“Hey, you okay?” 

 

The smell of baked cookies wafts through her nose, greets her the moment she steps into the kitchen, spots golden-brown circles being pulled out of the oven. 

 

Heejin dons a pink bunny apron just as well as the bright smile on her lips, hair tied up in a messy ponytail, hands swallowed in sky blue oven mitts. 

 

Despite being preoccupied with setting the cookies down on the table, Heejin still somehow manages to just know . 

 

“I’m okay,” Choerry slinks towards the refrigerator, pretends to busy herself with scouring through her section for a drink. “Those smell great by the way. They look delicious.” 

 

“Right?” Pride and triumph laces between each syllable, “I’m starting to get the hang of it. Want one?”

 

“I’m good,” 

 

A hand reaches out, the scent much closer now. “I insist,” she pauses, “besides, you look like you need one. Trust me. It’ll make you feel better.” 

 

Choerry can’t resist the rumble in her stomach and the pleading pout on Heejin’s mouth. Besides, it’s chocolate chip cookies. Who wouldn’t want one?

 

She munches slowly, the texture soft and chewy, the edges slightly crisp — a welcome contrast to the warm liquid sweetness of chocolate melting on her tongue. 

 

Choerry wouldn’t mind eating these forever. Olivia would probably be mad that she isn’t here to try it out when it’s just fresh off the oven too. 

 

Though she’s probably having more fun with Gowon anyway.

 

“You’re making that face again,” 

 

It’s fleeting, gentle and light, how Heejin taps at her hand, slides close enough to dance fingertips across her knuckles. 

 

Choerry tilts her head. “What face?” 

 

Heejin just smiles, this time smaller, quieter, but bright all the same. Like she knows something she doesn’t. 

 

“So, how is it?” Heejin says instead, redirects entirely. “Do you like it?” 

 

It’s lighthearted, how she taps Choerry’s nerves away on her hand; Choerry laughs with her. 

 

“You were right. It does make me feel better.” She dances Heejin’s fingers away, melting into a frenzy of tickles that has Heejin yelping into a guffaw of giggles and gasps. 

 

“Y-Yerim, wait, the cookies— hahaha! ” Heejin’s hands can’t seem to figure out which to prioritize first; keep the tray filled with cookies from toppling over or fending off her fingers, arms flailing to multitask— she’s never been good at it. “I-I can’t breathe! Is this how you repay me?!”

 

Choerry laughs, shows her appreciation the only way she knows how— making others happy. 

 

—

 

Hyunjin isn’t as obvious about it— her hand a calm, strong, grip. 

 

Choerry’s surprised to feel it while they’re heading to their van for another event. 

 

"We can do it," 

 

It's shy, hesitant, fleeting. Easy to miss just like how Hyunjin blends in with the silence, lets Heejin float about in waves of boisterous laughter whenever they're together, the calm to Heejin's restless energy. 

 

But also sometimes be a part of it entirely. 

 

Choerry squeezes her grip, letting go when Heejin slips by their side, knows that nothing can come between the magnetic pull between best friends— and that touch of something more. 

 

She thanks Hyunjin on the way home, clings to her in a hug that has Heejin hopping in to join because nothing beats an embrace than a group hug.

 

—

 

Haseul feels like home. 

 

Her fingers are familiar, recalls the times she's taken the bus with her all those memories ago, how she helps her keep steady whenever the floor's too wet with snow or the road gets too bumpy. 

 

"I'm here," 

 

Choerry knows Haseul's promises last as long as her love for everyone else, so she's never worried. 

 

But it's nice to be reminded when she feels at her lowest, squashed against one end on the sofa at three in the morning, accompanied with red eyes and tear tracks that have already dried.

 

It never gets easier to read judgements online. She doesn’t remember when anonymity became synonymous with cruelty. 

 

Choerry wonders how it feels like to be hiding all that ugly.

 

"I'm always here." 

 

Choerry settles into arms that never seems to get tired of staying open, snuggles up and laughs a little when Haseul fumbles for her hand, feeling her way until their fingers interlace and it's like Choerry's back on the bus again. 

 

She sleeps to memory films of when things were simpler and all she had to worry about was wondering if she'll get to catch the bus with Haseul again the next morning.

 

—

 

Yeojin oozes with energy unbound; bright, unruly, too much— and never enough.

 

“Come on, I know you’ve got power in those legs. Climb faster, chop chop!” 

 

Sometimes a monster, too. 

