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The company practice room had never felt this suffocating before. Maybe it was the long hours, or maybe it was the way Sullyoon had barely spoken a word to Bae all day.
Bae stole another glance at her from across the room. Sullyoon was stretching, her head tilted downward, hair falling over her face like a curtain. She looked tired. Not the usual “we’ve-been-practicing-for-hours” kind of tired, but something deeper. The kind that made Bae’s stomach twist uncomfortably.
“Take a break,” Haewon’s voice cut through the tense air. “Five minutes.”
Everyone sagged in relief, Jiwoo flopping onto the floor dramatically while Kyujin beelined for her water bottle. Bae hesitated before making her way to Sullyoon, who was still in the corner, rolling out her shoulder with slow, deliberate movements.
“Hey,” Bae started, keeping her voice light. “You okay?”
Sullyoon flinched—just a little—but Bae caught it.
“Yeah,” Sullyoon said quickly. “Just tired.”
A pause. Then she reached for her water bottle, avoiding Bae’s eyes.
It didn’t sit right.
Bae wanted to push, to ask what was really going on, but before she could, Lily appeared beside them, giving Sullyoon’s arm a gentle squeeze.
“You’ve been spacing out a lot today,” Lily said softly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Something flickered across Sullyoon’s face, but she just nodded again.
“Really, I’m fine.”
Bae wasn’t convinced.
And yet, before she could say anything else, Haewon was clapping her hands and calling them back into formation.
___
Sullyoon tried not to think about how Bae kept looking at her.
Tried not to focus on the tiny furrow in her brows, the way her gaze lingered like she knew something was wrong.
Because if Sullyoon let herself think about it too much, she would fall apart.
The pressure had been building for weeks now—schedules piling up, expectations pressing in from all sides. And through it all, she had told herself to endure. To keep smiling, to be the Sullyoon that everyone adored.
But today, everything felt heavy.
Her movements were stiff, her mind foggy. She kept making tiny mistakes—her timing off by half a second, her angles not as sharp as they should be.
And Bae noticed.
Of course she did.
Bae always noticed.
Which was the problem.
Because Sullyoon didn’t know how to explain why she felt like she was drowning.
Didn’t know how to say that it wasn’t Bae’s fault, but somehow, Bae’s presence made everything worse—made her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
So she kept her distance.
Ignored the way Bae hesitated before speaking to her, the way her usual teasing remarks never came.
Sullyoon told herself it was better this way.
That if she just focused on making it through the day, things would go back to normal.
That Bae would stop looking at her like that.
___
But Bae didn’t stop.
If anything, she became more persistent.
It was subtle—just little things.
Bringing Sullyoon an extra bottle of water. Standing closer than usual during breaks. Reaching out like she wanted to fix the stray hairs clinging to Sullyoon’s damp forehead before pulling her hand back at the last second.
Bae wasn’t saying anything outright, but she didn’t have to.
Her concern was loud enough without words.
And it was driving Sullyoon insane.
Because she couldn’t afford to break down.
Not now.
Not in front of Bae.
But then practice finally ended, and Sullyoon was heading to the locker room when she heard Bae call her name.
“Sullyoon.”
She froze.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.
A second later, Bae was in front of her, shifting from foot to foot like she wasn’t sure if she should speak.
But Bae was never hesitant.
She was loud, confident—never one to second-guess herself.
And yet, right now, she looked… unsure.
Sullyoon didn’t like it.
Didn’t like the way Bae seemed so careful, like she was afraid of saying the wrong thing.
“Sullyoon,” Bae tried again, softer this time. “Talk to me?”
It was too much.
Too much, when Sullyoon had spent the entire day barely keeping herself together.
“I told you, I’m fine,” she muttered, brushing past her.
But Bae didn’t let her go.
A hand wrapped gently around her wrist, not forceful, just enough to stop her.
“Sullyoon.”
And just like that, the dam broke.
Her vision blurred.
Her chest tightened.
She tried to take a breath, but it came out shaky, and before she knew it, her shoulders were trembling, tears slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them.
Bae cursed under her breath.
“Sullyoon—”
“Don’t,” Sullyoon choked out, shaking her head. “Please, don’t—”
She didn’t even know what she was asking.
For Bae to stop looking at her like that?
For Bae to stop caring so much?
For Bae to stop making it harder to pretend?
But Bae wasn’t the type to back down.
So instead of letting go, she pulled Sullyoon in.
Arms wrapping around her.
Warm, steady.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And Sullyoon—stupid, tired, overwhelmed Sullyoon—let herself lean in.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough to hear Bae whisper, “I’ve got you.”
___
Haewon and Lily didn’t say anything when they walked into the locker room a few minutes later and found Sullyoon curled up against Bae’s side on one of the benches.
Didn’t comment on the way Bae was rubbing slow circles into Sullyoon’s back, or the way Sullyoon’s fingers were curled into Bae’s hoodie like she was afraid to let go.
Haewon just sighed, shaking her head fondly.
“You two are exhausting.”
Bae blinked at her.
“What—”
Lily smiled knowingly, placing a hand on Haewon’s arm before turning to Sullyoon.
“You good now?”
Sullyoon hesitated, then nodded.
Lily’s gaze softened.
“Okay,” she said simply. “Let’s go home.”
And for the first time all day, Sullyoon felt like she could breathe again.