Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Manon wasn’t exactly a fanatic for superheroes. She didn’t grow up with comic books tucked beneath her pillow or action figures lining her shelves. Superpowers, to her, belonged to the world of movies and childhood, in the same category as magic tricks and invisible friends. They’re charming, maybe, but they’re not real. They were stories told in flashes of color, in red capes and blue tights, in half-baked science and overly serious origin speeches. She thought about Spider-Man sometimes, or that weird alien on the silver surfboard, but only in the same way you think about cartoons from your childhood. That sort of thing didn’t exist in real life. It certainly didn’t exist in hers.

But lately, well. Lately, one name has started appearing over and over again. Not just in whispers or Twitter trends, but in actual news reports. Emergency broadcasts. Shaky camera footage taken by stunned bystanders. Sometimes she was in Los Angeles. Sometimes in Tokyo. Sometimes in Madrid or Manila or New York. A blue streak across the sky, a red blur passing too quickly for the naked eye to follow. She moved like light itself. And always, she arrived just in time. They called her Superwoman.

And the cape was stupid. It was so stupid. The whole thing was ridiculous, really. The suit was too tight, too bright. The boots were an impractical shade of red. The whole look screamed overdesigned comic book reject. And yet… she looked kind of like Sophia.

That was the worst part.

Not in every picture. Sometimes the resemblance wasn’t there at all because of different lighting, different angles, different ways she held her body. But sometimes it was enough. Enough to make something twist quietly in Manon’s chest. Enough to catch her mid-laugh, mid-bite, mid-sentence and make her stare a little too long at the TV screen in the living room. She’d blink, and it would be gone. Superwoman would fly off, and Sophia would walk in a second later in oversized glasses and fuzzy slippers, asking if anyone had eaten the last bag of shrimp chips.

It didn’t help that Sophia owned approximately fifteen pairs of prescription eyeglasses. Real ones, by the way, Manon checked. She wore them constantly. In rehearsals. In airports. At breakfast. The only time she ever took them off was for red carpets, promotions, photoshoots, and performances, when the stylists made her. It became a running joke among the girls, especially after a particularly dramatic Superwoman appearance in Seoul had gone viral. Dani insisted Sophia looked nothing like her and Yoonchae and Lara chimed in with exaggerated nods. “Different vibe entirely,” Lara said. “Sophia’s like… squishy. Superwoman is like… punk rock.” Megan was gentler, didn’t say much, but occasionally sent Manon a look that suggested maybe she understood the fixation. Maybe she didn’t think it was so crazy.

Still, Manon learned to keep it mostly to herself. Because they hadn’t been there. They didn’t see what she saw. They didn’t know what it felt like to fall.

It had happened so fast, one second she was leaning against the balcony railing at HYBE HQ, scrolling through texts, trying to breathe through the end-of-day fatigue, and the next, the metal beneath her hands creaked, and suddenly it gave way. And then she was falling.

Heart slamming into her ribs. Stomach lurching up to her throat. The sky spinning wildly as gravity pulled her down. For a terrifying second, she didn’t even scream. She just thought. She thought about how the news would phrase it. KATSEYE’s Manon Bannerman dies in balcony fall. She thought about Twitter. About how half the people would call it suicide while the other half would mourn with grainy fancams and dramatic edits. She thought about her parents and whether they’d blame the company. About her members, whether they’d be shocked or if they’d disband for her. She wondered if Sophie would actually make good on her dumb promise to create a Kahoot! game for her funeral. The winner gets half her stuff, by the way. 

And then arms. Strong arms. They caught her like she weighed nothing. Like it was easy. There was a rush of wind and the familiar sting of cold air, and then her body collided with something solid and warm. She didn’t register what was happening at first, not until the velocity stopped and she realized she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t even hurt. She was being held. Suspended. And then came the laugh. Soft and amused, definitely not cruel, not arrogant, but just oddly casual, as if her dramatic near-death experience was mildly inconvenient.

Manon blinked hard, breath caught in her chest, and found herself nose-to-nose with Superwoman. Close up, she was unreal. Beautiful, yes, but not in a model-on-a-magazine way. There was something otherworldly in her face, in the way her eyes scanned for danger even while holding Manon like a cradle. And she looked, God, she looked like Sophia. Not entirely. Not exactly. But enough. Enough that Manon couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stare.

“I—I…” she started, voice cracking, but the words never came. Her brain was too busy short-circuiting. Superwoman didn’t answer. She just smiled and slowly descended, her boots brushing against the balcony floor like a feather. She set Manon down gently, her hand steady at the small of her back. Then she turned to the broken railing. Her eyes flared bright red, a laser beam cutting clean across the snapped metal, bending it back into shape with impossible precision.

Manon watched in stunned silence, taking an unconscious step back. The sound alone was horrifying, the steel groaning, hissing, reforming under pressure. Superwoman turned to her again, slow and careful, like one wrong move might send her running.

“You don’t have to say anything. I understand you’re scared,” she said, and the voice was lower, or different, but it still held something warm in its undercurrent. Something… familiar. “You nearly just died.”

Manon didn’t answer. Her pulse hadn’t settled. Superwoman stepped closer and offered her a hand. “But you’re safe now, okay?” she said, nodding toward the newly fixed railing. “Try to stay away from faulty balconies.”

And Manon just stood there, staring at her, the echo of her voice circling in her head. Because that warmth, that cadence, the softness at the end of her consonants… She knew it. Not from headlines. Not from internet clips. But from quiet nights backstage. From early mornings when no one else was awake. From shared leftovers at 2 a.m. and whispered jokes in rehearsal spaces.

It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t.

Because Sophia was there when Manon returned to the room. Like she always was. Sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed in a tangle of oversized sweats, her black-rimmed glasses sliding slightly down her nose, a bag of shrimp crackers balanced precariously on her lap. Her phone was in one hand, muted screen casting a glow on her cheek, and when she looked up, her brows furrowed, not dramatically, not alarmed, just that soft crease she got when she was genuinely concerned.

“Hey,” she said, patting the spot beside her. “You okay?” And Manon could only nod. Because there it was again, that voice. The warmth in it. The cadence. The familiarity that was so specific and intimate, like a favorite song playing faintly from another room. She sat down in silence, not trusting her mouth to work the way it was supposed to, and Sophia didn’t press. She never did.

After that, something in her shifted. She didn’t call it obsession, not really. It was more like research. Just a need to know. A need to understand. Manon spent every free moment deep in the internet’s rabbit holes, flipping through side-by-side comparisons of Superwoman and Sophia, watching slowed-down clips of the hero flying over cities and squinting at the curve of her jaw. She followed every theory, every blurry paparazzi photo, every fan conspiracy thread. Once, at a fan sign, someone casually said Sophia looked like Superwoman and all the girls laughed, but Manon didn’t. She felt vindicated.

Still, life didn’t stop just because she was spiraling. They were global pop stars, after all. Interviews to attend. Choreography to perfect. Sleepless flights to catch. Which is how they ended up in Chicago, high off the adrenaline of their first Lollapalooza performance, climbing the velvet steps of a private club Olivia Rodrigo had rented out for the night. The air buzzed with bass and perfume and neon heat. Everyone was beautiful and tired and wildly alive.

Apparently, Olivia had reached out because Sophia was Filipino, too, because of course she would be connected like that. Of course everyone loved Sophia. Of course everyone wanted her around.

Inside, the music roared and the energy cracked. They passed shots between their hands like secrets. Lara got pulled onstage to DJ, Yoonchae danced on a table, Dani sang along to every lyric like she’d written them herself. Manon stayed close, half-laughing, half-sipping her drink and looking for something, or in her case someone.

And then she noticed.

Sophia was gone.

Not fully, not dramatically, she just slipped away. Half a shadow beneath the strobe lights, tucked into a corner where the bass wasn’t quite as loud and the crowd didn’t push so hard. Manon caught a glimpse of her leaning against a velvet wall, a drink in her hand, eyes closed like she was trying to find gravity again. Because the thing is: Manon was right.

Sophia is Superwoman. But no one could prove it, not even Manon. Because the suit she wore wasn’t just fabric and thread. It was laced with enchantment, woven from something alien and strange and sacred. It distorted how people saw her, just enough. Skewed the truth like a dream you couldn’t fully recall. The glamour made her look like someone else, someone taller, broader, sharper, unfamiliar. Different.

It had saved her more than once. She didn’t know how the powers came. One day, she was a teenage girl in Manila struggling to open a jar of peanut butter, and the next, she was snapping a doorknob clean off its hinges because she didn’t know her own strength. There wasn’t a crash or a comet or a spider bite. Just a slow, quiet awakening. Something already inside her that was blooming too fast. Hiding it during the whole Dream Academy process was harsh, but she managed. 

