A/N: I wrote this with Shuhua in mind, including some of my own personal thoughts about the things I've seen and read about her. Again, this is a work of fiction and just my interpretation of Shuhua's character. By no means does this reflect who she is in real-life nor her actual personality, please separate fanfiction from reality.

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In the daytime, I get to debate myself

And quiet all the evil things I say like;

“Everybody hates you,”

“People miss the old you,”

“They hate everything that they all changed you into.”

— Snow Globe : by Waterparks

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Shuhua hates showing weakness.

She has never liked it. Always refused to let other people see her tears whenever she was sad or frustrated, or the anxiety flooding her face whenever she was scared or nervous. Feelings aren’t easy to admit or express sometimes, because it’s hard being exposed and vulnerable. The Taiwanese believes that letting her feelings show only burdens others, and one of the last things she wants is to be a burden to anyone.

That’s the main reason why Shuhua continues to suffer in silence.

She’s no different from the rest of (G)I-DLE, or maybe she is. Maybe it’s even worse than usual with the girls because it’s already so difficult being the weakest link among them. Of being the laser-target of all these criticisms online from netizens and even fans alike as they relentlessly grind Shuhua beneath their heels like a doormat, which only intensified after their latest comeback in January.

Reading the comments now feels like a court date, and Shuhua is left standing before the jury as they make their verdict.

What’s her significance to the group anyway? Does she even contribute to their projects?

All she ever does is go on VLives and just fool around on camera. She doesn’t help with the songwriting or production.

It’s been more than three years already, and she barely improved beyond her dancing. Even then, it’s average at best. She’s a sub vocalist, right? Don’t they have vocal coaches?

She can’t even hold a stable note to save her life. Compared to the other girls, her voice is still kinda mediocre. No wonder Shuhua gets the least parts and is always put as the backing vocals in their songs. She’s just not a decent singer.

Why did she debut in the first place, then? She clearly isn’t ready to be an idol yet.

Shuhua is just a pretty face with a personality. Other than that, she’s really not a good performer. Even the members overshadow her onstage.

But for all her preaching about self-love and keeping one’s head held high against the world trying to bring them down, there’s no changing the fact that these comments have started getting into her head.

Before, maybe, Shuhua would shrug them off because she cared more about what her loved ones thought rather than the opinions and vitriol of faceless strangers on the internet. However, it’s hard to ignore the crashing reality that these are what hundreds—or even thousands—of people thought about her universally. And it’s a baggage that’s tough to keep hauling around, a pressure she can’t keep holding up without it crushing her.

By now, the maknae is certain that showing how weak and helpless she is would do very little to save her disgraced image. She’s the youngest, sure, but Shuhua doesn’t want to burden her unnies any more than she already has. She doesn’t need to feel like more of a liability to them.

So, Shuhua refused to express her struggles and problems. She was good at holding her tears back and smiling when all she wanted to do is curl up against someone and cry. She’d done it on the nights she felt so homesick and alone, on the day she told her members about how she was feeling and gained a lot of encouragement from them, and then on the times she strayed too far into the comment threads about her and couldn’t bring herself to scroll down any further without having an anxiety attack.

(She understands the difference between constructive criticism and blind hate. She understands that she’s lacking in what her members already excel at and needs to improve on them. She understands that not everyone is going to like her and shouldn’t expect them to. But was it too much to ask for the tiniest dose of validation and acknowledgement for her efforts?)

Recently, though, her body feels like it’s been carrying a heavy backpack all day that she couldn’t take off. Like there was this egregious weight cemented deep in her chest—almost as if her heart has turned into stone—that’s dragging her down each day. Even her eyes feel like a broken faucet about to burst with tears at the slightest provocation, at the smallest criticism that doesn’t come off right to her.

Maybe that’s why Shuhua feels so empty. So drained of all the blood in her heart that used to make her feel alive instead of just the hollow shell of her former self lying still on the bed, staring into the white nothingness of her ceiling with desolate eyes that have lost its youthful vibrancy.

Shuhua can’t bring herself to do anything. Not even take a nap with the blanket wrapped around her as a substitute for the physical comfort of an embrace, because she knows too well that she won’t fall asleep. The stress feeding off on her energy is too much tension for Shuhua to truly relax, both mentally and emotionally.

