#NF smau

[miorrtae]

NEWS FLASH ᥫ᭡ TAEYEON SMAU

synopsis ↬ yn , a newcomer to SM Entertainment’s latest girl group Noémie, finds herself under the mentorship of Taeyeon, the legendary leader of Girls’ Generation. as she gets to know her better she starts to develop a crush on her mentor.

pairings ↬ idol!y/n x idol!taeyeon

warnings ↬ fluff, cursing, slight angst, eating problems age gap and more to come

notes ↬ i don’t know how consistent the updates will be but just know y’all are going to get them trust <3

profiles noémie | snsdies

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more …!

taglist + @gtfoiydlyj @sewiouslyz @xen248 @mineige @yjiminswallet @saysirhc @pandafuriosa60 @yeri-luvr

[xinganhao]

not for sale 💳 mingyu x reader. (3)

celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader. check out 🛒 not for sale's masterlist.

You can’t bring yourself to end the call. 

Your phone is overheating. You’re below the acceptable battery threshold of twenty percent. And the dark-haired boy on the other end of the screen looks more asleep than awake. 

You should end this call, but you can’t. 

Mingyu doesn’t seem keen on ending it either. His eyes are drooping and his head has begun to loll every so often. He’d spent the first couple minutes of the call talking about his day— the seemingly endless rotation of engagements that came with being a celebrity. 

Sometimes, it still strikes you as odd that this is the life you now lead. Being on FaceTime with somebody that hundreds, maybe thousands of people fawned over. 

But you were friends… right? And friends called each other. Friends texted. 

This is friendly, a small voice in the back of your head tries to convince you. So very, very friendly. 

The conversation has since mellowed out. Mingyu makes good on his word; he falls quiet, observing your work like it’s some form of entertainment for him. At one point, you even forget he’s watching. 

It’s why you’re a bit jolted when he absentmindedly mumbles, “You have nice hands.” 

You pause in the middle of bubble wrapping an order. One cursory glance at your screen, and you see that Mingyu is absolutely fighting for his life to stay awake. The sight almost makes you smile. 

“You should head to bed soon,” you say instead of addressing his compliment. “We’ve been on call for— what? Two hours, I think.” 

Mingyu says something too low for you to catch. You give a noncommittal hum of ‘hmm?’, prompting him to repeat what he’d said. 

And maybe he’s just tired enough to decide fuck it. Maybe it’s past midnight and that makes everything fair game. 

Because Mingyu breathes out a quiet “not enough,” and you swear something screeches to a halt in your brain. Two hours. Not enough. 

You swallow. He’s out of it, you think to yourself, your fingers quivering a bit as you cut, tape, seal. He’s sleep-deprived and talking out of his ass. 

That’s what gives you the audacity to ask what’s been on your mind for days now. 

“Mingyu,” you ask, “why do you want to be an ambassador for Bittersweet?” 

A beat. One that stretches long enough for you to wonder if Mingyu had finally succumbed to his exhaustion. 

But then, his voice— quiet, but not any less sincere— rings over the line. “Because I like your jewelry.” 

Plain and simple. You’re not sure why you expected more. 

He goes on, his tone a little softer, slower. “I like what you’ve done with the business. I like… how hard you work. Your passion. All that.”

Mingyu pauses to yawn. You glance over to see him smiling into his phone, his half-lidded gaze trained on your hands moving over your workbench. It makes his next words a one-two punch on your poor heart. 

“Your brand may be called ‘Bittersweet’,” he says, “but you’re as sweet as they come.” 

EXCERPTS FROM "MINGYU opens up on being named Rising Star of the Year"

Q: Earlier this year, the Internet fell in love with you for being an ‘advocate for small businesses.’ You’ve seemed to take it a step further, though. 

MINGYU: [laughs] Is that what they’ve been saying? I had no idea. But, yes— the pieces I have on right now are from a small business. It’s called Bittersweet Jewelry, and it’s something I found one day while scrolling through SNS. 

Q: You didn’t know the seller prior to purchasing? 

MINGYU: No, not at all. They didn’t even know it was me. I used an alias for a while. 

Q: I see. A lot of people believe your support has been reflective of your personality. Being caring, considerate. 

MINGYU: That’s very nice. I appreciate that. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m just a guy who likes good jewelry. I admire consistency, quality. [holds up his rings] These have it in spades. 

Q: That’s why you keep coming back to brands like Bittersweet. 

MINGYU: Sure. We could say that.  

[...]

THE TOP FIVE SONGS MINGYU HAS BEEN PLAYING ON REPEAT LATELY

Love Me Like That by Sam Kim

Linger by The Cranberries

Tadhana by Up Dharma Down

If You Do by GOT7

LMLY by Jackson Wang

[...]

Q: What do you look for in a partner? 

MINGYU: Now, Minghao… [laughs] 

Q: Sorry. The readers want to know. 

MINGYU: I’m never going to escape this question, am I? Give me a minute to think about it. 

Q: Sure. 

MINGYU: [after a moment] I’d like somebody dedicated and passionate. Someone sweet. And… 

Q: And? 

MINGYU: Someone with nice hands, I guess. [smiles] 

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[polarisjisung]

CLOSE AS STRANGERS

Telling you I haven't seen your face in ages I feel like we're as close as strangers Won't give up Even though it hurts so much

synopsis: they say long distance is hard, but you and renjun are better than that, right? you'll make it through— won't you? pairings: renjun x fem!reader genre: mini smau, angst, hurt warnings: long distance relationship, falling out of love, toxic relationship, jealousy, swearing notes: missing two tone renjun playlist: close as strangers (5sos), drunk text me (lexi jayde), running (nf), supercut (lorde) — part 1 | library.

taglist: @yizhrt @suzayaaa @nanawrlds @sinisxtea @dearlyminhyung @flaminghotyourmom @jisworlds @jenobubbles @nctdreamchaser @lotties-readings @mystverse @chenlezip @cigarettesafterjae @maguisilla

[wabatle]

oomf who else should yn be friends with in my smau i only have chaeryeongs profile..

make yn be best friends w hyunjin and lee know 🔥 (i pulled that out of my ass so /nf)

[ihopeiexplode]

I'm about to become Rina actually maybe some of the links js aren't working for me

(bring back your smaus pls /nf) 😞

Look at this bum hating for no reason!!!😒😒🙅‍♀️

I'll bring back my Smaus if I get any motivation or ideas🛀🛀

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

PLEASE YUJI SMAU PLS PLSLSLSL😓😞😓 /j /nf

I love ur new layout axel...

eventually… trust…🤞

THANK UUUU

[oceanbug]

can u give some spoilera for the ningning smau plsss/nf

Omg I feel kinda bad posting straight up spoilers on the tl but I can give like suggestions that hint toward certain things!!