There were perks, of course. She could fly. She could cross oceans in the time it took to microwave rice. She could eat sinigang with her mom — who knew about her powers — at noon, kiss her little cousins on the cheek, then fly back to Los Angeles for rehearsal by evening and no one would blink twice. She could save people. Really save them. Lift cars. Deflect bullets. Reverse floods.

But there were downsides too. One of them was that she couldn’t get drunk. Not with normal alcohol. Her body metabolized everything too quickly. It was annoying. Sometimes, like tonight, it felt cruel. She wanted to float in the haze like everyone else. She wanted her thoughts to quiet. She wanted to stop being so aware. So she made do.

She had, hidden in her clutch, a tiny silver vial. Forged somewhere in orbit, the elixir shimmered faintly when the light hit it. It wasn’t dangerous, not really. Just potent enough to make her feel something. To blur the edges. Sophia poured a few drops into her cup with a flick of her wrist, so practiced she didn’t even look.

“You deserve this,” she whispered to herself. Because she did. She had flown home last night and carried children through floodwater with her bare hands. She had returned in time for soundcheck. She had smiled through interviews, belted her final note on the Lolla stage with wind still tangled in her hair. One night. That’s all she wanted. “Just one day,” she said, softly, and raised her cup to her lips.

The chest panel of the suit stayed under her clothes, always. The S was the heart of everything. It wasn’t just a logo. It was the magic, the mask, the thing that warped perception and veiled her identity. Without it, someone might look too closely and might see her for who she really was. KATSEYE’s Sophia, pop-star by day, Superwoman by night. That just sounded absurd. 

Tonight, though, she wasn’t worried. The drink was already kicking in. Three sips in, and the hum began behind her ribs, soft and dizzying. The more she drank, the more her body let go. Her powers, too, flickering away like static. She could no longer hear the overlapping voices from the other end of the club. She couldn’t feel the weight of the rooftop three blocks over. She couldn’t float anymore. She was grounded. Just another human.

And it felt kind of… nice. She danced without rhythm, shoulders swaying as someone — her memory tells her it was Conan — whispered something into her ear that made her throw her head back and howl. Somewhere nearby, someone said Sabrina Carpenter was around, and Sophia blinked, dazed and breathless and full of laughter. Wow, she thought. I’m a pop star.

Manon, meanwhile, was over by the snack table with Dani, trying, and failing to talk Megan out of stealing an entire bowl of chocolate almonds. “I swear I’ll find a ziplock or something,” Megan whispered conspiratorially, and Dani just looked at her like she was insane, “You are a grown adult.”

“And?” Eventually, Yoonchae was deputized to handle it, because if anyone could boss Megan around with a smile, it was her. While the two bicker about the ziploc bag that was already in the Chinese girl’s pockets, Dani nudges Manon, who at this time, is also a little inebriated by the alcohol, “Look at Soph.”

And there she was. Sophia Laforteza, laughing so hard at something Lara had said she had to hold onto the girl. Her legs wobbled when she moved, her head tilted like she was listening to stars sing instead of the club mix pounding through the air. It was… weird. Not bad, just unfamiliar. Sophia didn’t get drunk. At least, not like this. Not unless she brought that weird silver tumbler she sometimes sipped from during hotel room hangouts. The one no one else was allowed to taste. “Right,” Manon said quietly. She’s still buzzed, the walls feel like they’re warping, but she’s sober enough to pass the responsibility of looking after the other members to Daniela, “I should probably take her back to the hotel.”

Dani made a sympathetic sound, already rounding back to Megan with the stolen almonds. “Good luck wrangling her,” she smirked.

Sophia had wandered back to the bar, elbow perched, head drooping slightly, like she’d gone from pop star to sleepy toddler in ten minutes flat. Her drink still clung to the rim of her glass, untouched since she’d stopped dancing. Manon approached, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. She was so focused on her that she didn’t even realize there were other people at the bar, “Alright, party girl,” she murmured, voice close to her ear, “time to go.”

Sophia turned slowly, eyes wide and glassy behind her glasses because she’d insisted on wearing the black-rimmed ones tonight, claiming they made her look serious and pouted. A genuine pout. “But Manon,” she whined. Before Manon could respond, the host of the party herself, the Olivia Rodrigo leaned into their space. Apparently, they’d been talking. “Oh! Oh shit, hi,” Manon greeted, fumbling for words, suddenly sobering up, “Great party.”

Olivia smiled, amused and sweet. “You should probably take your girlfriend home.”

And the thing is, Manon heard her correctly, she really did. But she thought she was just drunk and that she may have misheard, so she blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I mean, you’re all she’s been talking about,” Olivia said, laughing lightly. “I could only assume…” Manon felt her stomach twist, not uncomfortably, but with something like static. Something excited and terrified at once. Sophia, meanwhile, looked far too pleased to be clinging to her, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. So Manon smiled. Forced at first, then softening as she cupped Sophia’s face. “No, you’re right,” she played along, voice warm and teasing. “This one... oh, you.” Sophia giggled. “Come on, love, let’s go.”

Getting her off the bar stool was a battle. Sophia, for all her slender frame, was deceptively heavy, dense in a way that suggested muscle and hidden strength. Manon had to wrap both arms around her waist and grunt softly as she pulled her to her feet. Several partygoers watched with amused expressions. Eventually, Lara, always attuned, always helpful, appeared at her side and wordlessly helped balance Sophia as they made their way out to the company car.

“She’s rooming with Megan tonight, right?” Manon asked, adjusting Sophia’s arm across her shoulders. “Yeah,” Lara replied, brushing sweat off her brow. “Are you sure you can handle her?”

Manon nodded, glancing at the girl now swiping lazily through her phone like nothing had happened. “She’s sobering up. See? I’ll call you if she throws up because I will not be cleaning that.”

“You joke,” Lara said, shaking her head. “Stay safe.”

And suddenly, Manon found herself in the backseat beside Sophia, limbs pressed against leather and the low thrum of post-party exhaustion making everything feel a little slower, a little more dreamlike. The car hummed along the streets of downtown Chicago, weaving past blinking stoplights and quiet storefronts, but all she could really focus on was the way Sophia had been bragging about her all night, loudly, drunkenly, and with an unshakeable certainty in her voice.

There had been a moment as they were getting out where Sophia had slung her arm over Manon’s shoulder and told a small group of artists, half of whom were Grammy-nominated, that this girl right here? This was her girlfriend. Not Dani. Not Lara. Not any of the other girls she could’ve name-dropped or deflected to. Just Manon.

And okay, maybe it wasn’t a real confirmation. Maybe it was drunk talk, loose and sloppy and dipped in the kind of affection that only blooms after three shots and a dancefloor. But Manon couldn’t help the way her stomach flipped anyway. Because even if Sophia hadn’t meant it, it still felt like something. A crack in the ice. A glimpse into the kind of closeness they kept pretending not to name.

The thing is, when Manon wasn’t obsessing over Sophia’s possible alter ego, because, yes, she was still absolutely convinced Sophia was Superwoman, or at least she looked like her, she was stressing about this. Whatever this was. Because they were close, undeniably so. The kind of closeness that made people tilt their heads and ask how long they’d been dating, only to laugh awkwardly when they realized the answer was supposedly “never.”

The girls even joked that they were the mom and dad of the group, and honestly? It tracked. Manon was the one they always ran to when they needed something, or she would be the first one at their defense when something happened, while Sophia hovered around everyone with snacks and tissues and an endless well of soft warnings. They balanced each other in a way that felt deliberate. 

But then there were the things no one else saw. Quiet 2AMs in borrowed sweatshirts. Whispered secrets passed between hotel beds and dressing rooms. That one time they stole Lara’s car and drove for nearly an hour just to find this little clearing overlooking the city, where they’d sat on the hood and fed each other snacks from their home countries, dried mangoes, Haribo, strawberry Pocky, honey butter chips. Sophia had pointed out constellations in the sky like she’d memorized them all just in case Manon ever asked. Manon had laughed, leaned back, and stared at her instead. Neither of them had commented on it.

They knocked on each other’s doors more nights than not, both of them already awake, already waiting. Yoonchae and Dani never said anything when they found them curled on each other’s beds the next morning, tangled up like it was the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it was. Maybe it had become normal in the way only inevitable things do.

Sophia was sobering up now, slow and unhurried. Her head leaned against the window, watching the lights blur past like they were melting. She wasn’t fully lucid, not really, but she was alive. Her hand rested palm-up in the middle seat between them. Manon glanced at it. Then at her.

Sophia didn’t say anything. She just slid her fingers across the space between them, brushing lightly against Manon’s knuckles before lacing their hands together. Like it was muscle memory. Like she didn’t even have to think about it. Her eyes stayed on the window, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward in that little almost-smile that always made Manon feel like the ground had tilted slightly under her feet.

