Chapter Text
"I'm just gonna rest my eyes for a couple of minutes, Hyuna. The lighting here is killing my eyes. Honestly. Just a couple of minutes."
She leaned her temple against the cold wall and closed her eyes.
Mizi settled onto a hard wooden chair in the very corner of the rebel bar-turned-headquarters. Her head was pounding after several grueling hours of discussing the rocket launch. Schematics, maps, launch calculations—it was all swimming before her eyes. But what exhausted and upset her the most was her recent, brutally honest, and unbearably heavy conversation with Hyuna. A conversation about Till, Ivan, and of course, Sua. It was always about her.
About how Mizi knew what she was planning to do. About how she stayed silent and let her sacrifice herself for her. About the unbearable guilt that burned a hole in her chest every single day. And about how hard it was to breathe, knowing the price of this freedom. The price paid in the suffering and blood of her loved ones. Smiling bitterly, Mizi replayed that conversation in her mind.
Hyuna had stood opposite her, leaning against the bar's peeling wall. Her face shifted with every word spoken. A myriad, a kaleidoscope of expressions and physical tells. Her brows knit in tension, her fingers convulsively gripping the edge of her jacket; occasionally, she would snap her gaze away into the dark, as if trying to wrestle with her own memories. It was clear that Hyuna didn't know what to say or how to properly react, but in her complex expression, in her beautiful, captivating eyes that gleamed like sapphires—if you looked closely, if you paid attention—you could see the sorrow and grief. Not just for one, but for dozens, hundreds of lives stolen for the sake of entertainment. And understanding. She probably understood this agonizing, irreplaceable loss all too well.
It somewhat calmed the raging ocean of Mizi's emotions. When she finally finished her tirade, drawing in a ragged breath, Hyuna slowly stepped closer. She gently placed a palm on Mizi's cheek, softly and unhurriedly pulling her into an embrace, sharing her warmth. And in that moment, the mask Mizi had always held up cracked like fragile marble. From this unexpected, soothing affection, from the gentle strokes and the aching sense of safety in Hyuna's arms—where she didn't have to prove her strength, where she could just let herself fall apart—she finally surrendered. The self-control she had built up for years crumbled to dust, giving way to painful, racking sobs. Tiny beads of tears slipped unnoticed from the taller woman's eyes.
✦ ✧ ✧ ✧
The alarm clock in her own apartment went off early—much earlier than on her usual, quiet weekdays. Yet, Sua chose not to rush, deliberately trying to stretch this peaceful morning filled with the scent of freshly brewed tea and the soft twilight of her room. She desperately wanted to cling to this comforting silence for just a little longer, knowing what lay ahead: today was Mizi’s first solo concert. A day that would decide everything, and one that had kept Sua awake all night, suffocating under a heavy anxiety.
She reached for her phone. On the lock screen was a photo of her and Mizi from their graduation. Two young girls glowing with happiness and pride against the backdrop of the school crest, holding lavish bouquets, completely unaware of what the future had in store for them... She had been so much happier back then.
Sua loved Mizi. Loved her so deeply and so hopelessly that this love had taken root deep in her heart, becoming an inseparable part of who she was. At first, she thought it was just childhood attachment, a tender desire to always be near and protect her. But back in high school, Sua realized her heart no longer belonged to her. The feeling grew inside her slowly and stubbornly, like the shoots of a wild clematis—they gently but firmly entwined her soul, clinging to every shared moment as if to their only lifeline. Sua remembered how she used to stare at those flowers in fascination: their stems seemed so thin and fragile, yet they held onto each other with a death grip, blooming in deep, velvety colors. Her love was exactly the same—it sprouted through her ribs, filling her entire being with a tender, agonizingly beautiful bloom that she never dared to confess.
They had even gone to that difficult, life-changing audition together. Sua had never dreamed of the stage and spotlights: she only agreed to go for Mizi's sake—just to be there, to tightly squeeze her cold, trembling fingers in the hallway, and to believe in her dream alongside her. When the judges delivered their verdict, accepting only Mizi, Sua felt neither resentment nor disappointment. She didn't care about the rejection; maybe it surprised her a little, but the stage never appealed to her anyway. However, her own heart clenched when she saw Mizi's face. The way her lips trembled, how she almost burst into tears from the bitter injustice, feeling guilty that she was the only one chosen... That mirrored pain hurt Sua more than her own failure ever could. Seeing that mute bewilderment in Mizi's eyes, seeing how hard it was for her to take that first step toward her dream without her, was unbearable.
In the following months, Mizi began to change. From the cheerful, outgoing girl who could laugh for hours, she morphed into an exhausted, pale shadow of herself. And no matter how hard she tried to hide it, Sua saw right through her. She started calling less, blaming it on her packed schedule, and when they did manage to meet, an invisible, thick wall grew between them. Mizi hid her pain behind a tired smile, and Sua racked her brain trying to figure out how to break through that defense. She wanted so desperately to hug her, to take all that exhaustion upon herself, and confess... confess everything before it was too late. But she was terrified it would complicate things and destroy their already fragile friendship. The only piece of Mizi that Sua had left...