1.) Pay attention to Wonyoung. It was just revealed that she's the one who told Ningning about Yeonjun cheating with Giselle, yet Giselle claims there was no evidence of this? Another key point with Wonyoung is how Yujin went directly to her during the graduation party, instead of Ningning. Wony also loves to gossip, yet Yujin claims that she never fully explains the story of Ningning sending Giselle to rehab! That's a pretty juicy story, why wouldn't she gossip more about it?

2.) Everyone talks about Giselle cheating with Yeonjun, but no one brings up YEONJUN in this equation. Why hasn't anyone gone directly to the source to clear things up? What's his side of things? How convenient was it that he brought Y/n's favorite drink when he only found out she'd be there 5 minutes prior to his arrival?

3.) You're telling me NO ONE warned Ning about Giselle crashing that party in the beginning chapters? No one saw her walk in? Who even gave Giselle the details of the party, to begin with?? And after 3 years, why does Giselle choose now to instigate past drama? It'd have to be someone she knew in the past willing to give her this information. Someone from high school who knew the drama. But if Wony and Ning both hate her, who else could it have been?

[ryuryuryuyurboat]

FJDKSHF my smau is band member kaedehara kazuha and thats all ill reveal im so shy abt it SCREAMS i'll swallow nails. (divider anon that disappeared for a couple days😪)

WAAAAAA KAZUHA BAND AU im sure its amazing AAA pspsps tag me pspsps /j /nf

[gyuwari]

═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══

song recommendation

college smau! beomgyu x f!reader

═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══

STATUS: ON HOLD

═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══

synopsis

yn has spent the past three years of college under the radar. her small group of friends have tried to take her under their wing and introduce her to more people but it never works. yn’s trust issues stemmed from a terrible break up make it nearly impossible for her to connect with other people. yn decides to start an song recommendation blog under the alias of “pb” as a public diary. the blog ends up blowing up and circulating around campus making everyone wonder who pb could be.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

more info!

this fic will mostly take place on twitter & twitter dms ! chapters with * includes written text!

all of the songs that are featured are genuine recommendations from me to you :)

out of yn’s friend group, only kai and yeonjun know about her blog and that she’s “pb” :)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

MASTERLIST

00. profiles

01. next to you

02. ice cream?

03. skrrt cobain

04. interesting...

05. numb yourself

06. it seems i have made a mistake

07. just another face

08. anything for friendship

09. laughing makes it worse

10. what did you do

11. smoke breaks

12. all i could ever ask for*

13. grands edge, mi

14. boo you whore

14.5. bear

15. drunk*

16. screw you*

16.5. ok so basically*

17. gb/ol h/nf

18. feliz navidad?

19. navy blue*

20. boyfriend????

20.5. in the groupchat???

21. cold weather*

22. soob the boob*

22.5. yes ma’am!

23. pretty idiot

24.

25.

cont..

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

also! i have started a tag list so feel free to dm/send an ask to join it :D

[ventismacchiato]

DOHWA SMAU WHEN!! (/nf at all, i get u have to finish 2 alr!! take ur time w everythin mwah)

i lowk want to i just don’t have any ideas other then following the same plot as the webtoon 😭 i’ve been making a dohwa as ur boyfriend texts i just haven’t edited yet i love that man sm

FINISH 2? 😭 i’m only planning on finishing btl rn idk what’s next

[sun-of-ghosts]

NO BC . THAT SHIT WAS SO CUTE I LOVED IT SO MUCH ???$?@#?%@?#?!$ LITERALLY ITS NOT OKAY IM BLUSHING AND ITS A FANFIC BESTIE <crying> no but like 🔫🗿 gimme moRE I NEED MORE (/nf ofc (/gen)) I LOVE U SM >:(

KSKSKSKSMDNDMSNJ IM GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT

i mean i’m definitely have some more smaus in the works so stay tuned ig 😏 (also ‘smaus’ autocorrected to slays i almost wanted to leave it 💀)

[miorrtae]

NEWS FLASH ᥫ᭡ TAEYEON SMAU

NF 22

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The airport was chaos.

Flashing lights, shouting voices, and the constant buzz of cameras clicking filled the air as Y/N stepped through the arrival gate. Fans crowded behind barriers, their cheers echoing through the terminal, but all Y/N could focus on was the pounding in her head. She kept her head down, her mask covering the lower half of her face. But she had to put on a smile.

It was her first public appearance since the hiatus. And it felt suffocating.

The months away had been necessary—life-saving, really—but they hadn’t prepared her for this. For the way the world hadn’t slowed down. For how the pressure came crashing back the second she set foot on familiar ground.

Her manager walked ahead, parting the sea of fans and reporters with practiced ease. Security flanked her sides, guiding her toward the waiting van.

Almost there. Just a few more steps.

But then—

“Y/N! How do you feel about rejoining promotions?”

“Y/N, are you excited to be in GOT the Beat?”

The question cut through the noise like a blade. Y/N’s steps faltered for a split second, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag.

GOT the Beat?

Her heart pounded, a cold wave washing over her. She hadn’t heard wrong. The reporters weren’t speculating—they were stating it like fact.

Her manager glanced back, eyes widening slightly at the tension in Y/N’s posture. But Y/N kept moving, pushing through the last few steps until she was inside the safety of the van. The door shut, sealing her away from the chaos, but the words echoed in her head.

GOT the Beat.

Her breaths came quicker as she pulled her mask down, feeling the cool air hit her skin. Her phone buzzed in her hand—a slew of notifications, articles, fan reactions flooding in. But one stood out.

