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“Watch your lines during the turn— and Jeemin, lift your chin, then–.”
Sarang blinks.
The trainer’s voice cut through the haze that had settled over her, snapping her attention back to the center of the room. She nodded along to the corrections, catching the compliments directed at the group’s overall energy.
Around her, the other members of their group gathered loosely in a semicircle, their bodies still catching their breath as they remained attentive despite the fatigue building up in their bodies, but something felt out of place.
She glanced forward.
Jungeun stood just a few feet in front of her, slightly to the left. Her posture was straight, her chin lifted enough, and her body—not too tense or stiff.
But her eyes felt like they were somewhere else entirely.
Sarang tilted her head.
Was she even listening?
The girl stood still, and her head dipped in response to each of the trainer’s suggestions, a mechanical nod that lacked her usual spark.
Her lips pressed into a faint line, and when the trainer clapped her hands and announced a break, the whole room exhaled in relief.
The girls dispersed instantly— voices rising, shoes squeaking faintly against the floor, a burst of light chaos as water bottles were uncapped and playfulness floated between tired bodies.
But Jungeun didn’t move as much.
She stayed there, still facing the mirror, still staring as she drank her water slowly.
Her reflection stared back at her with eyes that didn’t quite look like hers. Not in the way Sarang remembered. The glint that Jungeun always carried felt… dull.
And for a moment, it was like the room's noise blurred into static— because Sarang couldn’t stop looking either.
Jungeun looked lost and that was not normal.
Sarang’s brows pinched as she quietly watched Jungeun from a distance. It was the stillness that confused her.
She just wasn’t present, and it felt like she was zoning out as if she was in another world.
Sarang took a breath as her instinct kept telling her to move. To stand near her or to say something small and stupid, even if she knew Jungeun would smile and reply without meaning.
But a tap on her shoulder pulled her back.
Saebi’s voice was soft, talking to her with a tired but warm smile. "Sarang unnie!" Her cheeks were flushed from training, her ponytail slightly lopsided.
Sarang blinked, pulled out of the moment, but she conversed, smiling back and laughing.
Saebi turned back toward the others, and Sarang let her eyes drift back to the taller girl.
But Jungeun was no longer alone.
Jeemin had taken a place beside her, body loose and easy like always. Whatever she was saying made Jungeun smile, one that curved her lips. But it still seems like it didn’t light up her face. Her eyes still seemed tired. But she was talking, nodding, even letting out a soft laugh.
From here, it looked normal.
It looked like nothing was wrong.
Sarang folded her arms and sighed. She didn’t even realize how long she’d been standing there until her legs shifted beneath her.
How many times has this happened now?
During breaks, while the rest of them collapsed into each other with inside jokes and shared complaints, Jungeun would always be just one beat behind. Smiling, yes, and laughing, sometimes. But the light in her eyes was dimmer lately.
She lingered at the edge of their circle. Not excluded, as she felt out of place. Just... distant.
Half-there.
Sipping water slowly and staring at her phone without really seeing it. Avoiding the teasing touches and loud laughter she usually leaned into.
Sarang bit her lip, suddenly aware of how many times she’d brushed it off. How many times had she told herself Jungeun was just tired, lost in thought, or maybe just quiet that day? But it was adding up— small changes that didn’t look like much until she carefully thought about it.
And now Sarang couldn’t unsee it.
Jungeun was slipping. Retreating into a barely noticeable way.
Sarang still told herself it was nothing.
Everyone’s all tired, all under pressure for their debut. Practice schedules, evaluations, diets, expectations— it’s enough to leave anyone numb at the end of the day. Maybe Jungeun was going to come out of it eventually.
But as the days passed, it got harder for Sarang to keep telling herself that.
Jungeun didn’t say anything was wrong— she rarely does. That’s part of what makes it hard to tell what’s happening. Jungeun doesn’t complain, doesn’t slump against the wall, and doesn't shout about having a bad day.
But it’s hard when she started slipping away. Little by little.
It started adapting to their dorm. She stopped chiming in on conversations the way she used to. When the group burst into laughter over something dumb someone said, she smiled and chuckled— but the kind that disappears the second no one’s looking. A quiet curve of her lips. Nothing behind her eyes.
She began disappearing into their room earlier. Sarang would find her curled up on her bed with her headphones in, just staring at the ceiling.
She goes for walks now, alone. Unusual considering how the girl loves staying in.
Jungeun. The girl who used to tug on Sarang's sleeve and ask if she wanted snacks from the convenience store. She always wanted someone beside her.
Now she leaves without a word sometimes.
“Just for air,” she says if anyone asks. Then shrugs like it’s nothing, grabbing her phone and shutting the door behind her.
But it doesn’t feel like anything; it hasn’t felt like that was nothing for weeks now.
Weeks? Is this how long it's been going on now?
Sarang isn’t aware of when she started worrying so much. Is this how Jungeun’s always been? Or did she never really notice?
So Sarang started tagging along with her, asking if she could join.