She thinks about sleeping in Soojin’s room again and cuddling up to her unnie’s side like she normally does. This often worked into helping her sleep better, but Shuhua doesn’t want that kind of company right now.

She could eat some chocolate and maybe have a glass of warm milk, but she doesn’t feel like doing any of those either.

A sigh floats out into the stillness of her dark bedroom, then the door suddenly cracks open. Just enough to pour in a stream of light from the hallway across as a familiar silhouette pokes their head inside.

“Shu-Shu,” A clear, gentle voice breaks into the silence she’s drowned herself in. Like a line casted out for Shuhua to grab on and pull her from spiraling further into the depths of her own misery. “We’re ordering chicken and pasta for dinner. Do you want us to get anything else?”

Ah. It’s just Miyeon.

For someone who’s known to eat well and has a bottomless pit for a stomach, Shuhua hasn’t been eating as much these days. Not because she’s on a diet or has a specific weight goal in mind, she just simply doesn’t feel the appetite to eat more than a few bites. Even Soojin’s delectable cooking can’t spur her into eating a full meal without feeling sick to the stomach—another side effect of her debilitating mental state.

And yet, Miyeon still goes out of her way to check up on Shuhua. To ask if she needed things and see if she’s doing alright, or to relay a couple of reminders for the day (“Shu, we left you some food in the microwave. Just heat it up when you’re hungry, okay?”—“We have an interview for a magazine tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late and rest up plenty. I’ll wake you up, just in case.”), whether or not Shuhua cared enough to properly respond back outside of her habitual grunts and one-sentence replies. Every day, every night. Without fail.

All of the members have their own ways of looking after their maknae, and Miyeon always makes sure that Shuhua doesn’t feel left out.

“I’m good, unnie. Thanks.” Shuhua looks at her. “Can you not get the pasta with shrimp, though? I don’t eat shrimp.”

“Of course. I’ll just call you when the food is ready.”

“M’kay.”

The door shuts with a faint click, plunging Shuhua back into the darkness and sea of her thoughts. Alone.

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Once she’s decided to have brooded long enough, the Taiwanese pushes herself off the bed with the intent of taking a warm shower before dinner. This usually helps in clearing her mind on the days when it feels too clumped and overcrowded, so she grabs a towel and a new change of clothes before heading out.

“Where’s the pasta?” Miyeon’s voice can be heard from the main room, accompanied by the slight rustling of paper bags being rummaged through and the clanking of plastic utensils.

“Hold on, I got it.” Came Yuqi’s deeper voice, followed by the crinkling sound of another bag being passed over. “Here you go, unnie.”

“This isn’t what we ordered.” Shuhua can hear the frown in Miyeon’s tone. “There’s shrimp in this pasta. Soyeon-ah, did you double-check if the order was right before paying?”

“Yeah, unnie. It even says so on the receipt. Spaghetti carbonara.” Soyeon sounds confused. “I don’t know how they got it wrong, though. The delivery details were correct too.”

“Maybe they forgot? Or they accidentally got the pasta mixed up with someone else's?” Minnie slides into the conversation next. “As far as I know, that restaurant gets pretty busy during nighttime. So, it must’ve been overlooked.”

Miyeon sighs. “I guess Shuhua can just eat the chicken, then.”

“I don’t think so, unnie.” Soojin quietly speaks up this time. “We got garlic-parmesan, remember? Shuhua doesn’t eat that either… The pasta was supposed to be hers.”

Oh.

Shuhua feels bad.

“Hey, unnies.” Five pairs of eyes fall on her instantly when she steps into their peripherals. “What’s up?”

“Ah, Shu-Shu. You’re here.” Soyeon smiles at her dongsaeng, but there’s an underlying guilt to it that Shuhua purposely brushes aside. She feels even worse just seeing it. “The food just arrived. But, uh…”

“It’s fine, Soyeon-unnie. I heard.”

Shuhua spares her leader the trouble of explaining it, and the guilt increases. Not only on Soyeon, but on the other girls as well. She can’t stand it. Shuhua already pities herself enough with her current state of affairs as it is, and that’s one person too many.

She hates it. Hates feeling bad for herself and having other people feel bad for her too.

“Sorry, Shu. We didn’t know it would happen.” Yuqi apologizes on their behalf, and Minnie nods along with a remorseful look. Equally contrite.