 

“Isn’t this—“ Choerry huffs, bends to catch her breath, give her feet a moment to rest because wow , Yeojin’s a freak with too much extra air in her lungs. “—aren’t we supposed to be on a break? Why aren’t we just, I don’t know, sitting down and eating at the picnic table like everyone else?” 

 

“All we’ve been doing is taking a break!” She can’t argue with that. “It’s time we got moving, get blood through the system, dance like we mean it and power walk like we haven’t stopped promotions months ago!”

 

Choerry blanches. “But up a hill?” 

 

“What better way to feel the burn than going against gravity?” 

 

She should’ve known she was better off sticking with Olivia and Gowon, play more PUBG and maybe get in more kills by running them over again and again, but Yeojin’s tugging her hand and Choerry can’t help but feel this is more than just getting blood pumping through their system. 

 

“You’ve been thinking too much that soon enough, you’ll fry your brain. Trust me, I know. I’ve fried it before with the Loonaverse.” Yeojin laughs, skipping forward like the hill isn’t at an angle made to be torturous. “So just chill! Relax. Take in the fresh air, smell the breeze, and when it’s all over and we’re back to eating chips with everyone else, you’ll be in too much pain because of your feet that you can’t think about anything else.”

 

Choerry chuckles. Not the sweetest plan she’s been offered; it’s definitely not as delightfully playful as Heejin’s, or simple as Hyunjin’s, or comforting as Haseul’s, but it’s certainly Yeojin’s.

 

She squeezes Yeojin’s hand back, follows her all the way to the top even if her lungs and legs would rather give out. 

 

—

 

Vivi is that quiet support you usually don’t notice until it’s too late —when there’s already a cute note written for you waiting to be read in bed, or the amazing little snacks she packs in your bag before you’re off to school. 

 

Choerry makes sure to keep every thoughtful gesture in mind, pay her back for each caring gift, offer to take her out shopping — she deserves nothing but the best. 

 

“What do you think about this one?” 

 

It’s a beautiful shade of pink, matches well with Vivi’s darker hair and softer skin tone. 

 

It’s the truth every time. “You look amazing, unnie.” 

 

Vivi giggles, passes her the dress. “Now it’s your turn,” 

 

“What?”

 

“I’m not the only one who’d look amazing in this,” Vivi nods her head towards the dressing rooms, nudges her elbow, the whites in her teeth glinting between her lips. “Go on, I’ll be waiting.” 

 

When she comes out wearing the dress, she doesn’t feel the quiet confidence Vivi wears, doesn’t feel as beautiful, doesn’t feel like it fits her at all—

 

Vivi claps, grinning. “See? You look amazing.” 

 

Then why doesn’t she feel that way?

 

Choerry shrugs her shoulders, musters a smile of her own. “Thanks, unnie.” 

 

Vivi’s hand circles her elbow, leans into her ear, breath against her skin. “Twelve o’clock thinks so, too.” 

 

Choerry’s gaze darts to where Vivi’s looking and spots— Olivia? 

 

“Hyejoo, what are you doing just standing there?” Vivi’s slick in the way she ushers Olivia into their space, doesn’t call out the pink dusting Olivia’s cheeks. “Where’s Sooyoung? Isn’t she with you?” 

 

Olivia tucks her hair back, gestures with a nod. “Dressing room.” 

 

Choerry’s too enamoured with the colour to notice she’s staring. She only realizes the need to blink when Olivia’s skin starts to redden, eyes prickling, beginning to dry out — attempting to etch this image like a tattoo into memory.

 

“You look great, Yerim.” Olivia says, way too quiet and much too quickly not to be honest. 

 

Vivi’s smirk of I told you so burns through her periphery. 

 

—

 

Kim Lip’s grip feels small, even dainty, but fierce, blazing, like there’s too much fire in the way she loves. 

 

Sometimes it’s scorching, abrasive, how Lip scolds her to forget the nonsense from anonymous strangers online, encourages her to remember that they know nothing about them. 

 

Don’t worry about them. Ignore them. They don’t know you.

 

It works. For the most part. 

 

“Yerim,” 

 

But sometimes it doesn’t. 

 

When all Choerry can think about is how nice it must be to be no one behind the screen, Lip is softer. A fireplace than her usual inferno, her fingers lacing between hers when they’re at the back, waiting for their turn for their album jacket photos. 

 

Choerry looks up, finds Lip’s gaze more concerned with her than the food going cold on their lap. 