She would fall into step beside her after practice anyway. Crack a joke. Pretend to forget the lyrics to the song just to make Jungeun roll her eyes and make a remark, or act like she was going insane from how long they’ve been listening to the same beat, making the latter laugh.
She doesn’t push or ask.
However, Jungeun hides her emotions so well that it’s like a reflex— like she’s been doing it longer than she’s been dancing. She won’t tell Sarang unless she wants to.
So she doesn’t force it, stays closer.
But no matter how many times Sarang tried, how often she walked beside her, nudging Jungeun softly with quiet jokes or lingering questions, nothing really changed.
Sarang wasn’t used to this version of her. Jungeun was never the loudest in the room, but she was never this distant.
And what made it worse was how good she still was.
She danced precisely— every move hitting all the details, every transition smooth. Her voice never cracked, and her expressions always lit up. She also still led the others without hesitation, practiced longer than anyone, and kept things in line when their trainer stepped away.
By all means, Jungeun was doing well, so why did it feel like she was slipping?
Why did Sarang feel like she was watching her best friend fall—silently, slowly—even when the world clapped for her?
She couldn’t make sense of it. Jungeun had always carried herself. Hell, she was always there to listen to others. It’s just that it felt as if she was pretending to hold everything together, hiding once again.
She watched on the couch as Jungeun stood by their dorm room door, her hoodie and mask covering her, her hair slightly messy from rehearsal. And her voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m just going for a walk to the convenience store.”
That was all she said before stepping out, and the door closed softly behind her.
The hours passed slowly.
Their dorm, usually filled with the soft rustling of snacks, the buzz of shared videos, or the gentle bickering, had quieted early tonight. One by one, the members had gone to their rooms to sleep, quiet breathing settling into rhythm.
Only Sarang stayed awake in her shared room with Jungeun and Saebi, except that Saebi wasn’t there with her since she went on a trip back home.
And well... she couldn’t sleep, Jungeun still wasn’t back, and it was making her thoughts a mess.
Then the door lock opened again somewhere down the hallway. Sarang sat up slightly, instinctively holding her breath. She’s back
The light steps crept closer, then the knob of their bedroom turned slowly. Jungeun stepped in, head down. Her eyes, when they briefly caught the light, were reddish.
From the cold?
From tears?
Sarang couldn’t tell.
“Hey,” she called gently from across the room.
Jungeun didn’t look at her. She gave a quiet, almost automatic hum, saying I hear you, and headed straight to the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Sarang didn’t move. Her chest felt heavy, weighed down by helplessness. One that made your fingers fidget with the edge of your blanket. Her eyes dart towards her phone to look at something, anything to keep her distracted.
But she barely scrolled, mind too occupied to do so.
So she just waited for her.
The air in the room felt different with Saebi gone, as it belonged to just the two of them tonight, yet until now, Jungeun felt miles away.
When the door opened again with a soft click, Jungeun stepped in and closed the lights, her phone glowed faintly in her hand as she climbed into bed without a word.
Sarang glanced up from her own bed, watching from the shadows as Jungeun sat there while scrolling through her phone. Sarang has developed a habit of watching her like this.
But the silence, Sarang couldn't take any more silence, though.
“…Jungeun-ah?” she finally called softly, slowly getting up from her position in bed.
Jungeun hummed in response, just barely. It was small, not dismissive, but like she didn’t have the energy to give a proper reply.
Sarang sighed under her breath, her chest aching. She stood up and walked over to Jungeun’s bed.
“Move,” she said gently, standing beside her now.
Jungeun looked up tired, but blinked up at her, surprised. “Huh?”
“Just move,” Sarang repeated, voice firm but kind.
Still confused, Jungeun moved over, making room. Sarang climbed onto the bed, settling beside her. Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Then, without a word, she shifts a little closer, their knees touching, and a voice comes out from the silence.
“You don’t have to look at me,” Sarang says softly. “Just… talk to me for a sec.”
“Can you do that?”
For a moment, there’s silence. The room holds its breath.
Jungeun sighs— but her thumb stops scrolling. She puts her phone down beside her on the bed, and both their faces are slightly looking up at the ceiling as they’re sat on the bed.
“Okay,”
Sarang doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, her arm brushes Jungeun’s. Then, with a slow, careful motion, she hooks their arms together.
Her hand finds Jungeun’s in the space between them,
Fingers brushing tentatively first, then gently intertwining.
No pressure. No rush to speak.
Just warmth.
A quiet signal that she’s right there.
Jungeun stiffened, breath hitching just for a second before relaxing into the warmth. She reciprocated the action by closing her fingers around the hand as well, further intertwining them together.
Sarang stayed like that, letting the silence stretch. Her touch wasn’t demanding. Just… soft. Finally, she tilted her head slightly, voice low, barely above a whisper.
“What’s going on with you?”
Jungeun didn’t answer.
Her lips parted, then closed. Her eyes dropped to her lap. Sarang could feel her hesitation in the way her fingers twitched.
“It’s nothing,” she murmured, too quickly as if she didn’t want Sarang to worry, didn’t want to burden her with whatever was going on.
