Nayeon/Dahyun
Nayeon
The voices had stopped feeling like a fresh wound. They still cut, still lodged themselves deep in her chest, but the pain had dulled, turned into something bearable. The echoes of her parents, of her sister, of the life she’d left behind—they weren’t sharp anymore. They were background noise, constant but distant, the kind of thing she could push aside when she needed to. And she needed to.
Nayeon missed them so much it hollowed her out, but at least she didn’t cry every five minutes anymore. The grief hadn’t gone away—it just lived under her skin now, stitched into her with every long night, every exhausting day. The weight of it never lifted, but she learned how to carry it.
It was easier when she wasn’t alone with her thoughts. When Jihyo talked, it was easy to believe in something beyond this island. Jihyo, who refused to let hope slip through their fingers, who would look them all in the eyes and say, with absolute certainty, “They haven’t stopped looking for us.” Some days, Nayeon wasn’t sure if she believed her. But Jihyo’s belief was enough to keep her from falling apart completely.
She wouldn’t say it out loud, but the real reason she was still holding together wasn’t hope—it was the others. She would never, not in a million years, have wished this on them, but the truth was, she didn’t know how she would’ve survived this alone. She needed them. Needed the way Momo grumbled every morning but still got up to help, the way Sana found humor in everything even when there was nothing to laugh about, the way Mina sat quietly, focused, steady—making something out of nothing.
She’d even joked about it once, sitting around the fire with Jihyo and Mina. It’d been a bitter kind of humor, the kind that curled at the edges, painful to the touch. They’d laughed about all those interviews where they were asked, “What would you bring to a deserted island?” The answers had always been lighthearted, a joke about taking one of the members, about how they wouldn’t survive alone.
Nayeon had meant it as a joke back then. Now she knew better.
Jihyo sucked in a sharp breath then as pain shot through her knee when she stretched her leg, reaching for more pieces to work with. The movement was small, but it was enough to make her tense, her fingers faltering for just a second.
Nayeon glanced her way, silently asking what she could do to help. Jihyo didn’t meet her eyes. She just waved her off with a quick flick of her hand.
“I’m fine.”
It was simple. And it was a lie.
Nayeon could see it in the exhaustion lining Jihyo’s face, in the way her breathing had changed just slightly. But with how little there was to actually do, with how few real solutions they had, it was easier to pretend. To swallow the empty lies they all told each other.
Her gaze drifted over the camp, taking in the slow rhythm of the morning. The wind last night had done some damage—not a full storm, but strong enough to leave its mark. Leaves had scattered, some beams had cracked under the strain, and the air still carried the faint chill of the night before. They would fix it. They’d learned to do that here.
Mina was across from her, weaving strips of bamboo into something longer, sturdier. More bags, probably, for Chaeyoung and her group to take inland. Nayeon watched her for a moment, the precision of her movements, the way her fingers worked without hesitation. There was something grounding about it, the way Mina always found something to do with her hands. It wasn’t just about keeping busy—it was about keeping herself sane, about stopping her thoughts from drifting too far away. Mina liked making things her own, shaping them from nothing, leaving pieces of herself in the things she built.
Nayeon exhaled, feeling something ease inside her. The sight brought back a memory, so vivid that it made every other thought pause.
It had been one of those days when the air felt thick, the sky pressing down with the sight of an inevitable storm. Nayeon sat by the window of their apartment, absently stirring a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. The city outside was restless, people rushing to get home before the rain broke, headlights flickering like fireflies in the dimming light.
Mina had only recently started staying with her and Momo, a quiet shift in living arrangements that had happened so naturally it barely felt like a change at all. Sana had orchestrated it, like she always did, weaving and rotating herself between the members’ homes with that effortless charm, until one day she packed a bag and moved in with Jihyo instead. Mina, in turn, landed with them.
It had been smooth so far. Mina was easy to live with. Too easy, sometimes, with how she blended into the space, never demanding anything, never making her presence known unless you really paid attention.
Nayeon had been scrolling through her phone when Mina suddenly bolted down the hallway, already halfway into her shoes as she called over her shoulder, "I'll be right back!"
Nayeon barely had a moment to process it before Mina was out the door. She frowned at the sky again. It was going to pour any minute, and Mina hadn’t even taken an umbrella.
