Chapter Text
Hirai Momo had always felt different. Her family had always talked about how she was special—gifted—but she never really saw it that way.
It wasn’t until she was thirteen years old that she realized why she felt so different.
The world was spinning around her as she ran towards the bleachers, holding a hand to her head. When she pulled her fingers away, she was shocked at the amount of blood on her hand.
She briefly remembered hearing her father tell her that head wounds tend to bleed more.
She couldn’t speak—not for lack of trying of course—so she sat behind the metal bleachers—overwhelmed by the smell of old gum and sweaty gym socks—and cried. She was in pain, and she was scared, and she couldn’t understand why she felt such a complete and total sensory overload.
She held her head while she rocked back and forth, hoping and praying that the bleeding would stop. She needed to go to the infirmary, but she didn’t want to go alone, and was much too scared to ask one of her classmates, so she continued to cry alone.
When a number of her classmates suddenly head to the nurse’s office with mysterious symptoms—two nosebleeds, one panic attack and three splitting headaches—she knows that it’s her fault. She can’t explain why of course, but she knows.
She caused this.
She was fifteen when she started reading minds. It was agonizing, uncontrollable, and nothing like the comic books and manga that she held dear. Her mind was constantly filled with the thoughts of everyone around her—a cacophony of voices, none of them her own—and it was exhausting.
As she matured, it became easier for her to turn down the constant flow of outside thoughts filling her brain, though they were never fully gone.
Eventually she discovered that her telepathic projections were directly connected to her strong emotions, it was easier to keep herself from projecting to those around her. It simply meant that she had to keep her emotions under control at all times.
When she is eliminated from Sixteen, she loses control for just a brief moment, and the entire studio is filled with agony.
…
~Stop! Wake up! Come on Jeongyeon, wake yourself up! Come on pabo, it’s just a dream.~ Momo was pulled out of sleep by Jeongyeon’s silent cries.
She tries her best to not read her sister’s minds—honoring their privacy at the cost of her own mental exhaustion—but there were times when the thoughts were too loud to tune out.
Momo and Jeongyeon have been roommates for a while now, but Jeongyeon’s sleep paralysis was a new development.
(If Momo had to guess, she would say the nightmares are caused by exhaustion—their hectic, busy schedule not leaving much down time—but she wasn’t an expert by any means.)
Momo didn’t like to project her own thoughts to the others, for a number of different reasons.
For one, it’s tiresome, and she has to focus especially hard to project only the thoughts she wants to share.
Also, she still hasn’t told any of the members about her abilities.
(She didn’t mind if they saw her as the slow, absentminded sister. Somehow that was better than thinking she was a freak of nature.)
~Someone. Anyone. Please make it stop.~
Jeongyeon’s anguished cries sounded so small and broken in Momo’s mind.
Momo supposed this bout of sleep paralysis must have been especially traumatic for her older sister. On a normal day, Momo could tune it out like she did the rest of the thoughts she picked up in a day.
Today, however, Jeongyeon’s unspoken cries were the loudest thing in Momo’s mind.
Momo sighed, standing up from the bed and crossing the room.
“Jeongyeon,” She shakes the older girl’s arm. “Wake up, you’re just dreaming.”
~I can’t...I can’t move.~
Momo continues trying to shake Jeongyeon awake, but to no avail.
Momo closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath, hoping she has enough focus to help her friend.
She only hopes her projections don’t make the nightmare worse.
Silently, she slips into the bed beside Jeongyeon, curling against the older girl’s body. She takes Jeongyeon’s hand and puts it in her own, closing her eyes before trying her best to help.
~It’s okay, it’s just a dream. You’re okay.~ Momo calls out, trying to reach out to Jeongyeon in the foggy mental space.
~Momo? Momo I can’t. I can’t move, I...I think I’m gonna die here.~ Momo has never heard Jeongyeon this panicked.
~Shh, calm down,~ Momo focuses harder, trying her best to clear the fog. ~I’m right here. Just come towards my voice, okay?~
Finally, Momo is able to see clearly in the fog, and she is surprised to see a much younger Jeongyeon, curled up on herself, rocking back and forth. She walks towards her, reaching out.
~Hey, I’m here, it’s Momo.~ Momo sits down, wrapping her arms around the small girl. ~Just breathe. It’s not real, but I’m real okay? I’m here.~
After a few minutes, the fog clears entirely, and Jeongyeon disappears from Momo’s arms.
Momo has only done this extensive of projection twice before—both times with her sister—and she recognized this for what it was. Jeongyeon had gone into REM sleep, a place where her nightmares wouldn’t reach her.
Momo’s eyes snap open, and she is immediately overwhelmed by the loud thoughts of the seven other members. She focuses for a moment, trying to tune them out one by one.
When they are all gone, she immediately falls asleep, her fingers still laced together with Jeongyeon’s.
…
The morning comes early and Momo catches herself as she nearly falls from the bed, not realizing how close she was to the side of the mattress.
She couldn’t help but hear a soft, sleepy chuckle come from Jeongyeon.
“Nice one,” Jeongyeon smiled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Momo had hoped to slip out of the bed as unnoticed as she had gotten into it.
“Sorry,” Momo slides out of the bed, pulling down her tank top and walking back to her own bed.
Neither of them spoke for a while, and Momo had almost fallen back asleep when she is startled back awake by Jeongyeon’s voice.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“What?” Momo asks, not entirely sure what Jeongyeon was implying.
“When were you going to tell me that you are telepathic?” Momo is stunned silent as Jeongyeon asks the question like it’s the most nonchalant thing she's ever asked.