herself and blinking in mock-disbelief. “That’s not true, Chaewon’s just a coward.”

Eunbi hums, already pulling up the chat history between her and Yena, typing away a message. Hyewon leans away, her weight no longer pressing urgently, warmly, on Eunbi’s side, but her presence lingers next to her, stays, like a steady crinkle of a fireplace.

“Eunbi,” says Hyewon somewhere between Yena’s second reply and Eunbi’s third message.

“Hm?” she doesn’t look, eyes carefully taking in the typed words on screen, ah, she’s just finished reading out Sian and Gyuri’s messages to Yuri out loud, smiles at the attached selfie of Yena flashing a peace sign with Yuri bundled up in the background, wrapped in a blanket burrito, nose runny but eyes bright.

Silence falls, for a moment, and just as Eunbi begins to contemplate glancing over, Hyewon huffs faintly and says,

“Nothing.” Lightly, almost too light. “I lost a game and was going to blame it on you.”

She accepts the explanation, accepts the words spoken with a lightness too sunny, because everything else is heavy, her heart, her members’ heart, her members’ pain, her members’ smiles, her members’ tears—she thinks she might fall and sink into the ground if another thing came weighing her down, down, down—

(and she would have let it happen.)

So she says, “Okay,” feels like she can’t breathe for a moment, until Hyewon scoots closer just a little, enough for their shoulders to touch again, the chiming sounds of whatever game Hyewon is playing faintly reaching her ears. Why, she thinks, partly to Hyewon, partly to herself, why does warmth change along with her proximity, closer when she’s close and dimmer when she’s away—

“So that I’d have someone to blame if I lost this round,” Hyewon explains without looking, and Eunbi almost asks what question is that answer for, only to realize a beat later that she has stopped typing, thumbs hovering over the displayed keyboard, Yena’s latest message still isn’t replied to. Perhaps Hyewon thinks it’s because of her, Eunbi’s stillness, and she must be thinking about moving away any second, now, because of Eunbi’s lack of answer.

She forces her shoulders to relax, finds—that it’s not as hard as she thinks, and she fills up her lungs with a deep breath, plasters a smile on her face even though no one’s looking, not even Hyewon.

“Sure,” she whispers, before Hyewon has the chance to take this warmth away from her. Thank you, left unsaid, but Hyewon still lingers, stays, pressed up against her with body heat quietly seeping through, in, mixing, entwining with hers,

a steady crinkle of a fireplace.

 

 

*

 

 

You’re selfish, aren’t you, Eunbi?

She’s seated in the chair as Minjoo and Yujin go around the table to set down the plates, filled with some vegetables and tofu and fried sausage sliced up into long strips. Hyewon’s leaning over the space next to the sink, dipping rice paper in warm water for the spring rolls they’ll be having for dinner. Chaewon, as expected, isn’t returning, and the last selfie Yena sent is of herself rolled completely in Yuri’s blanket, captioned, I’d imagine walking back to the dorm like this will be hard.

(She spammed Yena with deadpan emotes, ended the flood of messages with a permission to stay over, asked if no one from the other dorm’s thinking of visiting, because surely it got too packed over there. Yena said no, Chaeyeon sent her a message saying it’s ok they’re good kids, Chaewon sent her a voice note seriously saying Unnie, don’t be a bursting sprite bottle, pour over.

She left the last one on read.)

“Since Yena and Chaewon are gone for the night,” Hyewon says, bringing over the rice papers and claiming the seat next to Eunbi, “why don’t you two sleep with us in the big room?” She nods at the pair, the occupants of the room for two.

Minjoo glances at Yujin, who shrugs, a smile on her lips.

“I might chatter a lot,” Minjoo says, as though it’s news, as though they haven’t known already that once she’s found a topic she’s excited about she could blabber on hours end. Yujin’s smile turns into a dimpled one, eyes smiling along slightly with amusement.

“Then we’ll talk,” Hyewon waves away, picking up a sheet of rice paper and lightly putting it on Eunbi’s plate. “Exchange horror stories, if you want. We can do that.”

Minjoo pales a little at the suggestion, “Um, maybe not horror—”

Yujin snorts, clinking her chopsticks and starting to put several pieces of sausage onto her rice paper. “The ghost month is over,” she says, chopsticks faltering when Eunbi pushes the plate of vegetables towards her, “they won’t spawn summoned by the stories now.”

“That’s what they always say at the start of every horror movie!”

“Which one?”