Forty-five minutes passed. The first few raindrops had turned into a downpour, the kind that soaked through clothes in seconds. Nayeon sat with her phone in her hand, debating whether to call Mina, her irritation growing with each passing minute. Just as she was about to press dial, the door finally opened.
Mina stood there, drenched from head to toe, her hair dripping onto the floor, her hoodie clinging to her frame.
"Mina!" Nayeon jumped up, rushing toward her. "What were you thinking?! You're gonna get sick!"
But Mina only grinned, holding up a plastic bag as though it contained something sacred. “I had to. The store called. The set was almost sold out. They said they could only hold it for the day."
Nayeon blinked. "What?"
Mina pulled out a box. "The flower bouquet set. It’s been out of stock for months."
Nayeon stared at her, at the water dripping down her nose, at the utter sincerity in her expression. "You ran through a storm for Legos?"
“They’re not just Legos," Mina corrected, stepping out of her soaked sneakers. "They’re special edition."
Nayeon sighed, exasperated, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips as she handed Mina a towel. "Unbelievable."
Once she changed Mina settled at the kitchen table, pulling out each piece, her fingers moving with the same precision she always had. The storm outside raged on, rattling against the windows, but inside, Mina sat, calm and focused, lost in the world of tiny plastic flowers.
By the time Nayeon finally went to bed, Mina was still there, piecing together delicate petals under the warm glow of the lamp.
The next morning, Nayeon woke to find something waiting on her bedside table. The completed Lego bouquet stood in a small vase, neatly arranged, with a note tucked beneath it in Mina’s careful handwriting.
Sorry for making you worry.
Something in Nayeon softened. She turned, glancing toward Mina’s room, before picking up the bouquet and running her fingers lightly over the plastic petals. They were smooth beneath her touch, sturdy despite their delicate design.
But then, a cough broke her thoughts. Frowning, she walked to Mina’s room and found her curled up under the blankets, nose red, face pale.
Nayeon sighed, sitting at the edge of the bed. "I told you you’d get sick."
Momo appeared in the doorway, fresh from the shower, her towel dried hair sticking up in every direction. "Is she okay?"
“She’ll survive,” Nayeon said, watching as Mina stirred, groggy and half-asleep. She turned back to her room, her eyes landing on the bouquet, still sitting there, untouched.
And she felt it then, the warmth settle in her chest.
“She’s just... Mina.”
The memory faded into the present, the smooth rustle of leaves and the soft creak of shifting bamboo filling the space where the memory had lingered. Mina hadn’t moved, fingers deftly weaving the strips together with an ease that looked almost effortless. It was the same kind of focus Nayeon remembered from that day in their apartment, when Mina had built something just because she could, because she wanted to. It was comforting, in a way, to see that part of her still there. It made Nayeon believe that, maybe, they hadn’t lost everything.
Her gaze flickered across the camp. The others were scattered, engaged in the daily rituals that had now become their version of normal. Dahyun’s team stood knee-deep in the shallows, casting their spears into the water with more precision each passing day. Momo, always the most reluctant when it came to the ocean, lingered at the very edge, her grip on the spear firm but her posture wary. Even from a distance, Nayeon could see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she kept glancing back at the shore as if making sure it was still there. And yet, she was the one who always caught the biggest fish. It was ridiculous. And a little endearing.
Momo looked up suddenly, catching Nayeon watching. She grinned, lifting her spear triumphantly to show off her latest catch. Nayeon smirked, raising her hand in a halfhearted wave before something caught her attention. Their skin—red, raw, the telltale sign of too much time under the sun. The thought sent a ripple of unease through her body. She turned to Jihyo, the girl busy sorting through what little they had left of their supplies, wincing with every move.
“Jihyo,” she called. “How much sunscreen do we have left?”
Jihyo paused, her fingers moving over the bags before pulling out the two small, familiar bottles. She twisted one open and held it up to the light, peering inside. The bottle was nearly empty, only a faint sheen of residue clinging to the sides. With a sigh, she set it down, careful not to waste what little remained.
“Not much,” Jihyo admitted, sounding almost defeated. “Maybe a couple more days at most.”