Manon looked down at their hands, then back up at Sophia. She wanted to ask a million things. What are you doing? Why are you holding my hand like it’s yours to hold? Why do you still feel warm even though it’s freezing outside and you’re in a paper-thin coat?

She wanted to ask the biggest question of all: What are we?

Because the truth was, she already knew what she wanted them to be. She just didn’t know if Sophia felt the same. And tonight, of all nights, it felt like she was getting closer to finding out. The car slowed. The hotel loomed up ahead, tall and softly lit against the skyline. Manon gently squeezed Sophia’s hand once before letting go, her fingers still tingling from the contact.

Sophia managed to stand without swaying, brushing her hair back and blinking like she’d just woken from a dream. She was quiet now, but not in a sad way. Just settled. She leaned slightly into Manon’s shoulder as they entered the lobby, letting her guide them past the elevators and into the lift.

The air inside was warm and still, humming with low mechanical music. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. Sophia’s head tilted toward Manon’s shoulder again, not quite resting, but close. Close enough to feel the weight of it. Manon stared at the numbers climbing upward, heart still racing for reasons she couldn’t name.

Sophia wasn’t sick. She wasn’t stumbling, which was good. But she was sleepy, and the magic elixir clearly had a crash. Her limbs were heavier, her movements slower. Manon reached into Sophia’s coat pocket and retrieved the keycard she’d slipped there earlier, pressing it tightly between her fingers.

Room 2104. She practically dragged Sophia there, one hand on her waist, her voice soft as she murmured, “Almost there.”

Sophia didn’t protest. She just looked up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, a little dazed, and said, “You always take care of me.”

Manon blinked, startled. “Of course I do.”

There was a pause. A long, held breath of a pause. Then Sophia smiled again and whispered, “That’s why I brag about you.”

Manon’s throat went tight. And she didn’t know what would happen when they got through that door. If Sophia would pass out immediately, if the moment would dissolve with the morning, if this would ever come up again. But right now, with the hotel hallway stretching out behind them and the city far below their feet, it felt like something was about to change. Something big. Something overdue.

Manon pressed the keycard into the lock. The light blinked green.

She opened the door.

And followed Sophia inside.

Sophia didn’t even wait for the lights to come on before flopping onto the bed, limbs spread and hair askew like she’d just won a battle. And in a way, she had some internal war against her powers, her limits, her secrets, and the not-so-small matter of being completely, utterly gone on the girl now rummaging through her suitcase. Manon didn’t complain. She pulled out a familiar pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt Sophia wore during rehearsals, already setting a small glass of water on the nightstand, placing an Advil next to it. Two, actually, because if Megan wandered in hungover, she’d appreciate the foresight. Manon even prepped the trash bin, just in case. All of it done with quiet precision, muscle memory born out of the kind of love you try not to name too early.

And yet behind her, Sophia just lay there. Watching. Her eyes were fixed on Manon like she was watching a miracle walk barefoot across the hotel carpet. And she smiled. Like this was the most ordinary thing in the world: being cared for by the girl she’s had a crush on since the DA days, since Manon showed up with her natural hair out and too many layers and a thousand walls she thought would protect her. Since Sophia tried to shove her own feelings so far down they’d vanish. They didn’t.

She had tried, Lord, had she tried. She’d been mean, acting disinterested whenever she joined the room. But every word was a defense mechanism with cracks. Every time she looked away too fast or laughed too loud, it was a cover-up. And now, years later, Manon was folding her socks neatly by the hotel bed, completely unaware that the girl she’s been gently orbiting was quite literally Superwoman.

And Sophia hated lying to her. It had been gnawing at her, especially after Seoul. That night, when Manon almost fell from the balcony, Sophia wasn’t anywhere nearby. Not physically. But something had pulled her there. A gut feeling, like the air shifted and whispered her name. She arrived seconds before the fall, arms locking around Manon’s waist just in time. It scared her. Not the near-death. It scared her how much she felt. Like the idea of a world without Manon cracked her open in ways she couldn’t tape back together. She had been this close to telling her that night, not about the suit, not yet, but about the real thing. The heart thing. The feelings she had for her.

She didn’t. Manon had already been shaken enough. And Sophia thought, not tonight. Tomorrow. Or the next. Or the next. But tomorrow kept running away.

So instead, she watched her now. In her dress, hair still soft from the stylist’s wand, looking achingly beautiful as she muttered something about not knowing where the toothpaste was. She bent down toward Sophia’s bag, and something green shimmered faintly in the open medicine kit, tucked away between cotton pads and painkillers. Manon didn’t notice.

“Manz,” Sophia muttered, her voice thick, slurred only slightly. She was half sitting up now, clumsy fingers wrestling with the coat she hadn’t managed to shrug off. “You know… I would fly you to Paris right now.”

Manon turned, one brow raised, trying to hide her laugh. “Yeah?” she asked lightly. “You got a private jet I don’t know about?”

Sophia huffed, dramatic, a small smile tugging at her lips as she continued to fight the buttons of her shirt. She looked down at her shirt, growled softly in frustration, then looked up at Manon with something wide and pleading in her eyes. “A little help here, please?”

And God help her, Manon’s heart dropped and soared at the same time. She crossed the room slowly, carefully, like she was approaching something sacred. Her fingers reached for the buttons, gently undoing them one by one, trying not to think too hard about what lay beneath, about the heat she could feel radiating from Sophia’s chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She had helped Sophia with quick changes backstage a million times. But this was different. This was close. This was soft. This was…

Her hand stilled at the third button. Just one more tug and the collar parted, just enough to catch the unmistakable shimmer beneath. Not satin. Not lace. Something smooth and otherworldly. Her eyes dropped to it, and there it was, sharp and irrefutable. The symbol. The S. Red against gold.

The crest of Superwoman.

Manon froze with her entire body going tense, lungs suddenly refusing to function properly. Her hand hovered midair like she'd been caught mid-crime, mouth parted, brain rebooting.

No. No, no, no . She must be imagining it. It was late. She was tired. She had always wanted to see it, wanted this, maybe her mind had just conjured it up because she was feeling soft and dizzy and warm and too close to Sophia’s skin.

But it didn’t go away. Because that wasn’t a trick of the light. That wasn’t fabric you buy at Calvin Klein or whatever cryptic designer Sophia normally wore. That was the suit. Superwoman’s suit. Right there, like a second skin under her clothes. Not some cosplay replica. Not some dumb bet with Megan. The real thing. And Manon knew that because she had once been pressed against this suit and she had been unable to stop thinking about it since. 

The breath she took turned to static in her lungs. Her whole body buzzed with disbelief. She staggered back an inch, just enough to feel her balance shift, and she looked at Sophia, at her face, soft in the dim light, lashes brushing her cheeks, blissfully unaware. Her brain was doing full mental gymnastics.

Because yes, this was exactly what she’d always suspected, in the deepest corners of her gut. Every excuse. Every sudden exit. Every time Sophia missed something important and came back winded with dust in her hair. Manon had seen the pattern. They’d joked about it. Laughed it off. She’d said it with half-truths and mock-serious smirks in interviews. And Sophia had never denied it. She had just smiled that same smile. And now… here it was. The truth, undeniable and glowing under three undone buttons.

It should have felt like victory.

It didn’t.

It felt like falling.

“You… You’re—” she choked, but the rest didn’t come. Her mouth wouldn’t cooperate, words logjammed behind panic and confusion and oh my god oh my god oh my god she was right. She was so right. And it made her want to throw up. Because this didn’t just mean Sophia had a cool secret. It meant she’d been fighting people. It meant she’d been flying across cities and risking her actual life while also showing up to rehearsals and nailing harmonies and acting like everything was fine. It meant that when they were all backstage complaining about broken nails or lack of sleep, Sophia had been hiding bruises that no one could explain.

Her eyes snapped back to Sophia, who was still lounging, her head swaying slightly. She blinked, confused, clearly out of it. “What?” Sophia mumbled, voice syrupy and soft.

And then she slumped. Right into Manon’s arms.

Gone.

Dead asleep.

Like the weight of her truth had knocked her out cold. Or maybe the alcohol had just finally won. Either way, she pulled Manon down with her, their limbs tangled, cheek resting against Manon’s collarbone. It was too much. Manon’s hand was still clenched around the shirt collar, her knuckles white, eyes wide. She was practically frozen in place, heart hammering like a siren in her chest.

That couldn’t be real.

That couldn’t be real.

She must’ve misread it. Maybe it was a joke shirt. A parody. Maybe Megan dared her to wear it to sleep. Maybe it was merch. Maybe—

It was not merch.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, and the sound barely left her throat. Panic clawed at her chest, wrapping tight like a corset, and she scrambled upright as much as Sophia’s weight would allow, hands fumbling, hair in her face. She shook her gently. Then harder. “Sophia,” she whispered. Then louder: “Sophia. Come on. Wake up. Please.”