 

“What’s wrong?” It’s automatic, instinctive. Knows her too well. “And don’t say ‘nothing’, because I know that’s not true.” 

 

That alone makes her smile. “It’s nothing—“ 

 

A glare.

 

Choerry giggles. “—nothing we haven’t already heard, unnie.” 

 

The fire dims a little. “Then what is it? You’re not eating as much as you normally do.” 

 

“You’re not, either.” Choerry quips, points a finger to the take-out on her lap. 

 

Lip rolls her eyes, waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. But we’re focused on you right now. Are you alright?” 

 

Choerry shifts her gaze, watches Gowon scramble into a new dress, stylists coming up around her to fix the waves in her hair, the shine on her shoes, the soft plump red coating her lips — she’s pretty. 

 

Olivia must think she’s pretty, too. 

 

“She is, isn’t she?” Lip says, responds as if said aloud, throwing her a look. “Like a doll.” 

 

Choerry tells her the truth. “I’ll never be as—“ 

 

“You’re pretty too.” Lip snaps, another glare sent her way. “Don’t. Seriously. You’re pretty too, okay? Beautiful, even. It’s not just a Gowon thing.” She adds, mumbles beneath her breath. “Though her voice probably is.”

 

Choerry laughs, turns back to find Gowon meeting her gaze, sending her a wave — a gummy smile lighting up her face before the photographer ushers her to the front. 

 

“Yeah,” Gowon makes silly faces at her whenever she gets the chance between each shot, eliciting laughter from Choerry every time. “Maybe.”

 

“Just—“ Lip reaches over, takes her hand. “No one’s like you. You know? No one will ever really look like you, either. Not even Olivia or Hyunjin. Everyone’s a different kind of beautiful, but they’re all still beautiful. I just— I don’t want you to think that you’re not.” 

 

Choerry chuckles, squeezes their hands together. “Sounds like Jiwoo unnie’s been rubbing off on you,” 

 

Lip rolls her eyes. “With how often she tells me and Sooyoung unnie? Probably.” 

 

She nudges Lip’s tray of food, passes her a smile. “Thanks, unnie. Now eat. I can tell you’re hungry.” 

 

Lip elbows her ribs. “Oh good, ‘cause I’m starving.” 

 

—

 

Jinsoul is clingy, vocal, almost a little too overbearing and surprisingly overwhelming, with her love. Vast and deep as the ocean.

 

Definitely the complete opposite of her first impression. 

 

“Choerry! Want to watch this with me?” Jinsoul sprawls across the couch, her arms hanging over one side, feet propped up on the other. “It’s — well, actually, I don’t know what it’s about, but I heard it’s good?” 

 

Choerry’s not feeling up for watching anything on screen when she’s already seen enough of social media on her own. 

 

“No, unnie. It’s okay.” How must it feel like? To be noticed? “I think I’m just going to go to bed.” 

 

Jinsoul frowns. “But it’s only seven?” 

 

Choerry shrugs. “I’m just tired today.” 

 

She’s not Chuu. Or Heejin. Or Yves. She’s not memorable. Not important. Not center. Just nothing. 

 

She’d like to wallow in that nothing for a little bit.

 

Warmth wraps around her wrist, finds Jinsoul’s eyes painted in that same colour she’s been seeing on her members, lately. 

 

“Can you keep me company then?” Jinsoul’s fingers tighten a little around her skin, but it’s not suffocating. “I’m not exactly great at stomaching horror stuff. Not on my own, anyway.” 

 

Choerry thinks that’s a little absurd; Jinsoul handles jumpscares better than most — then again, the bar is set relatively low compared to the other members. 

 

Choerry sighs. She’s always been weak to Jinsoul’s big pleading googly eyes. 

 

“Fine,” 

 

Jinsoul cheers, sitting up and tugging her to fall onto the couch next to her. She’s quick to latch her arms around her, nestle herself in the crook of Choerry’s neck, offer both comfort as a human blanket and a potential hazard to her health. 

 

It’s a show about zombies; Vivi would probably enjoy this. Maybe Olivia too.

 

“It’s okay, you know.” Jinsoul starts, “To feel jealous. To feel like you’re not good enough. Or important. I get that way sometimes, too.” 

 

Choerry turns her head, but Jinsoul’s gaze stays on the screen. 

 

Jinsoul’s fingers squeeze her side gently. “Especially since it’s always the same people.” 