“SM Entertainment Confirms Y/N to Join GOT the Beat’s Upcoming Comeback Lineup.”

Her vision blurred as she read the headline again. And again.

They didn’t even tell her.

Her own company had announced her involvement in a project she hadn’t agreed to. Hadn’t even been informed about.

And worse—

Her stomach dropped as her eyes skimmed the article, her chest tightening when she saw the list of members.

Taeyeon.

Of course.

Y/N’s throat went dry. Months of distance, of trying to heal, of piecing herself back together—and now SM had thrown her right back into the lion’s den. Right back into the orbit of the person who had broken her without so much as a warning.

Her manager’s voice was gentle, almost hesitant. “Y/N…”

“Did you know?” Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper, her fingers curling around her phone as her jaw clenched.

There was a beat of silence.

“They… they said they’d brief you when you landed.”

Y/N laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just bitterness. “Of course they did.”

Her manager shifted uncomfortably but didn’t say anything else. There was nothing to say.

Y/N leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes as her pulse pounded in her ears.

GOT the Beat. With Taeyeon.

And she hadn’t even seen it coming.

The van moved smoothly through the busy streets, but Y/N barely noticed. Her mind was too loud—drowning in the echoes of headlines, fan comments, and the bitter truth staring her in the face.

GOT the Beat. With Taeyeon.

It wasn’t just a project. It was constant proximity. Rehearsals. Meetings. Filming. Promotions. Standing beside Taeyeon on stage, pretending everything was fine while the weight of everything left unsaid hung between them.

How was she supposed to do this?

Her grip on her phone tightened as she scrolled through the article again, as if reading it a second—or third—time would somehow change the words. But they stayed the same. Cold. Unfeeling.

“Y/N will rejoin promotions as part of GOT the Beat’s upcoming unit activities.”

They didn’t ask. They didn’t warn her. They just… announced it.

A part of her had known this moment would come. SM wasn’t going to let her sit on the sidelines forever. But this?

Taeyeon.

Y/N’s jaw clenched as her thumb hovered over her messages. There was nothing from Taeyeon. No explanation. No warning. Nothing. Just silence—like always.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. She shouldn’t be surprised. Taeyeon had perfected the art of avoidance. It was easier to leave Y/N in the dark than to face her. To admit what she had done.

“Do you… want me to reach out to the company?” her manager asked softly, breaking the silence.

Y/N blinked, her gaze shifting to the passing buildings outside the window. The thought of calling SM, demanding answers, felt pointless. They had already made their decision. What was she supposed to say?

“Take me out of the unit?”

They’d never agree. She was too valuable. Her return was buzz—an opportunity they wouldn’t let slip through their fingers.

“No,” Y/N murmured, her voice quieter than she intended. “It’s too late for that.”

Her manager didn’t push, but the concern was clear in her eyes.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over her phone again, this time over Taeyeon’s contact. The name stared back at her, a painful reminder of everything they hadn’t said.

Her thumb hovered, the urge to call, to text—to demand answers—gnawing at her. But what would that even accomplish?

Why didn’t you tell me?

Why did I have to find out like this?

But she already knew the answer.

Taeyeon was a coward.

And maybe… Y/N was tired of being the one to chase after her.

With a sharp breath, she locked her phone and set it aside, ignoring the heaviness in her chest.

Fine.

If SM wanted her back, if they wanted her standing beside Taeyeon again, smiling and pretending that nothing had happened—then fine.

She’d do it.

But this time, she wouldn’t be the one left broken.

This time, Taeyeon would feel every bit of the distance Y/N had been forced to endure.

taglist + @gtfoiydlyj @sewiouslyz @xen248 @mineige @yjiminswallet @saysirhc @pandafuriosa60 @yeri-luvr

[xinganhao]

not for sale 💳 mingyu x reader. (1)

✉︎ @maplegyu asked me if she could abuse her moot privileges for this smau, and ??? when was i ever going to say 'no' to my favorite gyuldaengie! her prompt: celebrity!mingyu x small business owner!reader would be cute AF— based on this (i.e. mingyu selling out a regnie pudding).

check out 🛒 not for sale's masterlist.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ not for sale by enhypen. love is growing by plastic plastic. 711 by toneejay. she wants me (to be loved) by the happy fits. like or like like by miniature tigers. like the movies by laufey. do you wanna do nothing with me? by lawrence. wall st by boys go to jupiter.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[timextoxhajima]

hi! i sent u some asks about ´not for sale´ on anon a few months ago (about how much i like it hehe) and i just wanted to let u know that im rereading it!!! its truly one of my favorite enhypen series on this app <3 ure a very talented writer :)

hi my love! thank you for giving nfs so much love :< it's not a full smau which is what people like reading for enha now so i think it lost some interest along its way but thank you for loving it so much, it really means alot!!

[miorrtae]

NEWS FLASH ᥫ᭡ TAEYEON SMAU

NF 21

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The days following the incident blurred together, indistinct and colorless. Y/N moved through her schedule mechanically, her body on autopilot, responding only to the demands of the industry that never slowed down. She showed up to work, rehearsed, filmed, and performed, but the fire that once fueled her had long since dimmed. Every movement felt rehearsed, every smile a practiced imitation of what it once was.

She hardly ate. Mealtimes became a ritual of pushing food around her plate, pretending for the sake of those around her before setting her chopsticks down in silent defeat. Sleep was an afterthought, something she no longer had the luxury of indulging in. Her body stole rest when it could—head tilted against the van window, eyes slipping shut between takes, muscles giving out just long enough for her to disappear into the void of exhaustion before someone called her name, pulling her back into the waking world.

Her members noticed. They always noticed. The dark circles under her eyes, the way her frame seemed more fragile than before, how the laughter that used to spill from her lips so easily had been replaced by silence.

“Y/N, here,” eunchae murmured, sliding a small packet of snacks in front of her. Their voice was careful, measured, as if speaking too loudly might scare her away.

She stared at it for a long moment, her fingers twitching slightly before she forced a weak smile. “Thanks,” she mumbled, but she made no move to open it.

Later, in the practice room, she sat on the floor, staring at her untied shoelaces, exhaustion weighing heavily on her limbs. The others were sprawled around her, taking a break between run-throughs, their chatter filling the space like white noise.

