Chapter Text
“We have the same long black hair, the same features…we are the same, you are my mirror.”
They share a small, private smile across the table; the moment is played off as a joke as always, one more unserious response for entertainment purposes. After all, was it really a compliment for idols to be twinning? One needed to be unique to stand out, and there were so many people out there competing for attention. They couldn’t afford to blend in.
But they were close, and everyone knew it, so it became the joke it was superficially intended to be. But where their eyes met, Yuju knew Yerin meant every word, and the small curve at the corner of her lips was her reply to the older girl.
I know. I remember.
And that alone was enough.
She was 20 years old and it seemed like nothing she ever did was good enough. In every respect, there was at least one other of her members who outshone her. Even her usual confidence in her own looks was being drowned under wave after wave of negative comments from netizens.
She knew she shouldn’t be listening, shouldn’t be looking at those harsh criticisms, but some masochistic instinct kept driving her back there. I need to know, I want to get better, so I need to know where I’m lacking.
She cried herself to sleep every night, but put on a brave face in the morning for the others. They need me, they’re also suffering. She wanted to be there for them, be their strength, cheer them up when their spirits were low. No one asks whether the jester is weeping behind her mask. Who comforts the comforter?
She might have gone mad without the company of the others. Even as she gave everything she had for them, she also drew strength from their smiles. They need me, and I need them. It was worth it, even though she hid her pain from the rest. She did not wish to add to their burdens.
But she was not alone. She never was.
One late night at the training room, putting herself through more drills to perfect her routine, the lights turned low to save electricity, Jung Yerin almost jumps out of her skin when a hand lands firmly on her shoulder. Only a quick check in the mirror confirms her suspicions; of course Yuju would be here. If anyone practically lived in the training rooms, it was the main vocal.
“I saw the light.” Yuju shrugs in explanation. Yerin knows Yuju sometimes stayed over at the training rooms practicing, it was not uncommon for her to be absent from the dorm for long stretches. Yerin was fully aware of the hard work Yuju put in to receive the praises she did, and she respected that.
“Mind some company?” The younger girl grins infectiously, and Yerin finds the gloom lifting off her shoulders just a little. There was a comfortable rapport between them, a strange synergy where they could feed off each other’s presence, even if they weren’t actually talking.
Practice time was mostly silent except for occasional questions to clarify certain things. They didn’t need to talk, it was enough to be there, together. Yerin can see why Yuju likes to come to train on her own all the time; more than just the need to improve, there was an intimate kind of privacy in throwing oneself into practice. A peaceful solitude, especially at this time of night.
Six girls living under one roof could be chaotic at times, and as much as she loved her members, Yerin did want space at times. It was a quandary, really. She wanted to spend all her time with them, but she also wanted to be alone with her own thoughts. It was a strange push-pull of desires, and external stresses didn’t help.
When they paused for a water break, Yuju flops down carelessly on the floor, towel around her neck as she chugs from a bottle. Yerin copies her, and they were shoulder to shoulder staring up at the dimly lit ceiling, a comfortable silence between them.
“You’ve been sad lately.” It wasn’t a question. Yuju cocks her head sideways to glance at the older, and Yerin was aware that she had frozen up a little at her statement.
Yuju had always been the weird one of the group, the one slightly out of pace with everyone else, but strangely perceptive and a comfortable conversationalist. Piercing eyes seemed to stare right through her, and it made Yerin feel oddly naked, as if the younger girl was privy to her secrets. She wasn’t sure she liked that.
“Just...tired. You know how it’s like.” Yerin tries to brush it off, but Yuju was having none of that. The main vocal sits up straight and scoots over to face Yerin, concern written honestly over her face.
“Something’s bothering you. I can tell, you know. They always say we’re the same anyway.” A small chuckle at that. “How can I not notice when something in my mirror isn’t quite right?”
The offhand way Yuju says that had obviously been intended as a joke, and Yerin knows it, but something about her words and the tone triggers long pent up emotions the lead dancer hadn’t even known she was suppressing, and she swats Yuju’s hand away more aggressively than she ever intended, her jaw tightening defensively.
“We’re not the same.” You sing so much better, and everyone knows that.
A smidge of confused hurt creeps into Yuju’s eyes at the rejection, and Yerin regrets her actions almost instantly. Yuju didn’t deserve that reaction, and her member meant well in approaching her. How could she just…
She is engulfed in a big, slightly sweaty hug, and Yerin tenses, before relaxing into it, resting her chin on Yuju’s shoulder. Yuju was lean and wiry and not the fluffiest embrace one could find, but there was a comforting solidarity to it. Yerin’s eyes stung a little, and she fought back the tears that threatened to emerge. I’m not that fragile, I don’t need...