 

Considering Yves had just left to film for a new show and Chuu’s gone to shoot yet another commercial, it’s easy to picture who she’s referring to.

 

Choerry turns slowly, circles her arms around Jinsoul, to hold her and provide comfort, too. 

 

“We’ve never really stood out for everyone else, huh.” It’s even sadder to hear out loud, but Jinsoul just laughs. 

 

“Well, look on the bright side; we’re definitely not the only ones.” Jinsol replies.

 

Choerry doesn’t like to think about it. Vivi, Haseul, Yeojin, Hyunjin, Gowon, Olivia, Kim Lip— there’s more of them than she’d like. But she doesn’t blame the stars, either: Chuu, Heejin, Yves— they can’t help that the public likes them more. That shows prefer them more. That their company pushes for them more. 

 

It would be nice to be noticed though, once in a while. 

 

“But we’re all in this together, right?” Jinsoul says, smiling her way. “They’re doing their best. So we’ll keep doing our best, too.” 

 

Choerry nods, snuggling closer. “Yeah.” 

 

—

 

Yves holds her like she isn’t made of glass: strong, firm, like she isn’t afraid to squeeze a little tighter.

 

The smell of food is intoxicating, calls Choerry out of the burrow she considers paradise (wrapped in bundles of blankets and pillow forts so she can hide and be nothing but herself— fat, chubby, too big self ), peering into the kitchen that's usually bustling with giggles, or thankfully not as often, smoke. 

 

Good thing everyone's learned (albeit the hard way) to keep Gowon away from the oven. 

 

Yves' in her element, humming to a song Choerry can't name, hands flicking in rhythm between stirring the pot and dicing up carrots, just as smooth in her movements in the kitchen as she often is on the dance floor. 

 

Choerry would love to not disturb her while she's busy making food to feed twelve stomachs, but her own gives her away, feeling her cheeks warm the moment Yves catches her eyes.

 

"Hi, unnie..." 

 

Yves ushers her closer with a laugh, still humming to whatever song is stuck in her head, going back to stirring and dicing, letting Choerry settle into the quiet of simmering vegetables and a soft voice.

 

"Don't tell anyone, okay?" Yves gives her a bigger portion of the meal that has Choerry's mouth watering when it's all ready, squeezing her hand. "Eat up before everyone else notices it's already done." 

 

It's fun when Yves' the cook. Yves always argues that because she's the one who made it she can do whatever she wants. So she feeds her more than is enough. Choerry— and undoubtedly her stomach, remains forever grateful for it. 

 

But then she remembers the comments about her weight— how she should be skinnier, prettier, better , and Choerry hesitates.

 

Yves’ thumb traces lines against her knuckles.

 

“You know, I’ve thought about not eating.” Her smile is contagious, feeling her own lips begin to curl upwards. “But then I’d think about how I want to be someone people look up to, and skipping out on food isn’t a lesson I want them to learn.”

 

She wonders how Yves knows. Then again, she wouldn’t be the only one the internet loves to talk about; nobody runs out of horrible things to say when they’re just a username.

 

“So eat up, because we both know I make a good meal and it’s definitely not something anyone should miss out on. Okay?”

 

Choerry nods, hesitation no longer lining her limbs, taking her time to enjoy it all; the softness of a perfect dinner down and the ruckus that comes scrambling in when everyone else notices they’re already eating, fighting for the next big portion.

 

—

 

Chuu’s more of a sun than she could ever aspire to be. 

 

It’s not surprising she settles for more than holding hands; Chuu’s heart has always been that much more open to doing grander things, so being engulfed in a hug and wondering briefly if she’ll get swallowed up in it is nothing new. 

 

Chuu knows her better than anyone else when it comes to something as fleeting as being happy. She constantly reminds her that it’s okay to not want to smile, that it’s okay to feel that it gets tiring to hold, that being the sun doesn’t mean she always has to wear happiness on her face.

 

“Like this, see?” Chuu’s fingers dance against her back, her arms a blanket Choerry always appreciates and never minds falling into. “We’re the best huggers; soft and warm and cuddly. Like the sun!” 

 

“...Wouldn’t we be burning people instead then?” 

 

Chuu pulls back to wink at her. “That just means we’re also hot.” 

 

Choerry’s giggles mix in with Chuu’s, embracing her tighter, loves the way Chuu squeals when she starts ushering them to waddle into the living room. 

 

Resident gamer girl comes in squinting, obnoxious as if she didn’t already know they were the sun.

 

“God, you two are blinding.” 