No response.

She pinched her arm.

Still nothing.

“Jesus Christ,” she hissed, trying to keep her voice steady, but the panic was edging in now, high-pitched and spiraling. “You can’t just, you can’t just drop that on me and fall asleep! I need—what am I supposed to do with this? Sophia.”

Her heart was racing so fast she thought she might pass out. She pressed a palm to her own chest, then hovered a hand above Sophia’s mouth. Breathing. Thank god. And her pulse was still strong. Okay. Okay. She wasn’t unconscious from an alien stab wound or cosmic poisoning or whatever else Superwoman dealt with on a weekly basis. She was just… sleeping.

Her fingers ghosted over the collar again, over the edge of the suit. “You lied to me.” She didn’t even sound angry. Just… broken. Confused. Vindicated and terrified in the same breath.

She sat there, stiff and silent, heart clawing at her ribs like it was trying to escape.

What the hell was she supposed to do with this? And why, even in all her panic, did part of her feel weirdly, horrifyingly right?

Like the universe had finally finished the punchline of some cosmic joke she’d been living in.

To make matters worse, she could hear the shuffle of feet outside the door. Light at first, like someone trying not to wake the hallway, but then louder. Laughter followed, Megan’s, unmistakably bright and sharp like always, and then a voice that made Manon want to scream into a pillow. “Sophia?” came the knock. “Are you in there?”

Her entire body went stiff. Still crouched over Sophia, she’s still hovering in that in-between space where adrenaline hadn’t yet let her go. Manon snapped her head toward the door like it might explode at any second. Sophia, for her part, was completely passed out and breathing softly, looking peaceful and oblivious and absolutely wearing a superhero suit under her half-unbuttoned shirt. The actual Superwoman suit. Red and gold and shimmering right there under her collarbone like it wasn’t the biggest secret in the world.

Manon’s hand flew to her hair, fingers tangling in her braids as she tried to wrangle her brain into some semblance of logic. “We’re busy!” she blurted, voice slightly too high, slightly too rushed. There was a beat of silence, then more laughter. “Oh my God,” Megan said from the other side, in that tone that made it clear she was absolutely grinning ear to ear. “I just wanna charge my phone and grab my clothes.”

“We… We’re not clothed!” Manon yelled back. And the second it left her mouth, she realized what she had said. That was not the move. That was not the lie she meant to lean into. But the words had already flown out of her mouth and now she had to commit, even as her cheeks burned hotter than the sun and her pulse started echoing in her ears.

There was a chorus of noise on the other side now, from Lara and Yoonchae going “EW!” with cartoonish disgust, Megan letting out the longest “whooooaaa,” and Dani, the traitor, knocking again just to say, “About damn time!” Which was… confusing. But it bought her the time she needed.

Still red in the face, Manon turned back toward Sophia, who hadn’t moved an inch, her head lolled to one side on the pillow. She looked so innocent like this, so human. You wouldn’t know that she could fly, or lift buses, or stop a building from collapsing with her bare hands. You wouldn’t know that she had saved Manon’s life in Seoul and then climbed into a van the next morning acting like nothing had happened. Like she didn’t spend her nights chasing villains through the sky and her days pretending she couldn’t even do a push-up during training.

The suit shimmered again as Manon reached for the edge of it.She shut her eyes. Because she had to change her. Sophia couldn’t sleep like this. Not with half a costume hanging out like a neon sign. So, carefully she undressed her, hands clumsy with purpose. She tried not to look, really, she did, but her fingers brushed the metal crest, and it hummed faintly against her skin. That made her pause. Made her ache. Made something old and warm crack open inside her chest.

Once Sophia was in an old T-shirt and sweatpants, she tucked her into bed gently, pulling the blanket up to her chin like she was scared she might vanish if she let her get cold. And then, still moving on autopilot, she changed into one of Sophia’s oversized hoodies and a pair of shorts, crawling into the empty bed that wasn’t hers, the one Megan had claimed earlier.

Everything smelled like Sophia. The lights were off. The room was still. For a moment, it was almost peaceful. But Manon didn’t fall asleep right away. She laid there stiffly on her back, one arm flung over her eyes, the other fisted in the blanket, her chest tight and aching and so full she didn’t know how she was still breathing. Every few seconds, her eyes would dart toward the other bed, her ears straining for the soft, steady sound of Sophia’s breathing.

It was still there. But Manon couldn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling. Because she’d known. Some part of her had known. She’d made jokes. Had half-serious theories. Had said it in front of Sophia before. And Sophia had just smiled and told her to get some sleep.

And now… now, it wasn’t a theory.

She is Superwoman. And somehow, she’d still chosen her. She’d held her hand in the car. Had dragged her into bed. Had said “I’d fly you to Paris.” earlier. Manon clutched the blanket tighter. She should be freaking out. She was freaking out.

But even under the panic, under the confusion and the unspeakable weight of this new knowledge, there was a pulse of something else. She wasn’t crazy. And maybe this meant Sophia trusted her. Maybe this was the start of something real.

So Manon shut her eyes and she listened to Sophia breathe. And somewhere, even in all that panic, she smiled.

Chapter Text

The headache that slammed into Sophia the moment she opened her eyes was so brutal, she almost wished a villain would just fly through the window and knock her out again. Anything to not feel like her brain was trying to escape her skull via jackhammer. Her mouth was dry. Her body ached. She was queasy and overheated and confused as hell.

Also… she doesn’t remember changing her clothes. That was the first sign something had gone sideways. Her Superwoman suit still clung to her skin underneath what felt like sweats and a shirt but she didn’t remember changing. Actually, she didn’t remember anything after the car ride. Maybe a flash of Manon’s voice. Maybe the elevator? Or had that been a dream?

She tried to sit up. Her stomach wobbled and her head throbbed harder. But when her vision cleared, the second sign she wasn’t in her usual morning routine came into focus. Because there was Manon, sitting casually on Megan’s bed in Sophia’s clothes with her legs crossed, already holding a mug of coffee and scrolling her phone like she woke up there every morning.

Sophia blinked and stared. “Shit,” she muttered.

That made Manon glance up, a little startled but still composed, like she hadn’t spent the night dragging a half-conscious superhero into bed and pretending not to notice the literal red-and-gold symbol for justice peeking out from under her button-up. “Morning,” Manon said, as easy as breathing.

Sophia stretched and winced. “Um. Hi?”

“Hi.”

She looked at the untouched breakfast sitting beside her. Two plates and one of them is still steaming, there’s also coffee and fruit and it smelled amazing. But mostly, she was staring at Manon and trying to make sense of literally anything. “Not that I’m complaining,” Sophia said slowly, her voice still groggy, “But what are you doing here?”

Manon sipped her coffee and gave her a very innocent smile. “We hooked up.”

Sophia’s soul left her body at that moment and her eyes widened. Because surely, she just heard that incorrectly, right? She just… She and Manon hooked up? Before she could even tell her what she feels for her? Hell, this would’ve been okay if she remembered any of it. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Okay, wait, wait, that came out wrong,” Manon said quickly, setting the mug down like she hadn’t just casually dropped a bomb on her. “We didn’t! I mean—we didn’t. I just said that to the girls last night. As an excuse.”

Oh. 

“Why,” Sophia asked slowly, still pale, “Did you need an excuse?”

Manon tugged the blanket off the food tray and fluffed it casually. Like she wasn’t spiraling on the inside. Like she hadn’t seen the suit, like she wasn’t still thinking about it even now, tucked under the shirt Sophia wore like a second skin. “You were out cold, and Megan was knocking,” Manon explained, breezy and bright. “I didn’t want anyone to barge in, so I said we weren’t clothed. It worked. They left us alone. You’re welcome.”

Sophia stared. “So we didn’t—?”

“Nope.”

“You’re just in my clothes.”

“I wasn’t going to sleep in a party dress, Sophia. Besides, after you were bragging to everyone that I was your girlfriend last night, I think that gives me the right to steal some of your clothes.”

Sophia blushed yet again. Now that she vaguely remembers. “Oh.”

There was a pause. A long, very weird pause. Sophia looked down at the sweats and at her shirt, and most importantly, at the edge of her Superwoman suit peeking out at her collar. She subtly adjusted it. “Did I, uh…” She cleared her throat. “Did you change me?”

Manon didn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

Sophia froze. “Like—change my—like you saw—”

“Oh my god, no!” Manon said, a little too quickly, a little too brightly. She waved her hand like she was shooing the thought away. “I closed my eyes the entire time. It was a full blindfolded operation. I could’ve auditioned for like, Bird Box or something, honestly. Didn’t see a thing. Promise.”

Liar, Sophia thought suddenly, but the part of her that would normally say something, question it, press further, was still foggy and spinning and holding a piece of toast like it was a flotation device. So she nodded and said nothing.