“I can cook you something else, if you’re willing to wait. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” Soojin offers instead, not wanting their youngest to go to bed on an empty stomach.

“It’s okay, unnies. Seriously, I don’t mind.” Shuhua flashes them a reassuring smile. “I’m not really hungry anyway.”

She doesn’t try to acknowledge the worried looks they give her as she walks straight to the bathroom, footsteps heavy like the sinking feeling in her gut. Shuhua wanted to have a nice, warm meal with her members—maybe catch up on what’s been going on and laugh with them a little—but now she’s not in the mood anymore.

She doesn’t blame anyone but herself.

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To say Shuhua feels terrible would be a total understatement.

The more she remains confined in her room, the more Shuhua feels like she’s drowning further into the abyss. She still feels bad about not being able to have dinner with the girls, but she knows that it’s not their fault. Even so, she can’t just ignore the sensitivity in her chest.

Emotions are winding around her lungs in dark tendrils, suffocating her from the inside. And yet, Shuhua lies there on her bed in the same position as she was before—dead-eyed and staring up at the blank ceiling. She makes no effort to make the negative feelings go away, however, because they’ll always come back to rub salt into her wounds. Tonight isn’t any different.

But maybe she just needs a moment to breathe.

It’s kind of ironic, though. Shuhua feels so much, despite the emptiness inside her. The black hole is screaming, begging, for her to fill up the void it has left behind. Perhaps then, it would hurt a little less. (For something that seems so empty, it sure inflicted a lot of pain on Shuhua. But still, she does nothing to mitigate it and simply continues to dissociate from reality.)

As usual, the Taiwanese makes the foolish assumption that everything will get better once the promotions are done and people surely won’t have much to complain about her anymore.

She’s wrong, obviously. Since fate seems to be playing its cards against her while laughing at Shuhua’s misfortune. Phrasing it this way makes the situation seem less serious than it actually is, as if Shuhua is just being overly dramatic. She does it on purpose with ingrained indifference. Because then, maybe she won’t have to acknowledge the knife buried deep inside her chest as it twists closer and closer to her heart with every scathing comment towards her.

(Shuhua is fine, though. She’ll be okay.)

The maknae knows that she should just get over it and start getting herself together. She’s an adult now, for God’s sake. She can’t keep hiding away behind her fans who are blindly defending her against warranted criticism, nor can she stay dependent on her unnies to keep babying her forever. That’s both unrealistic and embarrassing for someone her age who should know better by now—who should know how to take accountability for her mistakes.

The members have actual important things to prioritize, anyway. Ones that really matter more than her personal problems, which she should be handling on her own.

Shuhua can’t expect them to feel bad for her when she isn’t doing anything to help herself.

Suddenly, the door opens again.

“Shu, we’re going to our rooms now.” Miyeon’s soft voice echoes in the dark. “The other three already went back to their dorm, but they dropped off some ramyeon for you before leaving. And Soojin made you seaweed soup just in case you get hungry later. It’s in the fridge if you want to reheat it.”

Shuhua stays quiet.

“Good night, Shu-Shu. Just call me if you need anything.”

And with that, Miyeon closes the door. Leaving Shuhua alone once more.

The group doesn’t need her. She’s a liability to them, an unnecessary burden that’s constantly dragging them down. She’s giving their name a bad rep, and no one is around to clean up her mess. Why should they?

Shuhua isn’t a kid anymore. She can’t just get away doing something without being reprimanded for it. She’s not an eight-year-old kid who has her parents cleaning up after her every time she comes into the house with mud on her shoes. No, she’s twenty-one with responsibilities and expectations on her shoulders.

She has to grow up and stop hiding behind the protection of others. She has to become better this time, for herself and for her team. But she’s taking too long.

The members don’t need her. Shuhua doesn’t deserve them. She doesn’t deserve Miyeon.

Her chest hurts even more at the thought, but she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t allow herself to cry.

(G)I-DLE would be fine without her, right? It’s not like Shuhua contributes much to the group anyway.

Soyeon produces all of their songs and decides what the concepts are. She makes up half of their charisma onstage and can freestyle a whole rap on the spot. She’s a true all-rounder and ace of the team. A jack of all trades. Not to mention, the leader works hard day and night planning out new projects and ensuring each track is as perfect as it can possibly be.