 

Chuu is defiant, sticking her tongue out at Olivia and makes sure they cover the television so Olivia has to sprawl across the floor just to have a decent view of the screen. 

 

“Don’t mind her, she’s just jealous.” 

 

Chuu’s giggly in her ear, her arms never once letting her go as they continue to waddle all the way to the sofa, tumbling into laughter and the cushion.

 

—

 

Gowon’s comfort is fleeting — like her touch was never there, light and weightless, as if she’s afraid to be found out. Afraid to be noticed. Afraid to be caught when she’s being soft, caring, affectionate.

 

Choerry doesn’t realize the fingers tracing down her knuckles until Gowon’s already gone. 

 

“So, who ate my yogurt?” Gowon opens the fridge, all nonchalant, like she hadn’t just been beside her at the table being the sweetest she’s ever been. “Was it Yeojin again?” 

 

Choerry blinks. The gears in her head turn, shoves the moment into a compartment for safekeeping. 

 

“Probably?” 

 

Gowon snorts, plucks two cups hidden away behind Chuu’s assortment of drinks. 

 

“Well. Good thing I thought of getting extras,” Gowon circles back to her, takes a pair of spoons on the way past the sink. Slides the cup over, plants the spoon on the lid. “Here. It’s good. Before Yeojin finishes it.” 

 

Choerry laughs. “What’s the occasion? Don’t you usually keep these to yourself?” And a few for Olivia? She thinks, but doesn’t say.

 

Gowon shrugs in response. “Oh you know, I just feel like sharing a little bit of kindness today.” She’s cheeky, grinning. “Besides, you’re here in the kitchen with me. You’d know I’d be hogging it all to myself anyway.”

 

But she knows Gowon heard her crying in the bathroom. Saw a flicker of blonde waves as soon as she opened the door — tears still stuck in as the sounds of her footsteps faded away. 

 

Choerry fiddles with the end of her spoon. “You’re not going to ask me about it?” 

 

Gowon peels the lid off, the stretching rip of paper and plastic filling the kitchen. “About what?” 

 

“You know…” she sighs, mumbles under her breath. “...this morning, in the bathroom.” 

 

“I didn’t see anything,” Gowon dips her spoon into soft white.

 

“I mean, yeah, I guess.” Choerry’s brows furrow, “But you heard it, didn’t you? That I was crying?” 

 

Somehow seeing Olivia that morning made her chest ache; maybe it’s the way she’s seen her under the early morning light — unkempt with bed hair and wrinkled PJs, eyes barely open, squinting as she struggled to pour milk before the cereal. 

 

It’s hard to hide when your heart lives under the same roof.

 

Gowon hums, swirling her spoon. She doesn’t take a bite yet. “I did,” 

 

“...So…?” 

 

Gowon turns her head, arches a brow. “So...what? It’s okay to cry. I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t.” 

 

“Oh, that wasn’t—“ Choerry pauses, “no, I just meant. I thought you’d have…I don’t know, something to say.” 

 

Gowon scoffs, rolling her eyes.

 

“I don’t think I could offer anything new that the others haven’t already said. They’re probably great advice, so I don’t think you need any more of that.” Gowon lifts the spoon to her lips, chewing slowly. Then hearing the sound of her swallow. “Which is why I’m going to give you something they can’t.” 

 

Choerry tilts her head. “What’s that?” 

 

Gowon grins, nudging her arm. 

 

“My company.” She laughs, “I bet you I’m a better listener than anyone else here.” A pause, cheeky. “Also to give you the last cup of yogurt because Yeojin’s already eaten one too many and I’m not about to let her have another.” 

 

They stay there long after the yogurts are done, plastic cups empty and forgotten. Gowon is attentive and patient and exactly what she claims to be. Including loving and the human-tissue-box in fine print, thumbs gentle against her cheeks.

 

Gowon never lets a tear dry out on her skin.

 

—

 

Olivia avoids like the plague; as distant as she could be, barely ever around. Usually she’s tinkering around with the latest game, or lounging about sinking her weight into the sofa, embedding her shape like old and worn memory foam. It’s easy to predict where she’d be.

 

Makes staying out of sight easier to achieve.      

 

At most, Olivia leaves letters to show her concern rather than a touch to express she cares.

 

Choerry stares at the little note stuck to her backpack, a doodle of a cartoon wolf drawn on the bottom right corner. It’s short, to the point, and somehow still manages to be sweet. 