“I don’t know what’s bothering you, but you’re always there for us. I want to be here for you too.” Yuju murmurs quietly, rubbing Yerin’s back comfortingly. There was a patient understanding in the main vocal’s voice.
“You’re always there to pick us up when we fall down, and you always remind us that we’re pretty...it’s nice having that reminder.” A tiny, self mocking laugh. “It’s weirdly easy to forget that somehow.”
“Hey if you’re not pretty, that means I’m not pretty either, you know.” Yerin somehow finds it in herself to kid back, and for a moment she is glad Yuju is holding her close, because it means the younger girl cannot see her lips tremble. She didn’t want to start crying.
“So all along you were boosting your own ego? Why unnie, I can’t believe you…!” Yuju jibes back in mock offense, smacking Yerin on the arm lightly. Yerin laughs, shakily and barely a tick away from pure hysteria, but she manages to keep herself under control.
Until Yuju draws away from her and holds her by the shoulders, gazing directly into her eyes. Yerin thinks she has it together, but the expressive empathy in Yuju’s eyes silences her, something in her chest squeezing like it was about to burst out.
“It’s okay to cry, you know.” Yuju says slowly after a long moment, never taking her eyes away from Yerin’s. “I won’t laugh.”
“No, you’ll just start crying too, you big dummy.” Yerin retorts, and she knows her own eyes are stinging with unshed tears. Yuju takes in a breath, and Yerin sees herself reflected in the red rimmed eyes of her dongsaeng.
“If I’m your mirror, then let me cry on your behalf too.”
That night, Yerin comforts a sobbing Yuju, and if she sheds a few tears along the way, who was going to tell? They needed each other, in that moment, and it was enough.
Time flies onwards in their career. They slip and stumble along the way, but always, someone was there to hold them up. They cheer each other on, pranking and teasing and having fun even throughout the difficult times, but it still comes as a shock when Yuju faints during practice one day, sending the rest of them into a panic.
Yuju wasn’t well, but she had hidden it well. There wasn’t anything particularly wrong with her body, just stress and overwork, as diagnosed by the doctor, but when they all went to visit her, Yerin wanted to kick herself for not seeing the exhaustion in now murky brown eyes. It was more than just physical, and in her moment of vulnerability, Yuju had let it slip for a moment.
Yuju notices her noticing, and her eyes dim even further for a second, followed by a minute shake of her head. Not now. Yerin bites her lip, driving a stare straight at her.
Later then. Yuju bobs her head almost invisibly, and they do not stay long, knowing the lanky girl needed to rest. Yerin whips around and not quite storms out, nails digging into her palm as she exits the room shoulder to shoulder with Sowon, who had a worried scowl on her face.
Behind them, she could hear the other three assuring Yuju that they would take care of things, that she needed to relax and leave it up to them, and to get better soon. Amusingly enough, SinB’s ‘comfort’ was more along the lines of a threat -- get well soon or I’ll steal all your lines! Perfectly in character of course, and it even coaxed a weary laugh out of the bedridden girl, which perhaps, was all that mattered.
Sowon goes straight off to discuss with management about letting Yuju rest; it wasn’t going to be easy, not with them right in the middle of promotions, but their leader was determined to give Yuju the time she needed to recover. It was always comforting to have someone looking out for their best interests, who would fight for them when necessary. All of them had a place in the team, and after these many years together, all of them understood that.
Yerin is furious with herself though. She was supposed to look after the younger ones, but this had slipped past her entirely. Yuju had gotten even thinner than she already was, pushing herself harder and further like she always did, and perhaps it was the normalcy of seeing Yuju do these things that she had completely missed the tension hidden behind dark eyes.
The dumbass was probably giving herself too much stress again. Yuju was a perfectionist, and while they all knew that, it had never been too much of a problem before. Yuju worked hard, but she also played hard with the rest of them, and it had always been enough before. Much like her, Yuju drew strength from her companions, always finding energy in their camaraderie to face life again. So what had gone wrong?
Yerin doubles back to the hospital after everyone had left, slipping in right before visiting hours were over. Yuju’s mother was there with the tired singer, and she nods apologetically to the older woman, who acted somewhat as a surrogate mom to all of them with her regular visits. Yuju is tired, but seems to sense when Yerin returns, and sensing the atmosphere, her mother slips out to the washroom for a bit to give the pair a bit of space to talk.
“You’re upset,” Yuju edges in before Yerin could open her mouth, and a rueful smile twists a corner of her lips. “I messed up. It won’t happen again.”