Soojin is a professional dancer who can easily captivate the audience with her facial expressions and body movements. She was really born to be a performer and it shows, like the art of dance personified. Plus, she’s the only one who can hold up to Soyeon’s fiery charisma with her own in their performances and even helped her choreograph their debut track.

Minnie and Yuqi are stable vocalists who are also capable of composing and can anchor the group’s abilities. They’re flexible performers with better grasps at their Korean proficiency and are entertaining enough on their own during variety segments. The two are stan attractors who make great content fodder, and their infectious energies are both likable and endearing enough to get people interested.

Miyeon is an excellent singer with a powerful and distinct voice that can hit those high notes without breaking, and she’s improved a lot on her dancing and stage presence over the years. Her visuals are much more desirable too. She also has an acting career and K/DA with Soyeon on the side, which is additional exposure for her and the group.

What else can Shuhua offer to the table, besides her so-called “quirky” personality? Even that gimmick is wearing off its shine, and people are starting to point out more of her flaws and imperfections.

They say she writes beautiful words on her posts, but she’s not there in the studio helping Soyeon compose lyrics for their next song. She isn’t a competent singer to be considered a lead vocalist. Her voice isn’t as strong as Miyeon’s, or as unique as Minnie’s. Shuhua isn’t even a good dancer to begin with. She doesn’t have Soojin’s fluidity and appeal, or Yuqi’s energy and flamboyant charms.

At most, she’s just a mediocre idol who didn’t train hard enough to deserve her spot in the team. The fact that her friends had to ask their superiors to include Shuhua in their line-up should’ve been the earliest sign that she didn’t belong there in the first place.

What if CUBE decides to kick her out because of her incompetence? Would it be any different?

No, maybe not. The girls would be complete without her.

Her heart feels like it’s being squeezed by a fist gripping around it, and her breathing becomes harsher.

Oh, God. She can’t breathe properly.

Shuhua wants to go home. She wants to be back at her house in Taoyuan with her mom cooking her favorite meals as comfort food, and with her dad biking alongside her as they did their afternoon rides around the neighborhood. She wants to be with her sisters as they crashed in one another’s bedrooms and fooled around while watching movies and munching on snacks. She wants to be at the park with Haku and Mata, taking pictures of the scenery there as they run around, and just sit under a tree while listening to the wind sing in her ears.

She just wants to escape somewhere without the pressure eating her up.

The universe can disregard her as much as he wants. It wouldn't make much of a difference to him if she was in South Korea or Taiwan. Shuhua doesn’t have a significant role to play.

This conclusion hits her hard, somewhere deep in her chest. Like a plant has stabbed through it and firmly grew with every negative thought as a life source. The seed of doubt has been planted unknowingly, and now it’s starting to bear thorns.

, now she really can’t breathe. It’s getting harder to in the air through her nose, and every attempt feels like she’s suffocating even more. Her forehead is covered in sweat, feels dry, and—is she shivering too? The night is chilly and the AC unit is blowing cold, ventilated air in her direction, but Shuhua knows where this is escalating to. She’s experienced it one too many times and felt like passing out in each of them.

She should’ve stopped her train of thought before it reached this point, but she did absolutely nothing. Stupid Shuhua.

Clambering off the bed as quickly as she can, the Taiwanese stumbles out of her room and down the hallway. Blood roars in her ears while her heart pounds madly against her ribcage, fighting to break free.

She dashes into the main room with hopes of finding someone to please hold her before she ing falls apart, but there’s no one around. Of course, everyone has already left for their rooms. Not a single person is within her immediate proximity to help her. No Soojin, no Miyeon. And definitely no Soyeon, Yuqi, nor Minnie.

Shuhua feels crushed with hopelessness. The seams pulling her together are thinning out at the edges, and she doesn’t think that they can hold her much longer until—

“Shu? What are you looking for?”

That voice has her twisting around so suddenly, she almost sprains her neck.

“Miyeon-unnie.” Shuhua gasped, wet with unshed tears, once the eldest came into view. Her vision goes in and out of focus a few times, but she knows that it’s Miyeon.

“Hey, are you okay?”