Nayeon exhaled, her mind already spinning through the implications. “And after that?”
Jihyo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she pressed her lips together, eyes locked on the empty bottle in her hand. Then, without looking up, she said, “We won’t need it for long. We’ll be found by then.”
The words fell with a delicate heaviness, like glass teetering on the very edge—one wrong move, and it would all come crashing down. Jihyo was the one keeping them steady, the one who spoke of rescue like it was a certainty, not a question. And for the most part, Nayeon had let herself believe her. But now, with the nearly empty bottles in front of them and the sting of the sun in their skin, she couldn’t stop the words from slipping out.
“And what if we’re not?”
Jihyo’s grip on the bottle tightened, her shoulders stiffening. She drew in a sharp breath, but it didn’t seem to reach her lungs. Then, without warning, she threw the bottle aside, the sudden movement jolting Nayeon. Jihyo tried to stand, but the motion was too quick, too thoughtless—her injured knee buckled beneath her, sending her back down hard against the sand. Her hands dug into the dirt, her breathing uneven, the weight of it all finally pressing her down.
Then she broke.
Her body trembled as ragged sobs tore from her, her fingers curling into fists against the ground. It was raw, the kind of pain that had no words, no structure—just sound, just desperation. The kind of grief that had been held in too long.
Nayeon barely hesitated before moving to her, arms wrapping around Jihyo’s shaking frame. Jihyo buried her face against Nayeon’s shoulder, her fingers gripping at her clothes as if begging her not to let go.
“I’m sorry,” Jihyo choked out, her words small and broken between sobs. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to help. I feel so... so useless.”
Nayeon didn’t try to tell her she wasn’t. She didn’t try to fix it. Instead, she just held her tighter, letting her cry, letting her let go of everything she had carried for them for too long. Across the sand, the others had gone quiet. Dahyun and Momo had paused where they stood, their hands still gripping their spears but their eyes locked on Jihyo. Sana was already moving, pausing for only a second before making her way toward them.
She reached them first, dropping to her knees beside Jihyo, her own face damp with tears. She didn’t speak at first, just wrapped her arms around her too, pressing a hand against Jihyo’s back tracing soothing circles.
“It’s okay,” Sana whispered, not knowing what more to say. “It’s okay, Jihyo. It’s okay.”
Jihyo didn’t respond, but she could see the tension in her shoulders lessen, her sobs still breaking but quieter now. She was letting them hold her. Letting them share the weight.
“You’ve done so much for us,” Sana continued, her fingers brushing gently through Jihyo’s hair. “You’ve done so much... You can let it out now.”
Nayeon swallowed hard, blinking against the stinging in her own eyes. She glanced at the others as they approached, at the worry on Dahyu’s face, the way Momo stood just close enough to offer support if needed.
Jihyo’s breathing slowed, her sobs turning to shaky inhales. She kept her head against Nayeon’s shoulder, her fingers still clutching onto her refusing to let go. “I miss them so much,” she whispered hoarsely. “I need them to tell me what to do... how to fix it.”
The words hit Nayeon square in the chest, like a fist curling around her ribs.
“I didn’t even leave on good terms,” Jihyo continued, at the edge of breaking again. “I fought with my dad before we left. Something stupid. I don’t even remember what it was now.” She choked on her words. “I thought I had time. I thought I’d go home and just... apologize.”
Nayeon closed her eyes as Jihyo’s voice cracked. “What if I never get the chance?”
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Nayeon’s throat tightened, but the words came anyway. “I miss them too,” she murmured, her voice hiding nothing. “I think about them every day.”
The fire crackled in the distance, the waves lapping gently against the shore. But none of it felt far away. None of it felt like enough.
There was nothing left to say. So they just sat there for moment, huddled close, waiting for the grief to settle, knowing it never really would.
Sana broke the silence then. "I don’t know how much longer I can do this," she admitted, her fingers tightening around the hem of her shirt. "The waiting. The not knowing... I miss their love. I... I can feel it, I can almost touch it, you know? And then I think about what they must be feeling... what they’re going through on the other side...”
Nayeon felt it too. The helplessness. The uncertainty. It settled deep in her chest, coiling tight like a knot she couldn't untangle.