“Well—!” Minjoo blows an irritated breath because of course she has lied, there’s no horror movie starting with that line, then slaps Yujin’s chopsticks away with hers to regain her dignity a little, “Don’t talk back to your unnie, Yujinnie. It’s not polite.”

Yujin blows her a raspberry, bursting into a delighted chuckle when Minjoo plays along and fakes offense at her, little pinches delivered to her sides to which she’s making all sorts of dodging attempt with a varying degree of success.

Eunbi glances to her side, finds Hyewon already looking at her. A slight tilt of head, a small smile and a little nod to the bickering pair across them, as though to say, look, they’re healing.

She thinks of the internet searches filling up her browser history (how to glue back scattered pieces, how to fix what’s broken, how to be strong for them—), thinks of the stewing fear digging deeply into her chest as she watched her members, her kids, fall apart and smile a fake (you’d know, you’re doing it along with them), thinks of the way her heart squeezes and squeezes with every inch of pain she tries to take from them and imprint to herself, please, share with me your ache and don’t bear it alone—

“Eunbi,” Hyewon says and she inhales, emerging from under the heavy clouds, almost gasping for air. She blinks and she's back sitting around their dining table. She blinks and the bickering has ceased, Minjoo watching her and Yujin quietly trying to roll up a mountain of ingredients.

She blinks and there’s a spring roll pinched between a pair of chopsticks, Hyewon holding it up patiently before her lips.

“Um,” she says.

Yujin’s gaze flicks up towards her, Minjoo taking the chance to reduce the mountain into a roll-able amount. “Eat it, Unnie! Hyewon-unnie didn’t put anything weird in it.”

Hyewon twitches, but doesn’t comment otherwise. Eunbi swallows, looking down at the neat spring roll, and finally, after a pause too long, opens to chomp down on it.

Yujin cheers, and Minjoo smiles. Hyewon still doesn’t say anything, but something in her gaze softens, something Eunbi can’t afford to stare for long because Yujin is demanding Hyewon to make a roll for her, too, and Hyewon laughs, playfully refuses, but hunches back to her own plate anyway, chopsticks already moving to assemble another roll upon a new sheet of rice paper.

Eunbi picks up her own chopsticks, looks at the colourful vegetables and long strips of sausage. Chews on it slowly, the precious spring roll Hyewon has made without a word, and she begins to make her own, too, starting with the carrot. When she glances over at Minjoo’s in-progress roll, she notices the twelve pieces of various ingredients in it, and wonders, if like herself, Minjoo is assigning each member to a piece, rolling them up into one, into IZ*ONE, because aren’t they twelve, aren’t IZ*ONE twelve, aren’t IZ*ONE them, the twelve girls, in this line-up, side-by-side and rolled into one from the first bite until the last—

She swallows down, and rolls up the twelve pieces easily, does it slowly as though it will tear if she’s just a little bit harsher.

“Weird,” Yujin says, mouth half-full with Hyewon’s roll, “I keep mentally listing everyone as spring rolls filling.”

“Well then,” Minjoo says, light and amused, “stop thinking of us as sausage strips and more of vegetables. Nako is a carrot—”

Yujin lets out a theatrical gasp.

“—she would totally rock a carrot-coloured hair, stop gasping, this is why your sight —oh my God, I said more vegetables—enough, Yujinnie. Your chopsticks. Hand them over.”

Eunbi finishes rolling with a careful exhale of her breath, and brings it up over to Hyewon, who blinks at the offering.

“Nako isn’t a carrot here, so,” Eunbi shrugs, lips twitching up into a smile. She tries to not mind the heat slowly creeping up her neck, “Yena is tofu, though, hope that's a choice you can agree with.”

Hyewon snorts, leaning in to bite on the spring roll. It almost immediately unrolls as the chopsticks loosen, but Hyewon is a pro at eating, her own chopsticks quickly rushing into aid, eyes crinkling with silent laughter when Eunbi nearly panics and shoves her hand under Hyewon’s chin, ready to catch any remains.

“Bhramadsthic,” Hyewon says through her chews, and Eunbi decides that Yujin’s bad habit at eating can be blamed on her.

“Nako is one single beansprout,” Yujin seriously says.

Minjoo observes the singled out beansprout dubiously, “Because she’s cheery?”

“Because she’s short.”

A sigh, “She will kill you.”

Eunbi returns to her own plate, and starts to reach for the ingredients again, listing her members one by one, because it isn’t weird, apparently. Or, well, if it’s weird then the four of them are weird, and that’s a weirdness she can get behind, she thinks. She’d always choose to be weird with them than be normal without.