It takes Miyeon only four steps to reach her and gather the maknae’s trembling form into her arms. Shuhua shakes her head and buries her face in the crook of Miyeon’s neck, well-aware that she can’t talk without bursting into tears. And if Shuhua lets go of her now, she won’t be able to stop them from flowing out either.

The way Shuhua’s body quivers in her hold gets the message across to Miyeon, who simply embraces her dongsaeng tighter while shushing her gently. It broke her heart to see Shuhua in such a fragile state.

“Deep breaths for me, Shu… Nice and easy.” Miyeon her back slowly, voice soft and full of unveiled concern. “That’s it, there you go…”

Once Shuhua has calmed down enough to breathe a little easier, Miyeon carefully maneuvers her to sit down at the kitchen island and pats her head. “Stay here, okay? I’ll go and make you some tea to help you relax. I won’t take too long, I promise.”

Shuhua doesn’t even know that her chest is heaving to compensate for the lack of airflow, until Miyeon releases her to pull out her phone and open a certain app before handing it to Shuhua. She instantly recognizes the app as the same one on her own device that helps manage her anxiety. And for that, Shuhua is thankful. Especially when she realizes that Miyeon still has it installed from the first time Shuhua had a near anxiety attack like this one. Perhaps the older girl found it useful for stress relief too.

With shaky hands, Shuhua taps on her favorite game of the bunch and presses her thumbs on the glowing blue circles until the digital battery is fully charged. She does this several more times till her breathing is somewhat stabilized, then glances up to see Miyeon moving around in the kitchen. Filling up an electric kettle with purified water from their dispenser and pulling out tea bags from a wooden box in the cupboards.

“Deep breaths, Shu-Shu.” Miyeon reminds her when their gazes meet, smiling kindly as she turns to grab two mugs from the lower cabinet. Ice Bear for Shuhua, Panda for Miyeon.

Shuhua does what was advised of her and looks back at the screen, holding her thumbs up to the neon circles until the battery reaches the desired percentage. She likes this game. It gave her something to focus on, and she enjoys the tingly little vibrations that came while charging. They got rid of the numbness, that’s for sure.

“Do you want milk in your tea?” Miyeon asks from across the kitchen, tearing a couple tea packets open while the water heats up.

“Yes, please. And sugar too.” Shuhua replies upon exhaling, her eyes locked on the growing bar at the top of her screen as the battery cell between the conduits load up. Then she lets go of the circles once the bar starts blinking.

You are fully recharged. Have a nice day! The game tells her before a new round comes up, and she repeats the same process a few more times. Her chest feels like it has loosened up a bit, and her hands have stopped shaking too. That’s good.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

She keeps her focus on the game and her breathing, not trying to think of anything else. Just breathe. Like Miyeon said.

Shuhua does a few more rounds of charging while Miyeon hums softly in the background, the feeling creeping back into her hands as the stabbing ache in her head reduces to a dull throb. At least now, she’s not gasping for air anymore.

Sixty seconds pass, but there’s still some leftover agitation in her nerves that is making her restless. So, she goes for another minute until they finally calm down enough for the coiled tension to leave her shoulders. At the same time, Shuhua doesn’t think of the factors that have caused her recent episode. She wants to recover, not backslide.

“I read online that tea tastes a lot better with filtered water on the verge of boiling.” Miyeon speaks up after a while, and Shuhua can hear steaming water being poured out. A calming sound for a calming drink. “Said it prevents the tea from becoming scummy, and the flavors won’t turn out too dry or bitter.”

“Huh… I didn’t know that…” Shuhua replies a little absentmindedly, too concentrated on the game and the vibrations under her thumbs. Miyeon doesn’t mind.

“Mhm. It really makes the difference.”

A spoon of sugar and a splash of milk goes into the Ice Bear mug, followed by the gentle clanks of a spoon hitting ceramic as Miyeon stirs them in with the tea. Then she pours hot water into the Panda mug, adding milk but without any sugar.

The light pitter-patter of feet approaches the counter, and Shuhua peeks above the screen to see their mugs being placed in front of her. She looks further up and finds Miyeon smiling at her again. That sweet, loving smile reserved only for Shuhua.

Her heart flutters at the sight.

“Give it three minutes to steep. The tea should be cooled enough to drink without it burning your tongue as much.” Miyeon jokes and sits next to Shuhua, who immediately leans into her side as soon as she’s settled in. Game now forgotten as the younger closes her phone before putting it aside on the counter.