A rustling in the brush made her turn. She looked up just as Jeongyeon and her group returned, their arms filled with branches and fruit. She saw how Jeongyeon's face relaxed at the sight of them all together, gathered tight together. But then her gaze landed on Jihyo, and her relief was replaced with concern.
Jeongyeon didn’t hesitate. She crossed the space between them, crouching in front of Jihyo, searching her face. And Jihyo—she didn’t speak, didn’t try to brush it off like she always did. She just met Jeongyeon’s gaze, her breathing uneven, her body too still.
Nayeon could see it—the exhaustion in Jihyo’s eyes, the way pain pulled at the edges of her expression. Not just from her knee, though they all knew how much it was wearing her down, but from everything. From the strain of being strong for everyone else. And Jeongyeon understood. She always had.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. She just reached out, pressing a hand to the side of Jihyo’s knee, a way to let her know that she was here, that she saw her and her pain. And Jihyo—Jihyo let out a shaky breath, her shoulders dropping just the slightest bit.
Then their eyes found Nayeon. And suddenly, she wasn’t just watching—she was part of it too. Of this quiet, fragile moment between the three of them.
So she held on tighter. Not because she had to, but because she couldn’t stay away. Because Jihyo was breaking, and Jeongyeon was holding on, and Nayeon—Nayeon wouldn’t let either of them do it alone.
The others followed, their circle drawing in, no words spoken, no explanations needed. Just the shared weight of grief, of exhaustion, of love.
The space between them felt different now—warmer, less guarded. Like in a way they never had before, they weren’t just surviving next to each other but with each other. No one rushed to fill the quiet. It stretched between them, not heavy, not unbearable, just there. Understanding. A place to rest for a moment.
No one wanted to be the first to break it. Maybe they were scared of what would come out if they started talking, if they laid their souls bare for everyone to see. But the moment was waiting, open and unspoken, until someone was ready to step into it.
"I'm scared," Dahyun said, her voice barely holding together. "Of what’s happened... Of what’s going to happen. I don’t... I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep going."
"I just want to go home," Tzuyu murmured, barely waiting for the silence to settle. "I miss my family. my dogs... I know it hasnt been that long... Just two weeks, but I... Sometimes it feels like that life wasn’t even real. Like this is all there’s ever been."
Momo swiped at her eyes, shaking her head. "I keep thinking about all the things I didn’t do," she admitted, her words tumbling out like she couldn’t hold them back anymore. "The people I didn’t say goodbye to. It’s like... I never thought about what I’d regret until I lost the chance to change anything." She let out a bitter laugh, her hands tightening into fists. "It’s what keeps me up at night. Just lying there, thinking about all the moments I... took for granted."
One by one, the words came. The confessions. The fears. They weren’t just holding onto survival anymore—they were holding onto everything they had left of themselves. Nayeon looked around the circle, at the girls she’d grown up with, the family they’d become. They were tired, worn down, but they were still here.
She pushed herself to her feet, brushing sand off her legs as she looked at them. “This... This was good. We needed this,” she said. “Letting it out. But we can’t let it take over.” She met their eyes, one by one. “We hold on to each other, yeah. But we also have to learn to let go. For our own sake.”
The firelight flickered across their faces—red, raw, tear-streaked. Nayeon exhaled slowly, giving them a small, firm nod.
“We’re still here,” she said. “That has to be enough.”
Her gaze drifted down to Jihyo and Jeongyeon, searching—not for answers, but for something to ground her. For something solid in the mess of it all.
Jihyo looked back at her tired but steady, agreement in that simple gaze. Jeongyeon followed, barely nodding, but it was enough.
Nayeon let out a slow breath and turned back toward the fire, the warmth flickering against her skin. This was it. Whatever came next, whatever tomorrow looked like—this was how they’d face it.
/////////
She crouched next to Chaeyoung by the shoreline, their hands submerged in the cool water as they rinsed off their collection of berries and fruits. The rhythmic motion was oddly soothing, a task that gave them a small sense of control in a situation where they had so little of it.
Nayeon picked up a small, unfamiliar fruit, turning it over in her palm. "How do we know if this won't kill us?"