(Would always choose to be with them than be without.)

She adds the ingredients by pairs, Chaewon and Hitomi, Yena and Yuri, Chaeyeon and Nako, Yujin and Minjoo, Wonyoung and Sakura. Herself, a slice of cold cucumber. Hyewon, a slight tilt of head, a small smile and a little nod, as though saying,

look, they’re healing.

They’re healing.

Aren’t they healing?

 

 

*

 

 

You’re selfish, aren’t you, Eunbi?

Instead of the promised chattering, Yujin and Minjoo fall asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow.

“Cute,” Hyewon says, taking her phone out and snapping a picture, because they have decided to invade Yena’s bunk together instead of splitting into two and making use of Chaewon’s empty one right above it.

Eunbi has just finished sending a message (or eight, really), frowns at the quick reply from Chaewon (night, sprite bottle-unnie) and smiles over Nako’s answering picture (she’s smiling in the picture, and Nako’s smile is nothing but contagious). She pockets her phone and walks over to where Hyewon is standing, tiptoes a little to glimpse the screen.

“I want that,” she says, “send it to me.”

Hyewon glances down at her, shakes her head. “No.”

Eunbi blinks, “No?”

Hyewon pulls her phone down, pockets it securely at the side furthest from Eunbi’s reach. “Unless you’d humour me and accompany me take a walk to the living room.” Her voice is quiet, a small smile on her lips.

Eunbi furrows her brows, tries to grasp at memories. Has she talked to Hyewon, has she checked on her? She’s by Hyewon’s side a lot, today, isn’t she—oh but, her mind chimes in, surprised and chastising, she’s the one coming to you, not the other way around.

Two fingers press down the creases between her eyebrows. “Stop thinking too much,” Hyewon scolds, “it’s just a walk, I’m not about to—” she falters, fingers falling away. Eunbi wonders if she was going to blurt I’m not about to say I’ve forgotten our dance routines, or I’m not about to say I’ve leaked our title track’s lyrics to WIZ*ONEs.

Hyewon closes her eyes, and opens them with a quiet huff,

“I’m not about to suddenly kidnap you or something.”

She plasters a smile, feels it bland on her lips. She hasn’t checked up on Hyewon, has she, has unconsciously skipped her over because she’s been such a steady fireplace, quiet and calm and warm next to her.

(Some leader she is.)

But Hyewon accepts that—accepts her flat smile, accepts it with a silent curl of her fingers around Eunbi’s palm, accepts it with a tug, they’re heading for the door. She doesn’t release her hold even after they step out of the room, strides smaller than Eunbi’s, setting a slow pace to their walk.

The dorm is dimly lit, their silhouettes faint on the floor, and Eunbi lets her gaze follow it, their shadows, ahead of them slightly upon the tiles beneath their feet. If they could speak, would they be able to answer her if she asked what’s ahead, what’s in the near future? She wishes she could know, sometimes, if only so she could have a small exhale of relief when it’s better, or prepare herself to be stronger when it’s harder.

“Eunbi,” says Hyewon, quiet and slow, in tune with their footsteps, the short trip to the living room stretched out into a silent forever. Eunbi tries to discern feelings, tries to feel it through Hyewon’s warm fingers around her hand, but reading Hyewon is always harder than reading the stars.

So she says, “Yes?”

They’ve arrived in the living room, and Hyewon lead them towards the couch, pulls her to sit on the same seat they occupied when Hitomi and Chaewon video-called her. The warm fingers leave, away from Eunbi’s hand and tucked into the pose of arms crossing in front of Hyewon’s chest. Eunbi sits there, just looking at Hyewon, waiting for the other to start a talk, start a rant, start a—whatever.

But Hyewon doesn’t start.

She just gazes off into a distance, back leaning against the cushion, breaths even, chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pace. For a hot minute, Eunbi fears that Hyewon has managed to learn the art of sleeping with eyes wide open from Sakura.

But then, as though sensing her rising panic, Hyewon says,

“So let’s play a game.”

Eunbi blinks, mouth opening slowly only to have it closing back up. And then, after a few seconds, she repeats, “A game?”

Hyewon nods, looking over at her, arms still crossed in front of her chest. “There’s a question I’ve been waiting for you to ask me with,” she says, the glint in her eyes aglow under the dim lighting of the room. “Let’s see if you can guess it.”