“I’m telling you, we need a vacation after this comeback,” natty groaned, throwing her head back dramatically, sweat clinging to her skin.

“Yeah, but where would we even go?” chungha mused, stretching her legs out.

“Somewhere quiet. A place where no one knows us.”

“That doesn’t exist,” karina laughed, though there was a hint of longing in her voice.

Y/N tuned them out, fingers absentmindedly twisting the fabric of her sleeve. The conversation swirled around her, voices overlapping and fading in and out, like she was underwater, watching the world move without her.

A gentle nudge against her shoulder snapped her out of her daze. She looked up, meeting a pair of concerned eyes.

“You okay?”

The words sat heavy in the air between them. Y/N forced a nod, the lie feeling thick in her throat. “Yeah,” she said, barely above a whisper.

No one looked convinced, but they didn’t push. They never did. Instead, the conversation carried on, as if acknowledging her silence too much might shatter her entirely.

And so she sat there, surrounded by voices, by warmth, by people who cared—yet feeling more alone than ever.

As the days dragged on, the weight of Y/N’s exhaustion became impossible to ignore, not just for her but for everyone around her. The rehearsals, the shoots, the relentless expectations—she carried them all in silence, her shoulders growing heavier with each passing moment. Even when she was surrounded by her members, she felt distant, as if there was an invisible wall between her and the world.

Then came the announcement.

The company’s decision to film a new lifestyle variety show meant that their already limited moments of privacy would become even rarer. Some groaned at the idea of cameras invading their personal space, while others tried to find the silver lining, cracking jokes about being reality TV stars.

For Y/N, it was just another thing to get through.

After an exhausting day of work, they trudged into the dorm, barely lifting their hands to greet the hidden cameras scattered throughout the space.

“We’re home,” jisun muttered, voice heavy with fatigue.

“Ugh, I forgot about these cameras.”

“Might as well give them a good show,” karina joked, striking a half-hearted pose before immediately collapsing onto the couch, burying her face into a pillow.

Y/N, however, didn’t acknowledge the cameras at all. She didn’t even glance at them. Without a word, she went straight to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

The show’s cameras captured the others as they slowly shed the weight of the day—eunchae rummaging through the fridge for late-night snacks, another sitting cross-legged on the floor, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. natty let out an exaggerated groan as they sank into the couch, pressing a cold water bottle against her face.

“That was brutal,” chungha mumbled, rubbing her sore shoulders.

“At least the choreo is coming together.”

“Mmm. Still, my legs feel like they’re going to fall off.”

The laughter that followed was light, exhausted but warm. But even as they joked and unwound, their eyes would flicker toward the hallway, toward the closed bathroom door, toward the room Y/N disappeared into.

When she finally emerged, she didn’t join them.

The show’s cameras captured her as she slipped beneath her blankets, curling into herself, motionless. The only sign that she was even awake was the slow rise and fall of her chest.

The others tried to carry on as usual, but their energy was dimmed. So jisun sighed, setting down her phone before pushing off the couch.

“I’ll go check on her.”

No one stopped her. If anything, the others followed, her movements slow but deliberate.

One by one, they entered her room, careful not to turn on the lights.

Jisun climbed into bed beside her first, pressing close, a silent presence in the darkness. eunchae slipped in on the other side, their warmth seeping through the blankets. Chungha reached for her hand, fingers curling around hers, grounding her in reality. Natty and Karina wordlessly tucked the blanket around her more securely, making sure she was warm, making sure she was safe.

They didn’t push. They didn’t ask questions.

They just stayed.

And for the first time in days, Y/N felt something other than emptiness.

And night, as the others drifted off to sleep, Jisun broke the silence.

“You don’t have to talk,” she murmured, their voice barely above a whisper. “But you can.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. For a fleeting moment, her resolve wavered. The weight of everything pressed against her ribs, the words threatening to spill from her lips.

But then, just as quickly, she swallowed them down.

Instead of answering, she turned away, staring at the wall.

Jisun didn’t push. She just squeezed her hand a little tighter and stayed.

The next day, the group arrived at the building with heavy steps, their exhaustion still lingering from the previous day’s grueling schedule. The air inside the practice studio was cold, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as they filed in one by one. The familiar scent of sweat and worn-out sneakers mixed with the sterile smell of the polished floors.

Y/N barely registered the hum of the studio as the others began stretching, quietly moving through the motions of warming up. Her muscles were sore from the day before, but she pushed them aside, focusing only on getting through the next set. The others exchanged glances, their faces tired, but no one said a word. They had all seen Y/N’s struggle, but they knew better than to bring it up. She’d shut herself off from their concern, retreating behind a wall of practiced smiles.

Y/N made her way to the center of the room, where the mirrored walls reflected her every move in sharp detail. The others followed, gathering in their usual formation as the choreographer called out instructions.

“Alright, let’s run the choreography from the top. Y/N, you’re leading,” the choreographer said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of caution.

Y/N nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on her, but she refused to acknowledge it. She focused on the beat, her body moving almost mechanically in time with the music.

The routine was a demanding one—sharp movements, quick transitions, and rapid changes of direction. The music pulsed through the speakers, filling the room with a sense of urgency. Y/N’s body, however, seemed slower than usual, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Her breath came out in short bursts, her chest tightening with each movement. She could feel the fatigue settling deeper into her bones, the pressure mounting in her temples, but she kept pushing, determined to keep up. Her arms were stiff, her legs uncooperative, but she forced herself to power through, matching the others step by step.

As they continued, the sweat began to bead on her forehead, trickling down her face and into her eyes. Her movements were slightly off—her footwork not as sharp, her turns a beat behind. She could hear the other girls behind her, their voices a steady rhythm as they moved through the dance, but she felt disconnected from it all. The steps blurred together, the music a distant thrum in her ears.

She glanced at the mirror, briefly catching her reflection—a pale face, hollow eyes, shoulders too rigid, a faint tremor in her hands. For a split second, she thought she might collapse right then and there, but she steadied herself, shaking off the thought.

After a few more sets, Y/N’s legs began to feel like lead. Each time her feet hit the ground, a jolt of exhaustion shot through her, but she pushed herself again and again. She couldn’t let the others see. They were counting on her.