Chaeyoung glanced up, her fingers moving efficiently as she sorted through the pile. "We test them in stages," she said. "First, rub a little on your skin. Wait. If nothing happens, put a tiny bit on your tongue, just to sit there—not swallow. Then, if you're still alive, maybe eat a small piece."
Nayeon raised a brow. "So basically, you just wait and see if you start dying?"
Chaeyoung snorted. "Pretty much. Not the most reassuring method, I know."
Nayeon exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. "Not exactly. But I trust you."
They kept on working with a sense of peace, the waves rolling in and retreating with a steady rhythm. The camp stretched out behind them, faint voices carrying through the air. Nayeon glanced up as Sana passed by, her skin peeling in angry, sunburnt patches. She winced. It was getting worse, and they were almost out of sunscreen. The fishing team had it even harder, spending hours under the sun with no real protection.
She turned back to Chaeyoung. “Do you think you could figure out how to make sunscreen?” she asked. “Like, isn’t there some trick with seashells or something?”
Chaeyoung frowned in thought. "I think I read about that somewhere... but I’d have to really think it through. I don’t want to make something that ends up making it worse."
Nayeon nodded. "Let’s figure it out tomorrow. We can’t let everyone’s skin get worse. Especially Sana’s. She’s starting to look like a lobster."
That earned a laugh from Chaeyoung, her lips twitching upward for a moment before she refocused on sorting the fruit. They divided them into two wooden boxes—one for what they knew was safe, another for what still needed testing. When the task was done, Nayeon leaned back, stretching her legs out in the sand, watching as Chaeyoung stared down at the sorted pile, a small furrow forming between her brows.
"What’s on your mind?" Nayeon asked, nudging her foot lightly against Chaeyoung’s.
Chaeyoung paused, then shook her head. "Just thinking. About everything, I guess. How weird it is that this" she gestured to the baskets "is just our life now. Like, we’re out here doing survivalist science experiments instead of ordering takeout."
Nayeon hummed, following her gaze to the makeshift containers. "Yeah. Feels like another lifetime, doesn’t it?"
Chaeyoung sighed, her fingers tracing absently over a piece of wood beside her. "Yeah. And I... I don’t think we’ll ever get back to it."
They sat side by side on the sand, the dampness seeping into their skin as they watched the waves roll in and out.
"You okay, Chaeng?" Nayeon asked, her voice softer now, more careful.
Chaeyoung hesitated, dragging her fingers idly through the sand. "It’s a lot... Everything else, you know?” she said. "Mina and I talked, and... it’s just a lot."
Nayeon waited, giving her space to speak at her own pace.
"She told me she’s still figuring things out, that she doesn’t want to close herself off to anything—or anyone. She asked me to be open to it."
Nayeon let the words settle between them. She picked up a small rock, rolling it between her fingers. "And what do you want?"
Chaeyoung let out a small, humorless laugh. "I don’t know. I love her—I think I always have. But I don’t know if I can do this on her terms... It’s selfish, I know—“
Nayeon shook her head. "No. It’s just honest."
Chaeyoung looked at her, searching for something in her expression. Nayeon simply shrugged. "Mina asked me to be patient too," she admitted. "She told me she has feelings for me, but she won’t act on them until she sorts things out with you. So, yeah... I get it. I really do. It’s hard not to feel like you’re stuck waiting for something you’re not sure you even understand.”
Chaeyoung’s fingers curled into the sand. "I don’t think I can share her... Even if I wanted to try, I don’t know if I’d ever be okay with it. And I hate that. I hate how it makes me feel."
“Chaeng, you’re allowed to feel conflicted,” Nayeon said. "It’s not about whether it’s right or wrong. It’s just what you can handle. And if you can’t, then you can’t. That doesn’t mean you love her any less."
Chaeyoung sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "Have you figured it out, though? How do you even deal with all of this?"
Nayeon huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. "I haven’t. I’m just... waiting, I guess. Trying not to think too much. But it creeps in, you know? Late at night or when I see the way she looks at you. And I wonder if any of this is actually going to make sense one day."
Chaeyoung was quiet for a long time, eyes fixed on the horizon. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. "Yeah."
The basket of fruit sat between them now, forgotten, their hands idle as they both stared out at the waves, lost in their own thoughts.