And Manon smiled a little too tightly and went back to scrolling. They ate in silence for a while as Manon handed her coffee. Sophia drank it with both hands, hoping it would chase away the lingering nerves and maybe the pounding thought that she definitely knew. But Manon didn’t bring it up. Not once. Not even a flicker of recognition.

She didn’t mention the shimmer of the suit. 

Nothing.

It was almost worse than if she had.

Eventually, Sophia stood to clear the trays, wincing at the stiffness in her back. Manon was still wearing her hoodie, her favorite one, the faded one from the Manila show that she received from a fan. And Sophia couldn’t say a damn thing about it, not when her own secret was lying like a second skin beneath her clothes.

Then came the knock, or more accurately: the invasion. Megan burst into the room with Yoonchae, Lara and Dani right behind her. All four were carrying snacks, charger cords, and her clothes from last night. “Which bed did you two have sex on so I can avoid it forever?” Megan asked immediately, and Sophia almost died on the spot. Manon didn’t even look fazed. She just sipped her coffee again and raised her brow. Sophia looked at her. Manon looked back. They both pointed at Sophia’s bed in perfect, practiced unison.

And neither of them corrected it. Because it was easier to let them believe that than to explain the truth, that Sophia was hungover, exhausted, and maybe in love with the girl who just helped her change out of her superhero suit and then pretended like she didn’t see a thing.

And Manon?

Manon just kept pretending.

Even though her heart was pounding. Even though every breath Sophia took was another reminder that yes, she was right, and yes, this girl was Superwoman, and yes, she had no idea what the hell to do with that information. So she smiled, like everything was fine. Like nothing had changed.

But when Sophia laughed at one of Megan’s dumb jokes, head tipped back and the sunlight catching the edge of the “S” beneath her clothes, Manon didn’t look away. She couldn’t.

Their flight back to LA was, blessedly, uneventful. Even the plane ride had no turbulence. No suspicious glances from airport security. Just six girls stuffed into business class with their sunglasses on, headphones in, each one trying to pretend that performing three nights in a row hadn’t completely annihilated them.

They landed in the early morning and were granted, by some miracle, a full week off. No dance rehearsals, no interviews, no brand deals. A golden pocket of time in which they could either rot peacefully or be “productive.” Most of them chose rot.

Yoonchae had been fused to the living room sofa since noon, barely blinking as she played Marvel Rivals with the focus of someone learning new choreography. Dani floated between her Mustang and the kitchen, Lara hadn’t been seen since lunch, and Megan was apparently trying to learn Spanish “just because.”

But Sophia, well, Sophia had been watching herself. Every move. Every exit. Every re-entry. Slipping in through the balcony door after a flight. Sneaking up the fire escape. Peeling her suit off in the laundry room and hiding it between layers of denim in the hamper. She’d been too good at it. Too careful.

And yet, no matter how quickly she changed or how fast she reappeared, there was always Manon. Sitting in the living room with a book. Popping grapes in her mouth by the kitchen island. Stretching on the rooftop like she wasn’t tracking Sophia’s return with her peripheral vision.

That’s how Sophia knew.

Knew that she knew.

It was in the look Manon gave her the night they all had dinner, when the news played a blurry video of Superwoman saving an overturned ambulance on the 405. Dani had been near the TV, shaking her head and whispering about how insane it all was, about how grateful people must feel.

And Manon? She didn’t look at the screen. She looked at Sophia.

She always looked at Sophia.

By the third night, Sophia couldn’t take it anymore.

It was nearly eleven in the evening when she padded down the hallway in sweats and a tour hoodie, her hair still wet from a quick shower, her pulse beating out of rhythm in her throat. The rest of the house was dark save for a warm glow under Dani and Manon’s door, a rectangle of light bleeding into the hallway.

She hesitated.

Then she knocked.

It didn’t even take two seconds. The door opened like it had been waiting.

And there was Manon, already in pajamas, her curls clipped up messily, a hint of something unreadable in her expression. Her phone was in one hand. Behind her, Dani was sitting on her bed with an iPad, earbuds in, totally immersed in what looked like a rewatch of Severance.

“Hey,” Sophia said, softly. She waved a little. “Um. Can we talk?”

Manon didn’t even glance back. She just stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Her eyes scanned Sophia’s face before she nodded. “Yeah,” she said.

They stood there for a beat, both barefoot, both girls with so much in their chests they didn’t know where to begin. Then Manon gestured toward the end of the hallway. “Wanna go up to the roof?”

Sophia didn’t have to be told twice. The second Manon gave the smallest of nods, she pushed open the creaky window with a practiced ease, the familiar groan of it barely registering above the pounding of her heart. She swung her legs over first, socked and steady, then turned instinctively to offer her hand, because no matter how many times they’d snuck onto this roof before, Manon always took it. Always. Her fingers curled into Sophia’s like it was second nature, and the superhero steadied her as she climbed out beside her. The cool night air wrapped around them like a secret, and they settled side by side against the shingled slope of their roof, shoulders just barely brushing, a deliberate kind of almost-touch that had always felt more electric than anything direct.

It was quiet up here, as it always was. The kind of stillness that made the world below feel like background noise. The faint barking of a dog from a neighbor’s yard, the distant thrum of music and laughter from some party two houses over, it all felt so far away. On this roof, it was just them. Just Sophia and Manon, wrapped in moonlight and unspoken things.

The truth sat heavy between them like a phantom. Neither of them quite knew where to begin. Sophia didn’t know if she should start with the whole “I’m literally Superwoman” thing or the slightly more terrifying truth, that she was in love with Manon in a way that felt dangerous, like something lodged beneath her ribs, something glowing and radioactive and impossible to ignore. Kryptonite in its most literal form. Manon, on the other hand, didn’t know if she should be mad. Hurt. Scared. She didn’t know if she should just ask outright — why didn’t you tell me? — or if she should let Sophia talk first. But the silence between them was charged, vibrating with every unsaid word and every sidelong glance that lasted too long.

Eventually, Sophia let out a quiet sigh, slumping against the shingles as her eyes stayed fixed on the sky. “You know,” she said, voice low, careful. Like she was offering up a thread and hoping Manon would be the one to tug. There was room in the sentence for anything, for accusation, for affection, for escape. Manon chose the truth. “I knew it was you the first time,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, but in the hush of the rooftop, it sounded like thunder. “Back in Seoul. You were the one who saved me.”

Sophia’s breath caught in her throat. Her head turned, eyes wide, searching Manon’s face for any trace of blame, but there wasn’t any. Just certainty. Just memory. Manon’s hands were in her lap, fingers twisting anxiously, but her voice didn’t waver. “I know your face. It’s weird, because when you’re in the suit you look so different. I’ve always been saying she looked like you but I never thought it would actually be you. And then I saw the suit…” she swallowed, blinking fast, “I just knew. Because I remembered how close you were that night. How safe I felt.”

Sophia’s shoulders slumped a little more, her mouth tugging into a weary, crooked smile. “Alam mo, if I’d been too late,” she said softly, “I would’ve reversed time. I swear to God, Manon, I would’ve found a way.”

And it was that. It was sentences like that which made Manon ache in a way that wasn’t entirely painful. And it was so absurd, so dramatic and impossible and real that it made Manon laugh, one of those small, broken laughs that caught on her breath like static. “You can’t just say things like that, Soph.”

“Why not?” Sophia turned to look at her, gaze steady now. “It’s true.”

She would do absolutely anything to keep her safe. And the silence stretched on until Sophia regained the confidence in her voice. “I didn’t want you to find out like that,” she admitted eventually. “I thought I had more time. I thought I could tell you properly, when I was ready. I didn’t think you’d be the one holding my shirt open while I was blackout drunk in a hotel room in Chicago.”

Manon laughed, but it was the kind that came out thin and uneven. “Yeah, well. Life’s funny like that.”

Sophia finally turned to look at her. She looked tired, not tired in a way a pop star should be. Not rehearsals and interviews and jetlag. A different kind. A deeper kind. Like she hadn’t been sleeping properly for weeks because the weight of two worlds was pressing on her lungs. Because the thing she feared most had finally happened, and it hadn’t broken her, but it had cracked something wide open.

The silence stretched again, this time softer, and Sophia raked a hand through her damp hair, strands sticking to her forehead from the leftover water from her shower. Her voice dropped lower. “I was going to tell you. I wanted to. You were always the first person I wanted to tell. But the longer I waited, the harder it got. And that night… I didn’t think you’d have to see me like that. I thought I’d just crawl into bed in my party clothes and sleep for twelve hours.”

Manon smiled faintly at that, but there was still something tense in her jaw. “I just wish you trusted me with it,” she said quietly. “I do,” Sophia replied instantly, almost too quickly. “I trust you more than anyone. I just didn’t want to drag you into this mess. Into my mess. You care so much, and I care about you, and that combination felt like… like putting a target on your back.”