Miyeon shifts a bit until she’s facing her completely, and Shuhua is quick to rest her head against the elder’s chest once she is bundled up in her arms again. Safe and warm.

“How are you feeling, Shu-Shu?” Miyeon’s lips brush along the top of Shuhua’s head. Not quite kissing it, but enough for her to sense their fleeting touch.

“Drained as Hell, but way better than earlier.” Shuhua mumbles, nuzzling into the fabric of Miyeon’s cotton shirt and inhaling the scent of rosewood into her lungs like a sedative. “I probably would’ve passed out if you hadn’t found me then, so thanks for that…” A tentative pause. “… Why are you still awake though, unnie?”

“I was reading a book when I heard your door open. It sounded like you were struggling to walk and I got really worried, so I went out to check on you.” Miyeon hugs the maknae tighter, as if afraid that Shuhua might actually fall apart if she doesn’t hold her close. “I’m glad I did…”

The energy is almost completely sapped from her body, and now Shuhua feels like falling asleep right then and there. All wrapped up in Miyeon’s presence like a blanket enveloping her.

“Thanks, unnie. Really.” Shuhua’s voice is not much more than a murmur this time, but she means it.

Miyeon hums again in acknowledgement as her hand goes up to caress Shuhua’s head, fingers threading along her black hair and scratching lightly at her scalp. Just the way she likes it.

“Of course, Shu.”

They stay that way for a couple more minutes until Miyeon decides that the tea is ready to drink, and they reluctantly separate to reach for their mugs.

“Careful now, it’s still hot.” She advises upon grabbing her Panda mug, blowing onto the tea a few times before taking small sips and nodding in satisfaction.

Shuhua copies Miyeon and carefully takes the Ice Bear mug in her hands, savoring the contained heat between her palms as she curls her fingers around it. Then, after cradling it up to her lips and blowing air into the steamy drink, she takes short scalding sips that are a little noisier compared to Miyeon’s. The eldest giggles next to her, but makes no comment about it and continues drinking her tea while smiling into her own mug.

The tea is actually quite excellent. Miyeon didn’t add too much milk or sugar, so Shuhua can taste the rich, earthy flavors on her taste buds. And it’s not overly strong or bitter either in comparison to all the previous teas she’s had before.

“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted this before. Where’d you get it, unnie?”

“Oh! Minnie had it imported from Thailand. Told me it helps reduce stress, so I asked her if she could get some for me.” Miyeon explains before taking another sip of the relaxing tea. “The others seem to like the taste too. Even Soyeon drinks it whenever she’s working late in her office sometimes.”

“I can tell why. This is pretty good.” Shuhua does the same—albeit a long drag now that the drink is at a more manageable temperature—whilst thinking back to the food and snacks that the members have left out for her.

I should thank the unnies when I see them tomorrow.

She feels a piercing gaze from her left and turns to see Miyeon staring at her, a flicker of concern surfacing in those pretty almond eyes that reflect the deep-brown color of their tea.

Shuhua knows that the older girl has questions she wants to ask. Questions that Shuhua has been purposely deflecting and avoiding to answer at every opportunity, because speaking can get messy and the right words don’t always come so quickly. Because it meant acknowledging a bunch of things she’s not very proud of and is too ashamed to admit. She isn’t ready to face them just yet, and Miyeon is fully aware of that when she doesn’t pry again this time.

Sooner or later, Shuhua will have no choice but to talk about them. Just not tonight.

“Do you want to hear about the book I’ve been reading?” Miyeon proposes instead. To which, Shuhua nods eagerly. She could use the distraction from her circulating thoughts, which were beginning to resurface in the sustained silence.

And while she might never admit it, Miyeon’s crystalline voice always soothed her troubled mind.

Miyeon gladly goes on a tangent from there. Talking about the story’s melancholic plot of two boys with only a day left to live as they go around making the most out of their limited time together, all the while trying to dodge every swing of Death’s scythe over their heads. It already sounds tragic on that summary alone. What’s more, reading the actual book and delving further into the thought process of these two characters on the concept of death and what it means to be actually living.

The more Miyeon talks about the book, the more Shuhua becomes invested and forgets about the negativity that had invaded her headspace as it held her captive in the darkness. She forgets about her problems, her doubts, the mounting unease that had settled in her gut, and the painful grip inside of her chest when Shuhua figured out how disposable she is.