But Sarang just sighed as she leaned a little closer, her fingers squeezing Jungeun’s. “We both know that’s a lie… Come on, don’t make me ask again, ” she said, trying to reassure her.
Jungeun swallowed hard, trying to push the lump in her throat back down, but she didn’t pull away.
So Sarang waited.
And when Jungeun finally spoke, her voice was small that it almost didn’t feel like hers.
“…I don’t know how to do this.”
Sarang blinked. “Do what?”
“All of it,” Jungeun whispered. Her eyes were glistening now. “Training. Performing. Smiling. I keep doing everything right, and it still doesn’t feel enough. Everyone’s expecting me to be ready because I was first, and I’m not. I’m not.”
“You’re doing well—”
“But it doesn’t feel like it,” Jungeun cut in, voice cracking.
“It’s like I feel like if I suddenly mess up, I’ll let everyone down. Our families, our fans, our members.... I don’t know how to fix it. I feel like I’m running out of time the closer our debut date is.”
Her breaths hitched.
“And I’m terrified.”
That was the word. The one Sarang knew kept in for so long, the one Jungeun hadn’t said until now.
“I can’t stop thinking about the future. That if I continue making no mistakes, keep practicing, keep perfecting each little thing, I won’t disappoint anyone. But the pressure is still eating me alive, Sarang.”
She noticed Jungeuns sudden quiet change in her breathing,
She's crying
The tears are falling faster than Jungeun could stop them, and it hurts Sarang.
“But you’re tiring yourself out even more by doing this,” she murmured, shifting even closer, knowing she’s hurting.
“I know… but I didn’t want to tell you about this,” she said, her voice thin, almost cracking. “It’s hurting me to have you see me like this.”
She paused, swallowing thickly.
“I hate it. I hate that I’m this weak. It feels selfish to even say I’m struggling when everyone else is too. So I thought… if I could just keep it together long enough, maybe the feeling would go away. Maybe I’d start to believe it was nothing… and that I belonged here.”
Her hand trembled in Sarang’s as she listened.
“I just want to feel like I deserve this.”
Her voice cracked, the words heavy, as if they had been sitting in her chest for weeks.
“That I deserve to debut.”
That was all it took.
Sarang’s breath hitched. Her heart twisted so hard in her chest it physically hurt. Was this what Jungeun had been shouldering alone? All this time?
The guilt hit her like a wave.
Jungeun. The one who always asked if the others had eaten, who made personalized gift for the members, who sent “you did well” texts after every evaluation even when she was exhausted herself.
Of course she didn’t complain. Of course she hid everything. Sarang is so stupid.
“...Jungeun,” she said softly— and then more firmly,
Jungeun's head dipped lower as she quietly sobbed, but Sarang continued, hand still clasping Jungeun’s tightly, her thumb now tracing slow circles of comfort.
“You work so hard. You give so much of yourself to everyone. You show up even when you’re falling apart inside. Do you really think that doesn’t count?”
There was a heavy, aching silence.
“You push yourself so hard,” Sarang said gently, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but there was a tremble under it now. “You stay late at practice, think over every detail, carry everyone’s burdens like they’re yours alone.”
“You want to be perfect so no one else has to worry. Not the group, not the fans… not even me.”
Sarang paused, trying to steady herself, but her chest felt too tight.
Her next words cracked as they left her lips. “But that’s what’s hurting you, Jung.”
“You think if you continue trying to be perfect enough, the fear will go away. But it won’t. Not like that. You can’t earn your way out of it”
Sarang continues, tone turning desperate for her to hear her, understand her words.
“But you’re not weak for feeling like this. That’s what makes you strong. That’s what makes you you.”
“And if that makes you feel selfish,”
Her voice was trembling, but unwavering.
“then I’ll be selfish with you.”
Jungeun looked over, eyes glistening.
And then, the tears spilled rapidly again.
The sob that left Jungeun’s chest felt painful, like something finally giving in.
And Sarang met her gaze warmly.
Jungeun’s lips parted like she wanted to apologize again when her eyes landed on Sarang's, feeling the care of her words, but Sarang gently shook her head.
She reached up, fingers brushing Jungeun’s damp cheeks with the more care that made Jungeun’s throat tighten all over again.
And then, with no more words, Sarang pulled her in and wrapped her arms around her.
Jungeun let out a broken breath against Sarang’s shoulder and melted, head dropping slowly on it. The last of her defenses cracked, but this time it didn’t feel like it was falling apart, it felt like it was being held together, particularly by the girl wrapped against her.
“I’m so proud of you,” Sarang whispered, over and over into her hair, her voice barely above breath.
“I’ve always been so proud of you.”
And Jungeun didn’t feel like she had to hide it anymore.
Whatever this warmth is, if it was the only place Jungeun felt comfortable in, so be it.
All she knew was that when Jungeun looked at her like that, like she was the only safe place left— her chest ached in the strangest, most terrifyingly beautiful way.
She wanted to stay here, with her.
Sarang wanted to stay here, with Jungeun.
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