Nayeon exhaled, the conversation already fading into the distance when she suddenly spoke again, almost like she hadn’t meant to.
"I’ve been thinking about this a lot," she admitted, her own voice surprising her. "And I think it started with Jihyo. Or at least... that’s the first time I noticed it."
Chaeyoung’s gaze flickered to her, curiosity sparking behind her tired eyes. “What, exactly?”
"That my feelings for people didn’t... fit neatly into a box. With Jihyo, it was this subtle kind of love—safe, familiar. She’s always been that person for me, and for a long time, I thought that was all it was. But then, it happened again with Momo. And it wasn’t the same. It was different but just as strong."
Chaeyoung didn’t say anything, but her brows furrowed just the same, listening to her every word.
"It confused me," Nayeon continued, rubbing a hand over her knee. "I thought maybe I was just attached, that it was because we were always together. So I ignored it. Pushed it away. And for a while, that worked. Until it didn’t."
A faint smile ghosted over her lips as she shook her head. "Then came Sana, and, well... she never lets you ignore anything, does she?"
Chaeyoung huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Not a chance."
"We were drunk one night, and I told her," she said. "Just blurted it out. That I loved her. But she passed out before she could hear the rest of it. The next morning, she didn’t even remember. I convinced myself it didn’t happen, didn’t matter. I thought maybe it was just a deep connection, you know? That these were my people, my family, and my heart was just... responding to that. But then Mina came along."
At that, Chaeyoung stiffened just slightly, her fingers digging into the sand. Nayeon caught it but didn’t call attention to it.
"And it happened again. The same tug, the same feelings growing. And this time, I didn’t push it away." Nayeon said. "Because it wasn’t just some random thing anymore. It was a pattern. A truth I had been ignoring for too long.” She paused for a second to steady her breath. “That my heart was capable of loving so much,” her voice was thick with emotion. “So deeply, so fully. And not just one... Jihyo, Momo, Sana, Mina... I realized it was just a matter of time before it happened with all of you. Because you’re my people. And that’s what my heart wants. I don’t just love one person, Chaeng. I love all of you. In different ways, at different times, but all the same."
Chaeyoung swallowed, her expression unreadable. "And you’re okay with that?"
Nayeon considered the question before nodding. "I had to be. It wasn’t going away. I thought there was something wrong with me at first, that maybe I was just indecisive, or selfish, or whatever else people say. But it’s not that. It’s just how I love. And I think... it’s how some of us love."
Chaeyoung let the words settle, her eyes drifting back to the horizon. "So you’re saying... I mean, you don’t think it’s weird?”
"Not even a little," Nayeon said. “I know it’s not the same for everyone. But I wanted to tell you this because it’s normal. What Sana feels, what Mina feels, what I feel—it’s normal, Chaeng. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. But if you ever do... you’ll know it’s okay too.”
Chaeyoung sat with that for a long moment, her lips pressed together. Then, cautiously, she asked, "Do you feel that way about me?"
Nayeon met her gaze, holding it. "Not yet. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that my heart doesn’t set limits. It’s just a matter of time."
Chaeyoung blinked, then, to Nayeon’s surprise, she cracked a small smile. "Well, that’s going to be a hard one for me. I don’t know if I can see you as anything other than my annoying older sister."
Nayeon laughed, light and genuine. "Fair enough. I’ll give you time too."
Chaeyoung let out another chuckle, shaking her head, and for a brief moment, the weight in the air lightened. They sat there together, the ocean stretching endlessly before them, their shared conversation settling between them like weaved thread of connection.
Nayeon reached out and squeezed Chaeyoung’s hand, her heart swelling with affection—not romantic, at least not yet, but something just as important. Something unshakable.
Chaeyoung squeezed back. "We’re gonna be okay, right?"
She didn’t answer right away. She let the question hang in the air, the uncertainty of it too heavy to ignore. Instead, she gave Chaeyoung a small, knowing smile.
"We’ll figure it out," she said. "However long it takes."