Manon exhaled sharply, as if trying to hold something in. But then her voice came, quiet but resolute. “What if I want to be in the mess?” She looked at Sophia then, really looked at her, and her heart was pounding so hard she was sure it echoed into the stars. “Sophia… I’ve always worried about you. Even before I knew it. And I always will. You being Superwoman doesn’t change that. I care about you, not that stupid cape.”

Sophia looked down at her hands, jaw clenched. “I can’t stop being her, Manon,” she said, and the exhaustion in her voice was unmistakable. “Even when I want to. Even when it hurts. I could try to hang up the cape or bury the suit, but it would just find me again. And it’s just getting hard trying to hide it when I’m a public figure.”

“I’m not asking you to stop,” Manon whispered, leaning closer now, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her. “I’m just asking you to be careful. And to realize that I’m here. I’ve always been in your corner, even when I didn’t know the whole story.”

There was something in Sophia’s eyes then, something fragile and blooming, like hope wrapped in heartbreak. “Would you give me first aid?” she teased, and the smile that followed it was small. Manon smiled too, softer this time. “I’d take a course. Read a manual. Learn from the best. We kind of need our leader, you know?” She nudged Sophia playfully. “The girls and I would crumble without you.”

Sophia chuckled, the sound a balm against the weight of the night. “Oh, so you do care.”

Manon rolled her eyes, but there’s a grin already tugging at her lips. “Should I care about you?”

Sophia tilted her head, that grin turning just shy of flirtatious. “Do you?”

Manon didn’t answer right away. She just let the moment breathe, let it stretch between them like elastic on the verge of snapping. And then she leaned in, just slightly, her voice a whisper against the dark. “Of course I do.”

And that should be enough for Sophia.

That confession should have been her final word tonight. She should be climbing back into the bedroom, curling under a blanket beside Yoonchae and pretending the vulnerability didn't split her open just now. She should be laughing this off in the morning, brushing it aside like a stray strand of hair. But she doesn’t move. She doesn't even blink. Her body is drawn to Manon like there’s some invisible string tugging her chest forward, and before she can second-guess herself, she slides closer, the distance between them shrinking until her arm finds a familiar place around Manon’s waist.

“Since we’re being honest…” she murmurs into the stillness, her voice carrying the weight of something much older than the night. Manon lifts her head from Sophia’s chest, lips quirking upward with a teasing glint in her eye, like she senses the shift in the air but isn’t ready to let go of their ease just yet. “What?” she grins. “Don’t tell me you’re actually an evil mastermind and Superwoman’s just your cover story?”

Sophia rolls her eyes, but there’s affection in the motion, an easy kind of exasperation, the kind that comes from knowing someone too well. But when she opens her mouth again, her voice is quieter. Shyer. “I wasn’t actually supposed to be on the balcony that night,” she admits, fingers grazing lightly over Manon’s hoodie. “I was supposed to be somewhere else. Asleep, maybe. But I knew you were there. And there was something I wanted to tell you.”

There’s a pause. Manon’s smile softens but stays in place, more curious now than playful. “The Superwoman thing?” she asks, brows raising slightly, “You were going to tell me that day?”

Sophia shakes her head slowly, then looks down at their joined hands like it’s something holy. “I was kind of about to tell you that I was in love with you.”

And just like that, the world holds its breath. It’s not dramatic, not really. There’s no lightning or orchestral swell or time-stopping spell. But it feels like the earth has tilted. Like something cracked open in the stars above them, and all the air got sucked out of the sky. Manon just stares at her. Blinks once. Then again. There’s a flicker of panic in her eyes, like her heart has to catch up to what she just heard. “Was?” It’s the only word she manages to push out, her voice rough around the edges. The word lingers like a bruise between them. Sophia’s smile is soft. “Still am,” she whispers, and her thumb traces a path over Manon’s knuckles. “I am in love with you, Manon. And I know this might complicate things, and I know we’re in the middle of… everything. I’m not saying this to make things harder, I’m not even saying this because I want something back. I just—” She lets out a breath, like the admission itself was already a relief. “You deserved to know.”

But before she can spiral deeper, Manon lets out a breathy laugh and says, “Can you let me talk?”

It startles a laugh from Sophia, who sits back just enough to meet her gaze, still waiting for the fallout that never comes. Manon turns to face her fully now, both hands bracing against Sophia’s shoulders like she needs something to hold onto. “Do you know how many times I wanted to ask you what we are?” she begins, voice soft but rising with every word. “Do you know how many times I stared at you and thought, ‘Is she ever going to do something about this thing we’re dancing around?’ I mean… god, Sophia. You could be a little dense.”

She looks up toward the sky, like she’s trying to gather her thoughts from the stars. “Remember when we went stargazing?” she asks suddenly, and Sophia nods after a beat, blinking through the memory like it’s right there again. “In New York,” she says, smiling faintly. “We snuck up to the roof of the hotel.”

“There was a shooting star,” Manon adds, eyes still tilted to the sky. “And you asked me what I wished for.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Because I was wishing for you,” Manon breathes, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And it kinda sounds stupid because she’s twenty-three and she’s making wishes on stars like she was fourteen. Then she tilts her head back down, eyes locking on Sophia’s, there’s no teasing now, only warmth. “To be specific… I wished you’d just kiss me.”

And Sophia is floored. Because she remembers that moment, remembers the way Manon smiled and shrugged and said something like “you’ll never know,” and Sophia had laughed but felt a tug in her chest. She hadn’t realized the weight of that silence.

“You did?” she whispers.

“I did,” Manon nods, her thumb brushing along Sophia’s collarbone. “I was waiting for you. I’ve always been waiting for you.”

And the thing is, Sophia wants to kiss her now. She wants to close that inch of space between them and taste the promise they’ve been swallowing for months. But she doesn’t rush it. She just looks at Manon like she’s never seen something so breathtaking. “You really wished for that?” she asks again, just to hear it, just to feel it settle in her bones.

“I still do,” Manon says, barely louder than a breath, but the desperation in her voice turns it into something devastating. It clings to the night air like static. A confession that trembles at the edges, too loud and too soft all at once. She hadn’t planned to say it, not like this, not with the stars overhearing, not with her knees curled up beside the girl she’s been aching over for years, but it just slips out. Because of course she still wants to kiss her. Of course she’s still in love with her. It’s stupid and messy and impossible and perfect, and it’s them. It’s always been them.

Sophia doesn’t kiss her.

Not yet.

Instead, she stands abruptly, brushing off her jeans like she’s just made a decision that’s going to change everything. For a beat, Manon’s heart sinks. Maybe this was the rejection after all. Maybe “I still do” was too much, too soon, too close to the truth. She hugs her knees to her chest, looking up as Sophia turns toward her with a brightness in her eyes that doesn’t match heartbreak at all. “Let’s go,” Sophia says, offering her hand.

Manon blinks at it, wary. “Go where?” she asks, voice low and cautious. She hates the wobble in it. Hates that she suddenly feels so small again because if this is Sophia saying no, she at least wants to know how to fall gracefully. But Sophia only shrugs, wind catching the edges of her jacket as if the night itself is already listening. “Anywhere,” she says, her voice lighting up with this wild, weightless sort of joy. “Manz… let me take you anywhere. I’ll fly you home to Switzerland. Or to Paris. Oh! We can go to New York. Or Seoul. Or some random mountain in Iceland where nobody will bother us.”

And that’s when it hits her that Sophia means it. There’s no tease in her tone, no second-guessing in her stance. She’s looking at her like the whole world is small and crackling between them and it’s entirely up for grabs. The universe is open, and she’s holding out her hand. And Manon, very softly, very shakily, takes it. Their fingers intertwine. The warmth makes her dizzy. “How long would it take to fly to Manila?” she asks, trying to sound casual but utterly failing. She watches the way Sophia’s face lights up at the question, like Manon just handed her the moon and told her she could keep it.

Fifteen minutes later, they’re in Manon’s room, half-laughing, half-shushing each other as they frantically toss sweatshirts and socks into a single backpack. Manon’s trying to decide between two pairs of jeans when Sophia pulls out a spare phone charger, grinning in triumph. “They’re going to be so mad at us,” Manon whispers, giggling like a kid who just found the cookie jar.

Dani’s in the kitchen cooking something that smells suspiciously like Buldak, blissfully unaware that two members of their girl group are packing for an impromptu international getaway at midnight. Every few seconds, they freeze when a pan clatters or a floorboard creaks, but the thrill is addicting. They’re high on adrenaline, high on each other.