Maybe she still thinks that about herself, incompetent and replaceable, but she doesn’t dwell on it for long.

Right now, all she can think about is Miyeon and how her fingers have weaved through the Taiwanese’s hair again. Brushing it slowly while she raves on about how relatable this Mateo boy is, and then how this Rufus guy sort of reminds Miyeon of Shuhua—Likes to ride on a bike and learns how to live freely in the moment. (It has the maknae’s cheeks turning a shade pink, which she attempts to hide behind her mug.)

This isn’t a moment of vulnerability for Shuhua, because she’s known from the start that Miyeon would always be there for her.

Through thick and thin, through Hell and back, to the moon and beyond, Miyeon would always be there for her. Ready to catch her when Shuhua feels like the world is crumbling down beneath her feet. To be the compass that guides Shuhua whenever she feels lost in her own uncertainty, and the anchor that keeps her afloat from drowning in the pessimistic torrents that would wash over her mind in alarming regularity. Like tumultuous waves crashing against the shore on bad, gloomy weathers.

Come what may, Miyeon will be the lighthouse illuminating through Shuhua’s storm. A shining beacon of hope in the void of the night, just like the North Star Polaris guiding the lost wanderers back in the direction of home.

Once they’ve finished their tea almost an hour later, Miyeon leaves their mugs in the sink and all but drags Shuhua into her bedroom. She doesn’t want to leave Shuhua alone by herself, and Shuhua doesn’t want to immerse herself in the misery that has found its breeding place within the bleak walls of her own room.

Although it’s not mentioned out loud, a change of environment is definitely needed.

The fatigue in Shuhua’s body is an after-effect of her anxiety driven episode, so it was very easy for Miyeon to pull the youngest on top of her as they lay in bed with the blanket pulled over them. Their legs are tangled together underneath as Shuhua’s chin rests on the elder’s chest, eyes closed under Miyeon’s thumbs massaging her forehead and the careful fingers that rub soothing circles along her temples.

It’s not often that Shuhua allows Miyeon into her personal space. More so, granting her the freedom of physical intimacy and affectionate touches. But she’s been bringing her walls down around Miyeon lately, and it’s one of the best decisions Shuhua has ever made. (Plus, she likes surrounding herself in Miyeon’s scent. It calms her a lot and provides a sense of comfort and familiarity to her. Like a lingering presence of the older girl whenever she isn’t around in their dorm.)

“I’m glad you’re here, unnie.”

Shuhua breaks through the silence and opens her eyes to look at Miyeon in the dim lighting of the bedside lamp nearby, which casted a soft mellow glow that seems to almost dance on the highpoints of Miyeon’s cheeks before moving up to her brown eyes. Those same eyes that were always so gentle towards the maknae, looking at Shuhua with so much softness she has never encountered before.

They held her close every time, and she was content.

“Seriously, I-I mean it…” Shuhua pushes on with a surge of confidence that surprises her. “I got trapped in my head for too long, and I… I felt so alone.”

She practically whimpers out that last word, which has Miyeon’s entire expression softening even more. Her hand comes up to gingerly cradle Shuhua’s cheek, their gazes unwavering from each other as they remain like that for a while.

Miyeon looks intangible in that moment, like a Goddess reincarnated into a mortal vessel. Her eyes seem to twinkle against the orange light, as if the stars have dropped from the sky to find their new home within her irises. Beyond that, she looks absolutely divine. Almost celestial even. A sublime beauty whom Aphrodite would be jealous of, and whose heart has been solely reserved for Shuhua. Her Shuhua.

“I’ll always be here when you need me, Shu…” Miyeon whispers, delicately her dongsaeng’s cheek and wiping away the teardrop that managed to escape. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Shuhua leans further into her touch, angling her head just enough to plant a kiss on the inside of Miyeon’s palm. She smiles at the uncommon gesture and pets Shuhua’s hair again with her other hand.

It’s unlike the Taiwanese to be this indulgent and shamelessly affectionate (to Miyeon, first and foremost), but this softer side of her exists behind closed doors and in the privacy of their bedrooms. Something that makes itself known when the two are left alone from the prying eyes of the staff and the general public, and perhaps their nosy friends too.