Her vision started to waver at the edges, her limbs heavy and stiff. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, each one more difficult than the last. Despite her best efforts to hide it, she could feel the familiar pressure rising in her chest—the one that always came when she pushed herself too far. But she didn’t stop.

When the choreographer called for another round, Y/N’s body finally gave out. Her legs buckled beneath her, and before she could hit the ground, someone was there—catching her, steadying her, but it was already too late.

The room erupted in a flurry of motion—staff rushed over, her members leaping to her side, their voices a frantic mess of concern. “She’s burning up.” “Has she even eaten today?” “Someone get help.”

But Y/N didn’t respond. The world spun in and out of focus, her vision going dark around the edges as her body refused to obey. The sounds around her faded, muffled as though they were coming from a great distance. Her hands were shaking, her chest heaving with every breath, but it wasn’t enough.

The others hovered over her, their worried eyes pleading for her to say something, but she couldn’t find the strength to speak. The weight of her exhaustion pressed down on her, suffocating, and all she wanted was to disappear into it.

The cameras, always on, never captured the rawness of the moment. They stayed silent as the room took care of Y/N, ushering her off to the side, away from the recording lens. It was a small mercy.

The chaos in the room was palpable, but the staff moved efficiently, guiding Y/N to a nearby chair, away from the mirrored walls and the glare of the overhead lights. Her body felt like a dead weight in their arms, her skin hot to the touch as if she were burning from the inside out. Her breathing was shallow, rapid, and despite everything, the exhaustion still hung over her like a thick fog.

Her members gathered around her, their faces tight with concern but unsure of what to do. Jisun was the first to crouch down in front of her, her hands hovering around Y/N’s face as though she might break something fragile if she touched her too roughly. “Y/N,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the tension in the room. “Can you hear me?”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, barely able to focus on the faces around her. Everything was a blur—like seeing through a fogged window, everything distant and muted. Her mouth felt dry, and when she tried to speak, only a soft rasp escaped her throat. She opened her mouth again, but no words came.

The sound of shuffling footsteps reached her ears, and someone—she couldn’t quite tell who—handed her a bottle of water. She brought it to Y/N’s lips, urging her to sip. It took a moment before Y/N’s shaky hands reached for it, her fingers trembling as she grasped the bottle and took a small drink. The cool water seemed to bring her back to herself just a little, and she could hear the collective sigh of relief from her members.

“You need to rest, Y/N,” Jisun said, her voice soft but firm. “We can’t continue like this.”

Y/N wanted to argue, wanted to say she was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. She could feel the weight of their eyes on her, the expectation, the unspoken demand that she push through, keep going, keep being the person they all needed her to be. But it was too much. She was too far gone to fight it.

“I—I’m fine,” she whispered, but even to her own ears, it sounded hollow. Her body, however, betrayed her. She was barely holding herself upright in the chair, her head lolling slightly to the side, and her vision kept blurring, as if the world was slipping out of focus.

“Y/N,” eunchae spoke up, her voice laced with concern. “You need to go home. This isn’t normal.”

The rest of the group murmured their agreement, casting one another anxious looks, but no one moved to push her out of the room. It was clear that despite their care, none of them knew what the right move was. Should they let her rest, send her away, or force her to confront whatever was spiraling inside her? The room felt charged with uncertainty, the atmosphere thick with the weight of a decision no one wanted to make.

Y/N felt a flicker of anger in the pit of her stomach, but it was quickly swallowed by the overwhelming fatigue that gripped her. How had it come to this? How had everything she’d built, everything she was, become so fragile? She didn’t know how to explain it, not to them, not to herself. The burning sensation inside her chest wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, something deep and painful that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

“I don’t need to go home,” she managed, the words barely making it past her lips. Her voice cracked on the last word, and she winced, cursing herself for sounding so weak. She wasn’t weak. She couldn’t be weak.

Karina’s expression softened, but there was a hint of frustration in her eyes, frustration with Y/N for not taking care of herself, for not being honest. “Y/N, listen. We care about you. You can’t keep pretending like everything’s okay.”

Y/N wanted to shake her head, to tell them that she was fine, that they didn’t understand, that they couldn’t possibly understand. But she didn’t have the energy for that fight. Instead, she closed her eyes again, feeling the pull of exhaustion tugging her deeper into the chair, her head tilting back slightly as her breathing steadied.

In that moment, all she could feel was the unbearable heaviness of her heart—the ache that had been there ever since the confirmation, ever since Taeyeon had made her choice so public, so definitive. The thought of it, of everything unraveling so publicly, made her chest tighten even more, but she couldn’t bring herself to face it. Not now. Not here.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She didn’t know what she was apologizing for—everything, nothing, the failure to hold herself together, the brokenness she had hidden for so long.

Jisun hesitated before reaching out to touch Y/N’s hand gently. “You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. You don’t have to carry this alone.” Her voice was steady, warm, filled with understanding—something Y/N didn’t feel she deserved. But she didn’t pull away. Instead, she allowed herself to sink into the quiet comfort of Jisun’s presence.

The rest of the members stood there, unsure of how to move forward, but Y/N’s eyes slowly closed, retreating once again into the quiet, turbulent storm of her mind. They wanted to help, but there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. And as the minutes ticked by in tense silence, Y/N realized something she wasn’t sure she was ready to admit: she wasn’t sure how to fix herself either.

___________

The episode had barely ended when the internet erupted. Fans, usually quick to dissect every second of screen time, had noticed something unusual—Y/N’s absence.

While the other members laughed over takeout, teased each other about dance mistakes, and slumped onto the dorm’s couches in exhaustion, Y/N was a ghost. The few times she appeared, it was fleeting—lying in bed, back turned to the camera, or moving past in the background like an afterthought. Then came the moment that sent speculation spiraling: the group returning home after practice, sweat still clinging to their skin, dragging their sore bodies into the dorm. But Y/N was nowhere. Not sitting at the table eating, not showering, not even in her bed. It was as if she had vanished.