Eunbi her lips, feels a sinking of her stomach because is she disappointed? Maybe she’s disappointed of me, for failing to ask about her all day.

“Are you okay?” she manages to ask, falters when Hyewon shakes her head.

“Wrong question.”

“Um… is there anything you want to tell me?”

Hyewon purses her lips and makes a contemplating sound at the back of , “That would be the second question I’d want you to ask, but not the first.”

“Are you healthy?”

“Wrong question.”

“Are you mad at me?”

Hyewon pauses at that, arms unravelling, palms falling onto her thighs. The question, it seems, has caught her off-guard, because the poker face she never fails to have on during games cracks away, replaced with an incredulous lift of her eyebrows,

“What?”

“Oh,” Eunbi breathes out, feeling the ground tilt under her with sharp relief, “um, so that’s a wrong question?”

“Of course, why would I be mad at you?”

Why wouldn’t you, she thinks, why wouldn’t everyone? She shoves the thought away and smiles, rolls her shoulders in a simple shrug. “I’m running out of questions.”

“Try harder.”

“Hyewon—”

Hyewon shakes her head, hands twitching as though she wants to cross her arms again. Eunbi wonders if the taller girl is actually in a desperate need of sleep, and her actions right now are just a side-effect of not getting said sleep, coupled with immense stress and the half of the world wanting to beat insecurities into her (and them).

Hyewon takes a deep breath, running one hand through her hair. “Never mind,” she faintly says, looking away. “I don't want to hear the question anymore.”

Eunbi pauses, at loss. “I’m... sorry?”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just,” Hyewon sighs, shoulders slumping slightly, and Eunbi bites her lower lip at the realization that this is the first time she's seen Hyewon like this today, with anything other than a small smile or a quiet warmth.

“You aren’t okay,” Eunbi says. Pointlessly, perhaps.

Pointlessly, for sure, because Hyewon then furrows her brows, says, “Of course I’m not okay,” sighs, “you’re not okay. No one’s okay.” Eunbi’s breath stills in her lungs when the other finally looks at her, eyebrows knitted together, “But they’re working on that. They are.”

They. They. They. “What about you?” Eunbi asks.

“What about you?” Hyewon counters.

Her entire being heaves, nails digging deep into her thighs. “I’m—” not fine, but that’s because she doesn’t have the right to be, not until everyone gets there, not until everyone gets to be fine first, then maybe, then perhaps—

Hyewon angles away from her gaze, folds into herself. “I don’t want you to think of us as a world you have to bear on your shoulders.”

Her voice is gentle, but there is a flicker of pain in her eyes. Eunbi wants to reach out, to grasp it, to take it for herself so Hyewon’s gentleness can stay untainted, but Hyewon doesn’t allow her, perhaps doesn’t even want her to, because she shakes her head even before Eunbi can say no, no I don’t think that.

So she tries to find some words Hyewon wouldn’t outright reject, tries to find an answer that would at least be a little right, but she’s failing, failing with coldness creeping up her fingertips and failing when Hyewon’s gaze settles on her, because isn’t that pain in her eyes, perhaps disappointed, sad, repulsed. Repulsed at what she sees, repulsed at who Eunbi really is now that she has found out.

You’re selfish, aren’t you, Kwon Eunbi?

Her mind says, repeats, over and over and over, because she is selfish, it’s her truth, her selfishness, she selfishly collects promises and guards them with her all because isn’t that how one finds their meaning, by being useful, by finding a position, by filling a role, she selfishly holds her members’ hands because who’s Eunbi without them anymore, when she breathes and moves and lives with them in every inch of her waking moment, she selfishly looks at the headlines about rigging and real lineups and thinks no, no, even as her heart breaks reading the names of the other trainees, even as the damning comments blindly chant for justice because what justice, she wants to scream, wants to barge into the rooms full of executives to challenge them one by one, wants to fly the entire group somewhere the hateful spikes can’t reach them, wants to cry and break down because no, she’s awful, she’s horrible, she’s selfish, all these lies and all she wants is for them to stay as they are, as twelve, hands entwined and hearts intact, thudding within their chests, heartbeat anxious over concerts instead of which news will attack them when the new sun rises but isn’t that selfish, all these thoughts, isn't she selfish?

moves, heart shattering in the form of tears running down her cheeks. She doesn’t know when she started to speak, only aware of the words wrenched out of her lips when Hyewon pulls her into a hug. She pours and sobs and clutches at Hyewon, cries and talks and cries again, even more, for the dreams of those left behind, for the dreams the world’s currently trying to crush beneath its weight, for the encouraging hashtags their fans have tirelessly trended day by day, for the ghosts haunting each of them and then for herself, for her helplessness, for her shaking hands trying to keep them together but failing and failing because the punishing gravel pounds endlessly upon them until they’re grains of sand slipping past her fingers.