It takes all of Yerin’s will not to take Yuju by the shoulders and shake some sense into the stubborn main vocal. She takes a deep breath instead, taking a seat by the bed. She reaches out, gripping the thin hand half hidden under the covers.
“You did nothing wrong. You’re the best we have.” And Yerin meant it. Yuju was their golden member, the one who could do anything. Everyone in the team was proud of her, and Yerin most of all. She could do no wrong, except wrong herself for not being enough for some stupid reason. There had to be a limit to perfectionism, else Yuju literally drive herself to death trying to attain the unattainable. It was time to remind her of that.
“I’m causing trouble for everyone right now though.” Again, the sparkle seemed to have faded from those usually expressive eyes, and it hurt Yerin to see it. It was good to seek improvement and push one’s limits, but in Yuju’s case, she had gone a little too far in her quest for excellence.
There had been clues before, and Yerin was upset precisely because she had dismissed them out of hand entirely. Yuju had wound herself too tightly, given herself too much pressure, and that string had finally snapped today. She should have seen it sooner, but she had been distracted, and Yuju had always been so good at pacing herself before that no one thought it would become a problem. It was the curse of being reliable, and Yerin tightens her grip on Yuju’s hand, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She could blame herself later.
“I know you’ve been spending more time in the vocal rooms in the last few months, and you always said that you wanted to challenge yourself, so I didn’t ask, but Yuju…” Yerin’s voice wavers here, “...you’re only human. If you push yourself too hard, you’ll break first.”
There was a tension in the main vocal’s shoulders, something Yerin thought she recognized. Yuju was a fool, but an overachieving one. There was never good enough with her, only better. It was a great trait to have in their line of work, but there was always the danger of burning out if one didn’t watch themselves. Yuju was hovering on that edge right now, and Yerin knew Sowon had seen it earlier too.
Yuju needed rest more than anything, and time and space to herself to learn how to relax. Even if they were in the middle of promotions now, her health was more important. All six of them had made a commitment to the group, and to each other. They were in for the long haul, and they couldn’t have one of them crashing and burning for whatever reason.
“But...the promotions…” Yuju protests weakly, guilt haunting her gaunt face. Yerin leans forward, reaching out to cup Yuju’s cheek firmly, making sure their gazes met.
“You’ll always be one of us even if you can’t be on stage for the moment. All or nothing, remember?” Yerin rests her forehead against Yuju’s slightly clammy one, closing her eyes briefly. The sound of their breathing is loud in the room, and the moment seemed to last forever before Yerin pulls away, a half smile playing on her lips.
“And if you’re worried about your lines, don’t worry.” Yerin smirks.
“I’m your mirror, and anything you can do, I will too.” Their eyes meet, and Yerin squeezes Yuju’s hand reassuringly.
“Trust me.”
Yuju looks at her wordlessly for a long moment, then gives in with a tired smile.
“Okay.”
So many things unsaid, but some things don’t need to be said. They had each other reflected in their eyes, and sometimes, that is enough.
“How can we be twins now that you’re blonde?”
Yuju whines halfheartedly at Yerin’s latest change in hair color, and the older girl laughs lightly, hooking one arm around Yuju’s neck and pulling the pouting singer closer.
“You didn’t complain before,” Yerin drawls, poking Yuju in the cheek repeatedly, making the younger growl and attempt to bite at the offending finger. Yerin withdraws her hand with a chuckle, moving instead to sit comfortably in Yuju’s lap, cuddling into her puppy as she gazes into fathomless dark eyes.
“We’ll always be the same in each other’s eyes,” Yerin says simply, never breaking eye contact. Indeed, they were reflected in the other’s eyes, and all they could see right now was each other.
“As if we’re not wearing color contacts right now,” Yuju huffs, averting her eyes as she tries to squirm out from underneath her unnie. Yerin chuckles, amused.
Soft lips press against Yuju’s cheek before she could react, dragging a tender trail down to the corner of her lips, and Yuju stills, her fingers tightening on the hem of Yerin’s clothes, but she says nothing, letting the older girl nuzzle at her affectionately.
“I am in you, and you in me,” Yerin breathes out, nibbling at a sensitive earlobe that was, unsurprisingly, pink. “You’re never getting away from me.”
Yuju makes a small grumbling noise deep in her throat, but then she turns abruptly to face a smugly confident Yerin, catching the older girl unawares with a deep kiss full on the lips. A chuckle boils up in her throat, but Yuju swallows it along with any other comments she was about to make, and it was enough.
They were but reflections in a mirror, different yet the same. Where there was one, there would be the other. And that alone was the best gift in the world: for them to have found each other.