Sophia zips up the bag and slings it over her shoulder. Manon’s heart pounds like she’s about to stage dive with no audience, no music, just the terrifying leap of falling in love again. They return to the roof quietly, their footsteps muffled against the concrete, the night air brushing over their skin like a secret. Sophia’s thrown on those ridiculous oversized eyeglasses again but Manon can’t focus on that. All she can think about is this is happening. This is real. In a few minutes, she’ll be airborne like some storybook princess who accidentally fell for the heroine instead of the prince. Her heart’s pounding wildly in her chest, and the city skyline doesn’t help, all glittering lights and mechanical hums like the universe is watching this unfold with bated breath.

She doesn’t know the protocol for flying with your superhero girlfriend. Are they girlfriends? Do you wrap your arms around her shoulders? Her waist? Do you cling like a koala or play it cool and risk falling to your death? Ultimately, Manon settles on something wildly in-between: she shuffles forward awkwardly, cheeks warm, and loops her arms around Sophia’s neck with all the grace of a drunk deer on ice. It’s too intimate, too fast, and yet not close enough all at once. Her fingers twitch nervously at the collar of Sophia’s hoodie. The fabric smells like clean laundry and her shampoo, which is so stupidly comforting that it only makes the nerves worse.

“Just hold tight, okay?” Sophia says softly, her voice dipped in warmth and amusement. She’s already smiling, that same smug little curve of her lips that makes Manon want to kiss it off and slap it away in equal measure. Her arms come around her, firm and unshakable, and then Manon’s feet aren’t on the ground anymore. “Are you ready?”

“Wait—what do you mean ready—” But it’s too late. In one absurdly smooth motion, Sophia shifts her grip and scoops Manon fully into her arms like it’s the easiest thing in the world. She’s carrying her bridal style. The sheer audacity of it makes Manon’s brain stop for a second. She stares, flustered beyond words, as Sophia grins down at her and gives a wink behind those ridiculous glasses. “Feel comfy?”

“You’re so annoying,” Manon mutters, face burning as she swats uselessly at Sophia’s chest, which, to her horror, is absurdly firm. The hit does nothing. If anything, Sophia just laughs and readjusts her grip, thumbs brushing gently along the curve of Manon’s thighs as she settles her closer.

Then it happens. The wind shifts, and the roof disappears beneath them. It’s not like being on a plane or a rollercoaster or even a high-speed car. There’s no engine roar, no seat belts or structure to cling to. Just the open air and the sheer, unhinged knowledge that she is currently in the arms of a girl who is defying gravity without breaking a sweat. The initial lift is a punch to the gut. Manon yelps, full-on screams, and instinctively buries her face into Sophia’s chest like some mortified damsel. Her arms lock tighter around her neck, legs tensing as the world blurs into lights and clouds.

“This isn’t romantic at all!” she shrieks, only half-heard over the rush of air. “I feel like I’m going to puke on you!”

“You won’t,” Sophia calls back, her voice maddeningly casual. “I haven’t dropped anyone I like.”

They soar higher. Faster. Her arms cut through the sky like wings, and Manon can barely keep track of anything except the rhythmic thunder of her own heart and the steady rise and fall of Sophia’s chest against her cheek. It should be terrifying but something about the way Sophia holds her, unfazed and certain, grounds her. Slowly, she starts to relax, just a little. Just enough to unclench her jaw and peel one eye open.

Below them were islands, boats, and the ocean. Then, in less than three minutes, rooftops. Streets. Billboards. Traffic. The unmistakable sprawl of Metro Manila. It’s insane. Entirely unreasonable. A two-minute flight. And they’re not even done. Sophia touches down like she’s done this a thousand times. Manon doesn’t even feel the landing, just the soft, sinking shift of gravity returning as her feet meet warm tile. They’re in a backyard, enormous and gleaming in the late afternoon sun. There’s a pool reflecting the golds and ambers of 4 p.m. light, a garden trimmed within an inch of its life, and a dog barking joyfully in the distance. Oreo, Sophia’s little brother is poolside with a juice box, staring at them like a pair of aliens. Manon thinks she might throw up for real now, not from motion sickness, but from how casual this all is. Like Sophia doesn’t realize she just hijacked every definition of logic and time and physics.

Sophia gently sets her down. Like she’s fragile. Like this was always supposed to happen. “Hey,” she murmurs, brushing a hand over Manon’s waist to steady her. “You okay?”

It takes Manon a full ten seconds to answer. She blinks. Once. Twice. Then squints at the pool, the house, the sky. Everything’s still spinning. Her legs feel like jello. Her heart’s trying to escape her ribcage. She is, in every possible way, not okay. But she looks up at Sophia, who’s looking at her like she just hung the moon and lassoed it down just to see her smile and something in her settles. “I’m good,” she says finally. “Tomorrow, though…” She takes a deep breath. “Fly either way slower, or way faster. Whichever one makes me less dizzy. Deal?”

Sophia’s laugh is a full-body thing. Bright, alive. She kisses the top of her head and whispers, “Deal.”

And it’s so normal. Almost laughably normal, the way the front door swings open and Carla Laforteza steps out like she’s expecting this, like she always knew this day would come. Her silk house robe drapes around her like a cape, her hair loose, and she freezes only for a moment when she sees her daughter standing on the doorstep with a stranger. Except Manon isn’t a stranger anymore, not when Carla’s sharp eyes flick from Sophia’s flushed cheeks to the way her hand lingers far too close to Manon’s wrist.

“I’m guessing,” Carla hums, her voice equal parts warning and intrigue, “you told her at least one out of two things. What did you tell her?” Manon blinks, unsure if she’s supposed to answer, but Sophia is already grinning in that way she does when she knows she’s about to get in trouble and doesn’t care. The corners of her lips twitch, soften, then stretch wider until she’s nearly laughing. “Both,” she confesses, and the word comes out proud, unshaken.

Carla’s reaction is immediate. Instead of scolding or sighing, she claps her hands together with genuine delight, the sound echoing through the quiet suburban street. “Good!” she exclaims, pulling Manon into a hug before the poor girl can even react. Manon stiffens at first — she’s not used to this kind of warmth, not from someone else’s family — but then she lets herself melt into it. It’s comforting in a way that almost feels dangerous, how easily she fits into Sophia’s orbit.

“Welcome to the family, Manon,” Carla says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. By the time they’re ushered inside, Manon is dazed by the way warmth keeps layering over her like a blanket she can’t push away. The dining table is already set, the house alive in that busy Filipino way where maids flit in and out, piling food high on plates whether you’re hungry or not. Sophia gives her a tiny apologetic smile across the table, the kind that says I know it’s overwhelming, but trust me, it’s safe here.

Hours later, it’s around eight in the evening in Manila, which means dawn in LA. Megan is probably already stretching for her morning run, blissfully unaware that her two oldest bandmates had impulsively flown halfway across the world. Sophia promises she’ll post something on her story before panic sets in, probably a blurry selfie with Manon in the background, something low-effort but enough to reassure the girls that no, they haven’t been kidnapped.

By then, Manon has collapsed across Sophia’s childhood bed, her legs dangling off the side, a photo album sprawled across her stomach. She flips through the glossy pages like she’s trespassing into Sophia’s past, childhood birthdays and piano recitals captured forever in stills. When Sophia slips back into the room, hair damp from a quick shower, Manon doesn’t look up. “So…” she says instead, not hiding the sleep dragging at her voice. She wants to sleep, she knows she should, but curiosity is heavier than exhaustion. “So?”

The bed dips as Sophia sits, and before either of them can think about it, Manon shifts, crawling backwards until her spine is pressed against Sophia’s chest. Her head tilts against the curve of her shoulder, and Sophia instinctively curls her arms around her waist, holding her in place. Together, they look at her younger self frozen in photographs.

“When did you discover your powers?” Manon asks suddenly. The question doesn’t feel intrusive, it feels inevitable, like the natural next page in this story they’re writing between them. Sophia exhales. “I was fifteen,” she says, though she doesn’t need to think about it. “About three weeks before my sixteenth birthday. I got really sick. Like, hospital sick. I had this bad fever with chills, it wasn’t dengue either, so like the doctors were so lost. It was just wrong. My body felt wrong.” Her hand drifts absently along Manon’s arm, tracing circles as if the motion helps ground her in the memory. “The day after I got better, I started breaking things. Door handles, furniture. Then, I pulled the car door right off its hinges just trying to get in. It was terrifying.”

Manon tilts her head back, searching her face, and Sophia offers her a rueful smile. “And then I realized I could fly after an argument with my kuya. I got so mad at him I just lifted off the floor. Literally floating until my head was against the ceiling.” She then looks at the ceiling, and it’s higher than she remembers, “I remember screaming, thinking I was dying, but he was the one screaming louder.”

Manon laughs softly, but it fades as quickly as it comes when she asks, “Do you know how you got your powers?”