Hyewon holds her, rubs a comforting circle over her back. She’s still wrong, Eunbi doesn’t think of them as a world she has to bear on her shoulders, but does it matter anymore, does it matter anymore because she can’t hold them on her shoulders, can’t hoist them on her back, because they’re tiny little worlds with legs and arms, they’re tiny little worlds insisting to walk on their own feet, walking next to her and grabbing ahold of her hand, trembling and crying when one (or all) of them falls but doesn’t wait, they don’t wait for a cue, they don’t wait for the world to be kinder before they learn to get up, to heal, to smile at her again and grasp at the end of her shirt, ready to resume walking, ready to follow her where she’s heading off.

Look, they’re healing, Hyewon’s gaze meant to say.

So heal along, left unsaid, heal along, left unspoken until Hyewon took her to a walk towards their living room, talked in circles, told her a faint, broken wish and broke the dam within her until she has nothing left to cry over.

It feels like a small lifetime, her burying herself into Hyewon’s embrace and letting herself break, letting herself burst. It drains her, cheeks puffy and eyes no doubt red, but when she slightly pulls away, the room within her chest isn’t empty in the way it’s cold and lonely—it feels more like freeing, that’s the word she would use, she feels a little lighter even though her movement is sluggish, voice hoarse when she attempts to cough away from Hyewon’s hug.

Hyewon loosens her hold, but doesn’t release her completely. When she glances up, she glimpses a streak of tears on the other’s face, too, but heal along, that’s what Hyewon’s gestures meant, what her silence translated to, what her hug tried to convey, so perhaps it’s fine, she thinks, Hyewon is healing too, isn’t she?

Hyewon looks at her, smiles faintly. Her clothes are a mess from Eunbi’s emotional outburst and she’s sniffing slightly, wiping at her cheeks, but Eunbi thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

“Why do you,” she rasps, “why do you always stick close to me today?”

She has a hunch, now, after everything. Hyewon reminds her of herself, reminds her of the way past-Eunbi would stick by Chaewon or Suyoon or Sohee’s side during their training period in Woollim, whenever they felt down or smiled a little dimmer.

Hyewon clears , smile growing sheepish. “That’s the question I had hoped you’d ask me.”

She stares, unblinking. “And the answer would be…?”

Hyewon pulls back, hands wordlessly clasping in her lap. Her gaze averts away, voice almost inaudible even amidst silence,

“I was waiting. For you, to finally lean on me.”

And warmth rushes in, rushes into the room inside her chest that she’s recently emptied out, filling it to the brim with—something, warmth, care, affection—only to have it expand, her heart, it’s expanding more and drinking in the warmth, not knowing what full means. She lets herself crack and lets Hyewon cradle her, trusts her to catch her, and it's scary, but it's also not, and perhaps that's what mending is supposed to feel, isn't it, your wound stings as you apply the medicine for the first time, but that's how you begin to heal, how your torn skin learns to close up. It doesn’t make everything okay, doesn’t magic away the news, doesn’t make the ache within her immediately disappear—but it helps. It hurts to cry and break but after it is recovery, after it is a lighter heart. It makes it bearable, thinking of the tomorrows, it makes breathing a little less suffocating, her joints a little less tense.

Her hands a little less shaking, as she touches Hyewon’s clasped ones.

“For saying that,” she says, “you’re obligated to hug me to sleep tonight.”

Hyewon faces her slowly, catching her gaze, her steady fireplace. Eunbi sinks, and sinks, and sinks, Hyewon pulls up a smile, says, “Sure,” and Eunbi allows herself to hold onto that, sink onto that, selfishly curling her hands around Hyewon’s, selfishly taking the comfort offered, selfishly letting her to cradle her palms, selfishly staying in her spot when Hyewon leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Let’s head to bed,” the soft whisper, the gentle tug, the slight tilt of head, the small smile that glows even softer under the dim light as she nods,

we're healing.

They’re healing. Despite everything, because of everything, for everything, they’re healing,

all of them, together, as twelve, none of them left behind,

just like how it’s meant to be.

 

 

 

:]