 

(Hope you have lots of fun at school today. I’m cheering for you.

 

— Hyejoo.) 

 

She really shouldn’t have. It makes the flutter in her chest harder to stomp down.

 

On her way out Olivia’s on the couch watching a movie with Jinsoul, Gowon, and Yves. The usual quadruplet often taking up the living room space — and the only other available seats. Besides the ones in the kitchen. 

 

Choerry bids them a quick wave goodbye, sends a smile she’s used to putting on before pulling the door shut. 

 

It’s only when she’s at the bottom of the stairs that she notices the sounds of footsteps trailing after her. 

 

Choerry turns, surprise lacing her voice. “Hyejoo? What are you doing here?”

 

Olivia scratches her neck, head bowed a little, strands of dark hair falling over her face. 

 

“Oh, um, hi.” She mumbles, shifts her weight on her other foot. “I just— I called your name earlier, before you left. But you didn’t seem to hear me so I followed you.” 

 

Choerry readjusts the notebooks tucked in her arms. “Did you? Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind.” 

 

“I could tell,”

 

She doesn’t know why Olivia’s blunt candor startles her, heart closing in defence, eyes narrowing. 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

She can’t imagine the others spilling her vulnerabilities out for someone else to hear — not without her permission, at least. And it’s not like they know how she feels about a certain someone, either. 

 

Do they?

 

“What? No, no, I could just tell.” Olivia’s surprise is easy to hear, watching her wave dismissively, backtracking. “...You’re my friend.” 

 

“Aren’t they your friends too?”

 

“You know what I mean,” 

 

Choerry chuckles, loosens up a little. “So, what’s up? Is there something you need?” 

 

Olivia stares in that way that has her fidgety, all-knowing, like she’s see-through and there’s nothing she could do about it but share every dark secret, curling fingers tighter against the edges of her books. 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

Somehow it’s harder to tell the truth with someone her age. Or maybe because it’s Olivia. 

 

She tries not to think about it. 

 

“Yeah?” Choerry tilts her head, plays a smile because it’s easy. “Do I not look okay?” 

 

“No, I mean, it’s just…” Olivia’s not often at a loss for words, more honest than most. “…You seem quieter than usual.” 

 

She recognizes the furrows in Olivia’s brows, the frown on her lips; there’s more behind , can tell she’s holding back. Olivia doesn’t want to scare her off. 

 

But Choerry’s already terrified. Who wouldn’t be when you’re starting to realize that maybe these feelings for a friend aren’t so friendly anymore? 

 

The manager’s voice flits through the hallway, hears him call her name. 

 

Choerry’s thankful for the timing, waves a dismissive hand, eager for the door. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you later!” 

 

“Yerim,” Olivia catches her wrist, fingers gentle, voice tender. It’s constricting; she needs to get away. “Did I do something wrong?” 

 

“What? No!” It’s instinctive, taking her hand, hates the way Olivia makes her heart leap to . Like it’s natural to have it give chase, attempt to suffocate Olivia in feelings she’s used to holding close; she can’t have her choking on them, too. She’s barely breathing on her own. “No, of course not. What makes you say that?” 

 

Olivia shrugs.

 

“I’ve seen you talk to everyone but me,” her gaze darts to her feet, socks mismatched, black slippers barely hiding it. “I just…I hope you know that you can talk to me too. About anything.” 

 

Her heart feels like it’ll break open with the way it stutters. “I—“ 

 

The manager yells her name again from down the hall, “you’re going to be late!” and Choerry grimaces, Olivia’s eyes still downcast, lips curled into a frown. 

 

Every time Choerry thinks about confiding in Olivia, the thought is shot down — by both their schedules and her heart.

 

Practice takes up most of their time. So do recordings. Photoshoots. The few scattered performances here and there. Most of the remaining time left in the day is saved for sleep. 

 

The few brief moments she does catch Olivia alone, Choerry pulls away, seeks an alternative route to the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom— where she’s always accompanied by another member to drown out the pounding in her chest. 

 

She knows that all she has to do is say it. Just say: I think I like—

 

The thought fades just as fast as it pops up. How could she talk to Olivia when the subject is her to begin with?

 

She squeezes her hand, swallows her heart down. She’s not ready. Not yet. They’re friends. Coworkers. There’s too much to lose.

 

So she settles for familiarity and not a chance for more.

 

“I know.” 

 

Olivia’s fingers fit gently around hers, squeezing back. 

 

Maybe one day. Just not today.