“Thank you, unnie.” Shuhua mumbles back. Her eyelids flutter close when Miyeon cups her jaw and brings their faces close to graze her slightly-puckered lips on the spot between Shuhua’s eyebrows, then down the bridge of her squishy nose, until stopping at the very tip to leave a tiny peck there.

“Always.” For a simple word, it sure carried a lot of weight and sentiment in it. Spoken with so much intricate meaning and conviction, but most of all—love.

A pleasant kind of silence blankets them as Miyeon graces Shuhua’s face with soft kisses and wordless assurances between lips and skin. She kisses around the lines of Shuhua’s eyes, the apples of her baby cheeks, every dip and contour that made Shuhua who she is, before finally, finally, reaching the spot where they both wanted it the most.

“Miyeon-unnie…” Shuhua reflexively grips onto Miyeon’s sides, curling her fingers into the shirt’s fabric, before she gasps at the feeling of their lips being pressed together. Sweet and fond. Tender, yet passionate. And incredibly intimate in a language that only they understand.

It tastes purely of Miyeon. Only Miyeon. Just Miyeon, and Shuhua sinks further into it as their lips glide along, and caress, and savor every good thing that comes with loving each other the way they do.

Miyeon is much warmer than Shuhua expected, so she unconsciously snuggles up to her and kisses her harder. Wanting to bask more in it. Miyeon is like the sun providing heat, while Shuhua is closer to one of the ice giants in their solar system. Orbiting the bright star that is her silly yet endearing unnie at a safe distance five times over, maybe like Neptune. She likes Neptune.

“I don’t know what’s been going on in your mind these days… But just know that the girls and I adore you so much. And when you’re ready to open up to us, we’ll be right here to listen. You’re never alone, Shu-Shu. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

Miyeon murmurs against as soon as they retract to catch their breaths, eyes staring deep into Shuhua’s flustered blacks with an intensity that has her shrinking back an inch. But she nods obediently like a little puppy, and Shuhua can see the childish pride flare up behind Miyeon’s brown irises. If she wasn’t being so self-conscious right now, she would’ve rolled her eyes by force of habit.

To Shuhua’s dismay, though, Miyeon finds her shyness to be amusing. A pearly-white smile replaces her initial seriousness as crow’s feet appear on the corners of her eyes, complete with the dimples popping in her cheeks.

“Go and sleep now, Shu. I promise I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Miyeon kisses her lips again, lingering there for a moment, and then pulls away for Shuhua to lay her head back down on her chest. Right where she can distinctly hear Miyeon’s beating heart as it sings to her a special type of lullaby.

Shutting her weary eyes at last, Shuhua breathes in the older girl’s scent and sighs with utmost relief. Her shoulders turn boneless when Miyeon’s hands rest on the small of her back. Kneading her skin and the slightly tense muscles through the shirt as Shuhua groans laboriously in approval, which earns her a small chuckle from the ever-amused Miyeon.

There are still a lot of things that have to be addressed, topics that need to be covered, and feelings that must be acknowledged.

But for now, Shuhua intends on just cuddling up to Miyeon. Tired arms inch upward to hold the warm body that’s cushioning her dead weight, while Miyeon’s fingers trace along the expanse of porcelain skin on her dimly-illuminated face. Dancing across the surface before they disappear into her mussed hair as Miyeon keeps her gaze fixed on Shuhua’s sleeping expression with an adoring smile.

In the end, no other words were exchanged between them. Shuhua is no longer bothered by her depressive thoughts nor plagued by her crippling anxiety. The universe can disregard her all he wants. It doesn’t matter if she’s in South Korea or Taiwan, so long as the members are still around to support her and be the backbone she needs when the pressure becomes too much to bear on her own. It doesn’t matter if she’s in Seoul or Taoyuan, so long as home is the comfort of Miyeon’s arms holding her steady when she feels like falling apart.

Instead, Shuhua curls up against Miyeon as she snoozes away with the most peaceful look to have ever graced her youthful features. It’s surely one of the best nights she has ever had in weeks, because Miyeon is so much warmer and cozier than her own, unmade bed that’s too big and cold to sleep in alone.

So, Shuhua just orbits for a while. Spinning on her little axis as she gravitates towards Miyeon’s presence, content and happy with the situation she has found herself in.