The internet caught fire. Where is Y/N? Why was she barely in the episode? Is she okay? The questions multiplied, clogging comment sections and trending worldwide within hours. Fans searched for clues, rewatching past content, analyzing schedules, even scouring blurry airport photos for signs of her. The theories ranged from mild—maybe she was sick, maybe she had solo schedules—to wild speculation about hidden conflicts, secret departures, or something worse.

Yet, no answers came. The other members, usually quick to engage online, said nothing. No reassuring live streams, no playful social media posts. Just silence. The group’s official account eventually posted a vague message, something about busy schedules and individual activities, but it only made the unease grow.

And Y/N? She sat curled up in the corner of the dorm, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen as the hashtags and messages flooded in. Some were worried. Are you okay? Please say something. Others weren’t as kind. If you’re going to act like this, just leave the group.

Her chest tightened. The weight of it all—the expectations, the pressure, the unspoken demand to always be present, always be smiling—felt suffocating. She thought about responding, maybe a simple “I’m fine,” but even that felt like too much. What could she even say? That she was exhausted? That the constant scrutiny had drained her to the point where she barely felt like herself anymore?

She exhaled shakily and locked her phone, setting it down beside her. But even with the screen off, she still felt surrounded—by the comments, the pressure, the inescapable presence of millions of eyes picking apart her every move.

Days passed, but the storm didn’t quiet. If anything, it worsened. Fans grew more restless, demanding answers. Articles speculated on her condition. Even some media outlets started covering the situation, labeling it “Y/N’s Disappearance: Mystery Within the Industry.” It was no longer just an online discussion—it had become a full-blown crisis.

And the company noticed.

The first meeting was impersonal. A few managers, a public relations officer, and a stiffly worded conversation about the growing controversy. They wanted a statement. Maybe a quick video, just a few seconds, smiling, waving, reassuring everyone that she was fine. That nothing was wrong. That the company wasn’t mismanaging her, that there was no conflict within the group.

Y/N sat in the conference room, staring at them. Smile. Reassure them. The words swam in her head, but all she could think about was how much effort even lifting the corners of her mouth would take.

“I’m tired,” she finally admitted. It was the first time she had said it out loud—to anyone.

The room fell silent. Some of the staff exchanged glances, others shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t the response they wanted.

One of the higher-ups sighed. “You have schedules coming up, Y/N. You can rest when—”

“No,” she cut in. “I need to rest now.”

That was the moment everything changed.

For the first time, they truly looked at her. Not as an idol, not as a product to be marketed, but as a person—one whose exhaustion was no longer something that could be ignored.

A second meeting followed. This time, it was more serious. Her manager spoke softer, her company’s CEO even showed up. They discussed the online response, her declining health, and, finally, the unavoidable decision.

A hiatus.

The official statement came the next day.

taglist + @gtfoiydlyj @sewiouslyz @xen248 @mineige @yjiminswallet @saysirhc @pandafuriosa60 @yeri-luvr

[miorrtae]

NEWS FLASH ᥫ᭡ TAEYEON SMAU

NF 23

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The practice room was already half full when Y/N stepped in, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.

BoA was stretching near the mirrors, Hyoyeon and Seulgi laughing at something on Hyoyeon’s phone, and Wendy was mid-sip from a protein shake when her gaze flicked toward the entrance. Karina, of course, was lounging on the floor in her usual dramatic sprawl, acting like she ran the room despite being the youngest of the seniors.

And then there was Taeyeon.

Y/N’s eyes landed on her instinctively before she could stop them. The older woman was seated against the wall, hood up, arms draped loosely over her knees, her expression unreadable.

It had been months.

Months of silence.

Months since that day.

Y/N held her breath for half a second too long, then tore her gaze away.

“Yah,” Karina called from the floor, a smirk already forming on her lips, “look who finally remembered she’s in a group.”

Y/N didn’t break stride. “Look who’s still laying around like she’s in a CF shoot instead of rehearsal.”

Karina gasped, clutching her chest. “I was manifesting stage presence!”

“You should manifest footwork next.”

Wendy stifled a laugh from the corner. Seulgi shook her head but smiled quietly, used to the dynamic by now.

Karina stood up with exaggerated offense, brushing invisible lint off her pants. “One day I’m gonna trip you mid-choreo and pretend it was an accident.”

Y/N dropped her bag with a thud and tilted her head. “You’d have to catch me first.”

Their banter continued like that—sharp, playful, familiar. It filled the space quickly, distracting just enough from the crackling tension that still hung under the surface.

But it was there.

Undeniably there.

Taeyeon hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. But Y/N could feel her gaze. Like static behind her neck.

She didn’t turn to look.

She wouldn’t.

Not yet.

The choreographer clapped her hands. “Alright, let’s warm up. And then we’ll get into unit formations, including the duet pairs for the bridge.”

A ripple of tension spread through the group as the choreographer’s words hung in the air. Y/N didn’t dare glance at Taeyeon, but she could practically feel the other woman’s presence like an anchor pulling at her.

The choreographer tapped her clipboard. “Y/N. Taeyeon. You’re center again.”

The room fell into a hush, and Y/N froze, her hands clenched tighter around the strap of her bag. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, even as the others busied themselves around them.

The choreographer, oblivious to the static in the air, continued, “You’ll be working the duet for the bridge. Make sure you’re locked in with the music.”

Y/N nodded stiffly, her mind racing.

She couldn’t do this. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to face Taeyeon. The betrayal still lingered in her veins, a poison she hadn’t been able to purge, no matter how many times she tried to tell herself it was in the past.

As the others began stretching and prepping, Y/N set her bag down with a little more force than necessary and rolled her shoulders. She could feel the eyes on her—on both of them—but she refused to acknowledge it.

A glance at Karina, who was pretending to stretch while barely containing a smirk, told her everything. Karina knew. Wendy, Seulgi, Hyoyeon—they all knew there was something, but they didn’t know the details. They didn’t need to.

Y/N’s heart beat erratically in her chest, and for a second, she allowed herself to feel the weight of it all. The anger. The hurt. The rawness that she was still carrying around like it was fresh.

But when her gaze flickered over to Taeyeon again, she froze.

Taeyeon’s eyes were still on her. Soft, distant, but there—like the quiet before a storm. The same woman who had once held her close, who had once whispered everything would be okay, was now a ghost in the room.