Sophia nods, her expression shifting. “A comet, apparently. There was one that crashed into Earth the exact second I was born. My mom swears the stars aligned. Whatever was in that rock, well, it bonded to me. It gave me everything. But it also created my weakness.” She reaches for the drawer beside her bed and pulls out a small green ring, the metal glinting under the dim light. The stone gleams with a faint inner glow, sharp and alien. “It’s kryptonite,” she explains, holding it carefully between her fingers. “It doesn’t kill me, I think it would if it stabs me or something. But it strips everything. It makes me feel normal. Sometimes I wear it around my family just so I don’t feel like a freak at dinner.”

Manon finally turns, the album long forgotten and left half-open somewhere on the sheets, the glossy photographs slipping against the rumpled covers. Her body shifts with instinct, muscle memory almost, until she’s straddling Sophia’s lap. The position feels too natural, like she was always meant to be here, legs bracketing her hips, close enough that she can feel Sophia’s warmth radiating through the thin barrier of her clothes. The younger girl’s glasses have begun to fog, a soft blur at the edges, but she doesn’t complain, doesn’t even reach to adjust them. She only stares back with an expression that makes Manon’s chest clench tight. This girl, this bandmate she had spent days and nights with in rehearsal rooms, on airplanes, in cramped hotel suites wasn’t just Sophia, wasn’t just the girl she had learned to harmonize with and laugh with until her stomach ached. She was also the hero who slipped away into the night to save strangers, the one carrying secrets bigger than either of them could hold.

“Is that why you started saving people?” Manon asks at last, her voice softer than she intended, weighted with something she doesn’t dare name. She runs her hand through Sophia’s hair, marveling at how it falls between her fingers. “So you don’t feel like you’re some… well, freak?”

Sophia huffs out a laugh, as if the word doesn’t sting but fits too close to the truth. “Kinda,” she admits, her tone a mix of candor and a nervous chuckle. When Manon cups her cheek, Sophia leans into it without hesitation, her lips brushing against Manon’s palm in a fleeting, reverent kiss. The touch makes Manon’s breath hitch, her heart stumble. “It started small,” Sophia continues, scratching the back of her neck as if embarrassed. “At first, I didn’t even have a disguise. I only realized I could fly halfway across the Earth when I got so homesick as a trainee that I—I just went.” Her eyes flick up toward Manon’s, brimming with a quiet awe. “And then, I figured that if I can do this, if I can be this person, I might as well help someone along the way.”

Something in Manon softens at that confession, the edges of her skepticism blurring into something warmer. She studies Sophia’s face, looks at those honest eyes, the way she wears her vulnerability like a badge rather than a weakness, and suddenly it’s unbearable, the closeness, the longing she’s been swallowing down. “You’re making it so hard for me not to fall in love with you,” she murmurs, almost against her will, the words slipping out like a secret too heavy to keep anymore. Sophia beams at her, radiant despite the lull of the evening, and whispers back with a smile that’s both mischievous and sincere, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Sophia,” Manon exhales, unable to hold the line anymore, her voice a plea and a command all at once. “Just kiss me.”

And Sophia doesn’t need to be told twice. She leans forward, closing the last thread of space between them, and their lips meet with a force that feels earth-shattering. The kiss is hungry, almost desperate, but threaded with something deeper, years of friendship, trust, unspoken yearning. Sophia tastes like the iced tea she had earlier, but also something distinctly her own, something Manon knows she could get addicted to. The world tilts, the air thickens, and suddenly Manon is clutching at Sophia’s shoulders, dragging her closer, while Sophia’s hands find their way around her waist, steady and grounding even as everything else spins.

The second their mouths part for air, it’s only to fall back together again, fiercer this time, like they’ve been holding back for far too long. Manon feels her own resolve crumble as she melts against Sophia’s chest, the thrum of a heartbeat under her ear that feels like it was meant to sync with her own. The kiss deepens, their breaths mingling, and when Sophia’s hand brushes against the bare skin at Manon’s hip, it sends a shiver up her spine, a spark that leaves her dizzy. Sophia’s glasses slip slightly down the bridge of her nose, and Manon laughs into her mouth, the sound swallowed by another kiss. It feels like the kind of laughter born out of relief, like they’ve been circling this moment forever and finally collided.

When Sophia’s lips trail lower along her jaw, to the sensitive edge of her throat, Manon’s breath catches, her hand clutching at the fabric of Sophia’s shirt as if to anchor herself. The air feels too hot, the walls too close, the silence too loud. Something shifts, undeniably, as their kisses grow slower but heavier, tasting like the start of something new. Manon knows she should pull back, maybe to say something, or to breathe, but she doesn’t. She lets herself melt, lets Sophia guide her down against the mattress, their laughter dissolving into whispered breaths and lingering touches that speak of more than either of them are ready to voice.

The photo album lies forgotten at the edge of the bed, but Manon realizes that what matters most is unfolding right here, in the press of Sophia’s lips against hers, in the way their bodies fit together like they’d always been meant to.

They receive seven missed calls from Dani, a stream of texts in the group chat from Megan that ranged from half-joking threats to genuine worry, a three-minute voicemail from Yoonchae in which she alternated between scolding them and panicking in her soft, hurried voice, and exactly seventeen texts and calls from Lara, each one sounding progressively more desperate. They hadn’t meant to worry everyone. They hadn’t meant to disappear. But it was only when Manon finally glanced at her phone, nearly twenty-four hours later, sunlight shifting into dusk through the Manila skyline outside their window, that the realization sank in. They had forgotten to send a single text. One message. That’s all it would have taken.

Sophia was the one who smoothed it over, like she always did. With a half-smile and a tone so casual it felt almost rehearsed, she told the others they had caught a last-minute flight to Manila. That it wasn’t an emergency, wasn’t a kidnapping, wasn’t anything that should send Lara into near-cardiac arrest. Just them being impulsive, or maybe a little selfish, for choosing to slip out of Los Angeles and into another world for a day. Lara was skeptical, naturally, her suspicion heavy in every sharp word she texted back. But when Sophia admitted, plainly and without hesitation, that they were dating, the sharp edges dulled. They weren’t lying. They were together. And for all the chaos of the past twenty-four hours, for all the frantic calls and missed connections, Manon thought that truth was enough. Besides, they’d already made plans to head to Switzerland the following weekend. Manila was just a stop along the way, a warm interlude between flights. A place Sophia loved, and now a place that Manon was learning to love too.

What Manon hadn’t expected was how easily she could fall into the rhythm of Sophia’s world here. The air in Manila was dense, humming with heat and humidity, pressing against her skin in a way that should have been unbearable but instead made her feel alive. She watched Sophia move through the city with the kind of ease that came from familiarity, from belonging. And then there were the little moments that caught her off guard: Sophia gently steadying an elderly woman’s arms as she carried her grocery bags across the cracked street, waiting patiently with her until the jeepney rumbled past. Sophia smiling at a vendor, slipping into Tagalog as naturally as breathing, her voice warm and her accent thick. Manon had always been skeptical of people, of their intentions, their goodness, the myth of justice. She had grown up believing the world was transactional, always demanding more than it gave. But watching Sophia, in the middle of a crowded street, stooping to help someone without a trace of calculation or expectation, Manon found herself wondering if maybe, just maybe, goodness could still exist. Not as some idealized notion, but as something small, tangible, found in the curve of a smile or the reach of a steady hand.

And she knew the risk. God, she knew it. Being with Sophia wasn’t going to be easy. Dating someone who carried the weight of two identities, whether it was the glamorous popstar with the world watching her every move, and the untouchable, relentless Superwoman, was terrifying. Manon knew she would worry every time Sophia flew off without explanation. She knew she’d feel sick the moment Sophia returned battered and bruised, her knuckles split, her ribs aching, smiling through the pain like it was nothing. She knew her own body wouldn’t forgive her for how violently her stomach would twist at the sight, how much she’d want to cry and rage in the same breath. And still, she wanted it. She wanted Sophia.

Because the truth was simple, and maybe brutal in its simplicity: she was in love with her. She was in love with Sophia, with Superwoman, with every version that existed in between. Whether Sophia was standing on a stage with her voice carrying across an arena, or in a kitchen attempting to cook something simple, or behind a desk reading through contracts as their leader, or even sitting in the corner of a dark room illegally pirating movies just because she could. Manon wanted her. All of her. The loud, the quiet, the ordinary, the extraordinary. She wanted the woman who had saved the world and the woman who tucked her hair behind her ears in the mornings when she was too sleepy to care.

And for once, for the first time in a long time, Manon didn’t feel like she was reaching for something out of her grasp. Because Sophia wanted her back. Not in a half-hearted way, not in a fleeting or fragile sense, but fully. Completely. Sophia loved her with the same ferocity that she gave to the world, only softer and gentler, as if Manon was the one thing she didn’t have to hold too tightly to protect. It was terrifying, and it was overwhelming. And it was the safest Manon had ever felt in her life.