And then... then the industry completely swallowed her, tearing her out of Sua's hands by the roots. The producers started demanding more—a new, more mature image, and Mizi was forced to agree to shoot explicit, disgusting videos with male models. Sua saw how the experience was destroying her, breaking and suffocating her from the inside. Every frame, every gesture forced by the script left invisible, indelible dirty marks on Mizi. It made Sua sick to her stomach; no—just the mere thought of some filthy man's hand touching her Mizi's precious skin sent shivers of uncontrollable hatred down her spine.
Not knowing how to cope with this nightmarish pressure, her sweet, innocent Mizi began to shut down completely. She no longer sought comfort in Sua's arms—on the contrary, she started avoiding her, as if she were ashamed around Sua, ashamed to look her in the eyes and admit it. With every passing day, Mizi grew colder, quieter, and more detached, far worse than before. And Sua became more cautious and insecure, terrified of saying the wrong thing, of messing up and ruining everything—despite wanting to be a pillar of support for her love and dig out the truth about what was really happening to her.
Today was Mizi's first solo concert. Sua arrived at the show center early, having bought a ticket for the performance and secured an exclusive backstage pass. Stepping into the massive, luxurious venue, she felt anxious, awkwardly making her way toward the concert hall. The building was buzzing like a disturbed beehive. Staff constantly ran past with clothing racks, technicians rolled heavy cases of equipment, and a sharp, frequency-testing hum would periodically blast from the overhead speakers. Sua felt like a grain of sand swept up in a hurricane of someone else's chaos.
Wincing at the unpleasant noise, she clutched her purse tightly to her chest. Inside sat a thermos of warm herbal tea and a small packet of Mizi's favorite oatmeal cookies—Sua's tiny, foolish attempt to give her a piece of homey warmth in the middle of this soulless, cold concrete labyrinth. Though she was already kicking herself, thinking she could have prepared better, given something more worthwhile than this pathetic attempt that Mizi probably wouldn't even appreciate.
Making her way down the long hallway toward the dressing rooms, Sua felt her heartbeat pounding somewhere in her throat. With every step, her palms grew clammier, a dull anxiety building inside her. She wasn't the one going on stage tonight, but she was so nervous it felt like her entire life depended on this evening.
Lowering her head, her eyes fixed on the tips of her shoes, she began to mutter under her breath, barely audible, like a mantra:
"Everything will be okay... She'll do great. It'll go perfectly."
Sua swallowed nervously, feeling how dry her throat was. She couldn't just sit there. She had to find the right words. Support her in a way that wouldn't upset Mizi and make her close off even more. Tell her that she's incredible, that her voice is the best thing in the universe. And no matter what those cruel managers and producers demanded on set, to Sua, she would always be her beloved, priceless Mizi. Her Mizi.
"Everything will be fine," she whispered again, trying to steady the trembling in her knees. "I'll just walk in, smile, and say hi. It'll be fine."
Sua took a deep breath, trying to square her shoulders, and turned the corner to Mizi's private dressing room. A sign hung on the door with her name written in a flashy, glittery font.
She cautiously pushed the door open. No one was inside yet—it seemed Mizi was still held up at the final soundcheck on the main stage.
The room was small and stuffy. A bright, revealing pink outfit hung on the rack—too foreign, too different from the usual style of the Mizi she had known her whole life. Makeup was piled on the vanity table. Sua quietly sat on the edge of the sofa tucked slightly behind the entrance door. She set the thermos and the pack of cookies on the coffee table, carefully arranging everything to offer to Mizi the second she walked in. And mentally, she continued rehearsing her monologue, her gaze hypnotizing the door.
Sua held no high expectations; she was fully prepared to be met with that familiar, quiet detachment. The look right through her, the soft but lifeless smile, and the polite, "Thanks for coming, Sua. I'm just a little tired." Sua preemptively clenched her jaw at the mental image, ready to endure Mizi's distance all over again, just to be near her.
Suddenly, the silence of the dressing room was shattered by a sharp, deafening crash. The door practically flew off its hinges, slamming into the armrest of the sofa right next to Sua. She instantly jumped to her feet, nearly knocking over the opened thermos. Her heart did a terrified somersault in her chest.
Standing in the doorway was Mizi. She was breathing heavily, raggedly, as if she had just sprinted for miles. The pink stage outfit she wore—similar to the one on the rack, but with slight differences—was crumpled in places, her soft pink hair a disheveled mess. But the most captivating thing was her gaze.
In her deep amber-emerald eyes, which had recently seemed so dull to Sua, clouded by a veil of indifference and exhaustion, there was now a look full of panic and pure fear. She was frantically scanning the tacky walls of the dressing room, the clothing racks, the massive lit-up mirror taking up almost the entire room, as if seeing it all for the very first time. Yet, amidst the fear, Sua noticed a glimmer of recognition in her eyes.
And then, that honey-colored gaze locked onto her. Onto Sua.