Y/N wanted to shout at her. Ask her why. But she bit down on her tongue instead.

She had spent so long being angry, and yet, it didn’t change anything. It didn’t make the fact that Taeyeon had chosen her career over them any easier to stomach.

“Ready?” the choreographer called, breaking the tension with an impatient snap.

Y/N nodded, her breath catching in her throat. She was ready—for the choreography, for the moves, for the music—but not for this. Not for the closeness. Not for the pain of being near someone who had so easily turned their back.

The music started, and the familiar beats pulsed through the room.

Y/N stepped into position, her movements sharp, purposeful. She felt the familiar pull of the routine, but each time she approached Taeyeon for the transition, her body tensed.

The gap between them felt impossibly wide. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Taeyeon, no matter how much her eyes wanted to, no matter how much her heart yearned to reach out.

It wasn’t just the choreography that felt off. It was the weight of everything they hadn’t said, everything left unspoken.

And Taeyeon? Taeyeon, for her part, was still too silent, still too distant. She was there, physically present, but emotionally? Y/N couldn’t reach her. Couldn’t figure out what had happened. What they were now.

It wasn’t professional. It wasn’t right. But Y/N couldn’t help it. She was too angry. Too hurt. And seeing Taeyeon again… it was like reopening a wound that she had tried so desperately to ignore.

Another pass of the routine. Another step toward the center.

And still—Taeyeon didn’t look at her either.

Y/N forced her gaze ahead, trying to focus on the routine, on the steps, on anything other than the way her chest tightened.

She couldn’t breathe. Not fully.

Not with Taeyeon so close.

She tried to steady her breath, but every inhalation felt like drawing shards of glass into her lungs. The familiar rhythm of the routine that had once been her anchor now seemed to churn up a torrent of memories and emotions she wasn’t ready to face. As she continued the movements, her body moved out of sheer habit, yet every step toward Taeyeon sent tremors through her heart—a silent reminder of a past filled with closeness and promises that had been shattered.

In that charged moment, every fiber of her being pulsed with conflicting impulses. The tactile contact of the dance, the brush of fingertips, and even the subtle shift in weight carried an undercurrent of old affection and new pain. Her mind flickered with fragments—whispered secrets in the dark, intimate laughter shared in quieter times, and the warmth of a comforting embrace that now felt like an echo of something irretrievably lost.

Y/N’s eyes remained trained on the cold floor, but inside, her vision blurred with a mixture of regret and longing, the memory of Taeyeon’s gentle words and soft, reassuring touches clashing against the betrayal she still felt. The physical closeness, meant to symbolize unity and shared passion, instead ignited a storm of conflicting sentiments. Was it possible that the art they created together could ever bury the hurt, or would it only serve as a reminder of what had been irreparably broken?

Each choreographed step, meticulously practiced a thousand times, was now fraught with a desperate search for safety—a way to hide behind the precision of movement while her heart longed to either mend or shatter completely. The music swelled, filling every space around her, yet in the depths of that sound, Y/N could still perceive the ghost of her own heartbeat, marching in sync with an unresolved pain.

It was in these quiet, heart-wrenching instants between the beats of the music that she realized the truth: she was dancing on the razor’s edge of a past she couldn’t escape and a future uncertain of forgiveness. As each movement drew her unyieldingly closer to Taeyeon, she fought an internal battle—torn between the urge to retreat into the armor of anger and the desire to surrender to a vulnerability that terrified her.

And then, as if acknowledging the conflict within her, the pulse of the music deepened, guiding her into a delicate, almost imperceptible pause—an exhaled moment where the world around her receded, leaving only the collision of her whispered memories and the tender trace of hope hidden in the distance.

The second verse ended, and the tempo shifted—slower, softer. The bridge.

Y/N’s mark was center left. Taeyeon’s, center right.

The music swelled behind them, filling the room with breathless anticipation as they took synchronized steps toward each other.

One, two, three…

Y/N’s heartbeat pounded louder than the bass. Her body moved on autopilot—fluid, practiced—but her eyes stayed glued to the floor, locked on the space between their sneakers rather than on Taeyeon.

Their hands brushed, just briefly, as part of the choreography.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

Electricity sparked up her arm like muscle memory, like her body still remembered what her heart tried to forget. She gritted her teeth.

Taeyeon didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull away either.

But when Y/N’s head began to turn, when the part of the routine demanded they lock eyes for the soft exchange before the group reconvened—she couldn’t do it.

Her face tilted left instead. Away. A fraction too late to sell the illusion of intimacy. A fraction too honest to hide what was breaking inside her.

“Cut,” the choreographer snapped, frustration leaking into her voice. “Y/N. Again.”

Y/N swallowed, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling as she nodded silently.

From the corner of her eye, Karina was watching. Arms crossed. Curious. Not smug for once.

Wendy shifted awkwardly on her feet.

Even BoA, who had seen it all, looked between the two of them like she was mentally bracing for something to explode.

“Let’s take it from the bridge,” the choreographer called again. “Just Taeyeon and Y/N.”

No music this time.

Just silence. Heavy and thick.

Y/N moved back to her starting position, her limbs tighter now. Less fluid. The fatigue in her muscles wasn’t from dancing.

She met Taeyeon at center.

And for the first time… she looked up.

It was only for a second. Maybe even less. But it was long enough to see what she didn’t want to.

Taeyeon’s eyes weren’t cold. They weren’t smug, or cruel, or indifferent.

They were soft.

Tired.

Like they were carrying something heavy too.

Y/N blinked, and it was gone.

She turned her head away again, quickly, like looking too long would undo her.

The silence between them said enough.

But as Y/N stepped back into formation, the sting of that brief eye contact stayed with her.

And for the first time in months…

She wasn’t sure who she was angrier at anymore.

The rest of the practice blurred into a haze. Y/N moved through the motions mechanically, focusing on the choreography, the steps, anything that would keep her from thinking about the soft weight of Taeyeon’s gaze. The connection they’d shared, brief as it was, gnawed at her insides, refusing to let her forget.

She tried to block it out, tried to push it back. But the moment kept repeating in her head—those seconds where they almost made eye contact, where Taeyeon’s tired, soft expression flickered just for a heartbeat.

It felt like everything they had been avoiding came rushing back, as if they had never truly been apart.

As the rehearsal drew to a close, Y/N barely noticed the others packing up their things around her. Her limbs felt like they were moving on autopilot, the weight of the day catching up with her. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally.

“Hey,” Karina’s voice cut through the haze, her usual playful tone now absent. She approached Y/N, her eyes searching her face. “Are you good?”

Y/N forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. Fine.”

Karina studied her for a second longer before hugging Y/n from behind. “I’ll be outside in the van please hurry I don’t wanna be in this unstable place anymore.” Leaving slightly laughing to cheer Y/n up a little.

Y/N bit her lip, resisting the urge to laughing. Knowing Karina wanting to make her laugh but It wasn’t something she wanted to do right now. She didn’t want to feel happy right now. She just wanted to acknowledge how broken she still felt.

Her gaze flickered back to Taeyeon, who was speaking with Wendy and Hyoyeon, already shifting her focus to the next part of the day, already pushing it all down like Y/N was.

But they couldn’t keep pretending forever.

Y/N was about to turn and leave when Taeyeon’s voice reached her ears.

“Y/N.”

She froze.

Her heart raced, and she didn’t want to look, didn’t want to face her. Not now. Not after everything.

But she didn’t have a choice.

She turned slowly, trying to keep her expression neutral. “What is it?”

Taeyeon hesitated, then took a step toward her. “Can we talk?”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, and for a split second, she almost agreed. Almost walked up to her, let her explain, let her say whatever it was that needed to be said. But the anger, the hurt, and the confusion rose up again, blocking any chance for vulnerability.

“Talk?” Y/N echoed, her voice low and controlled. “There’s nothing to talk about, Taeyeon. You made your choice.” She turned sharply on her heel, not waiting for a response.

She could feel the eyes of the others on her as she walked out of the room, but she didn’t care.

She just needed space. Space to breathe. Space to not feel like she was falling apart at the seams again.

But as she stepped out into the hall, she heard it. The faint sound of Taeyeon calling her name again, softer this time.

Y/N didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. Not yet.

Not until she figured out how to stop being angry.

Not until she figured out how to stop caring.

Y/N stood in the hallway’s dim light, her back pressed against the cool wall as she tried to steady her racing heart. The echoes of Taeyeon’s soft plea faded, replaced by a storm of memories and raw emotion. Every step away from the practice room felt heavy, as if each footfall was weighed down by months of unresolved pain, regret, and a longing she’d spent too long burying.

She inhaled deeply, but each breath came jaggedly, as if her lungs were fighting against the weight in her chest. The familiar hum of the building—the clattering of distant footsteps and muted voices—blurred into an indistinct background noise. All she could hear was the internal dialogue: Why did it always hurt this much? Why was it so simple for her to walk away, but so agonizing to let go?

Her mind started to wander back to the day it had all changed, the day when promises had fractured and silence had taken root. The memory wasn’t as sharp as it used to be, yet it was insistent—a constant reminder that some wounds ran deeper than any rehearsal or dance routine. In that moment, she realized that Taeyeon wasn’t just the echo of a past love; she was a mirror reflecting everything Y/N fought to suppress: vulnerability, hope, and the fear of trusting again.

Before she could lose herself completely in thought, the muffled sound of footsteps approached. It was Karina, ever the unwitting guardian of their inner truths, her presence softening the harshness of the hallway’s silence.

“Hey,” Karina said quietly, a hand reaching out, “you alright?”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze still fixed on some invisible point ahead. “I…I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice a fragile whisper that betrayed the storm inside.

Karina’s eyes flickered with a mixture of concern and that playful resilience that so often had masked deeper understanding. “You can’t keep running forever, you know. Not from yourself…or from what’s left unsaid.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “What if what’s unsaid is too much to fix?” she murmured, almost to herself.

Karina shifted so they could both lean against the wall, her tone softening. “Maybe it is. Or maybe it’s time you give yourself a chance to learn that some things—no matter how broken—deserve a chance to be mended.”

A painful laugh escaped Y/N, half bitter and half resigned. “What if I’m just too damaged now?”

Karina’s silence spoke volumes. It wasn’t the answer Y/N craved, but it wasn’t an ultimatum either—it was a quiet, unwavering belief that something was still worth salvaging.

In that suspended moment, Y/N’s thoughts wandered back to Taeyeon. It wasn’t just anger or betrayal that defined her now—it was an intricate tapestry of memories and moments of tenderness that refused to be expunged. Taeyeon’s silence, her lingering presence in the room, and even her soft gaze during that brief, desperate moment had stirred something Y/N didn’t want to face: the part of her that still, against all odds, cared deeply.

“I… don’t think I can just forget,” Y/N admitted finally, voice trembling as she spoke into the quiet corridor. “Not now.”

Karina only nodded, the unsaid weight of that admission hanging in the air between them. “Maybe forgetting isn’t the goal,” she suggested gently. “Maybe it’s understanding, accepting, and then...deciding if you can forgive. Forgive yourself, or forgive her. Somehow.”

The words landed heavily, as if trying to peel away the layers of anger that had kept Y/N at bay. She closed her eyes for a moment, summoning the courage to let the pain and hope mingle in the same space. The idea of forgiveness wasn’t a quick fix—it was a path littered with memories, small victories, and setbacks. But for the first time that day, Y/N allowed herself a sliver of possibility.

She opened her eyes to see Karina’s reassuring smile, a small beacon in the twilight of her turmoil. “I’m going to figure it out,” she whispered, more to herself than to Karina, as if acknowledging the messy, unresolved truth within her. “I’ll start by not running away anymore.”

And as she spoke, somewhere deep inside, she knew that sooner or later, she’d have to face Taeyeon. There would come a moment when the heavy silence of their unspoken words had to be shattered by conversation—a conversation that could either mend the broken fragments of their past or lay them to rest once and for all.

For now, Y/N took one more step down the corridor, leaving behind the dim practice room and the weight of unfinished business. The hallway stretched out before her, uncertain and long, yet for the first time, she dared to tread its length with a hesitant hope—a hope that, in time, she’d learn to stop being angry, and perhaps, even begin to care again.

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