/////////
Dahyun
Her hands moved with precision, her fingers squeezing as she worked the knife through the fish, gutting it with the ease that came from reluctant practice. The sharp scent of salt and raw flesh clung to the air, but it no longer turned her stomach the way it used to. It was just another part of their survival now. Still, she couldn’t shake the small pang of guilt that curled in her chest each time she did this. She murmured a quiet, "Thank you" under her breath—her own small way of acknowledging the life she was taking.
Beside her, Jihyo worked at a slower pace. The usual peace in her movements was missing, her fingers less precise, her shoulders stiff. Dahyun noticed the way she adjusted her posture every few minutes, how she pressed her lips together as if swallowing down pain. She wanted to say something, but Jihyo beat her to it.
“You don’t have to keep checking on me,” Jihyo muttered, not looking up. “I’m not going to break again.”
Dahyun huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Just making sure,” she said. She flicked a glance at Jihyo’s leg—still healing, but far from fine. There wasn’t much anyone could do about it except keep an eye out. “You never know when one of us might need a little extra care.”
Jihyo let out a slow breath, shaking her head. “We all do.”
Dahyun nodded, her gaze drifting beyond their little workstation. The camp was busy with movement, each girl absorbed in their routine. Momo and Mina sat cross legged, weaving strips of bamboo, making whatever their minds could think of. By the shore, Nayeon and Chaeyoung sat close, their conversation low, their expressions unreadable in the golden light. For a fleeting moment, it almost looked peaceful—like something out of their old lives. But she knew that illusion never lasted long, never settled.
“I’m proud of them,” Jihyo said suddenly, her voice softer now. “All of them. Not many people could handle this.”
Dahyun paused in her work, stealing a glance at Jihyo. “You should be proud of yourself too, you know.”
Jihyo gave her a small, tired smile. “Maybe.”
They continued working in silence, Dahyun found herself thinking about how much they had changed—how much they had lost. The routine of survival gave them purpose, but it didn’t erase the exhaustion. It didn’t quiet the restless nights, the fears they carried.
After a while, she asked, “Who do you think is struggling the most?”
She expected Jihyo to say Mina. Maybe even Chaeyoung. But Jihyo didn’t hesitate.
“Tzuyu.”
Dahyun frowned. “Tzuyu? She seems... okay.”
Jihyo set down her knife, taking a moment to wipe her hands on a scrap of cloth. “I’ve noticed things about her,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “Small things. She’s quiet, but not in the same way as Mina, or you. It’s like... she has her own way of processing everything. I think she feels the chaos more deeply than we realize. And... there are things about her... I mean... things I’ve observed over the years, that I think might make it harder for her to adapt to all of this.”
Dahyun listened closely, sensing the thought behind Jihyo’s words. She thought she understood what Jihyo was hinting at, but she appreciated how gently she approached the subject—she was simply acknowledging the unique challenges Tzuyu might face.
“She’s holding it together,” Jihyo continued, “but I think it’s because of you.”
Dahyun’s hands stilled. “Me?”
Jihyo gave her a knowing look.
Dahyun swallowed, wanting to deny it, to brush it off, but she knew Jihyo was right. Tzuyu always gravitated toward her—lingering in her presence, seeking her out everytime she could, reaching for her hand each night as they lay pressed close together...
“I just... want her to be okay,” Dahyun murmured.
Jihyo rested a hand on her arm. “Just make sure you don’t forget about yourself in the process.”
Dahyun met her gaze, something tight forming in her throat. She nodded. “Yeah.”
The girls gathered slowly around the fire as the smell of grilling fish filled the air. Jeongyeon and Momo worked carefully over the flames, taking charge and turning the skewers in the fire. Dahyun passed the last cleaned coconut halves to Mina, who placed them near the fire to warm them slightly for dessert. Everything was ready now, the result of their combined effort, yet the air was strangely... stiff. Only the occasional rustle of leaves or the crackle of the fire broke the silence.
Dahyun glanced around at the girls’ faces, illuminated by the soft glow of the firelight. Jihyo sat propped up near one of the shelters now, her leg stretched out to keep the pain at bay. Nayeon was whispering something to Tzuyu, who nodded and looked down at her lap. Sana leaned against one of the bamboo poles, picking at her nails without much care. It wasn’t tension, Dahyun realized—it was exhaustion.
It’d been a long day, emotionally and physically. They’d all opened up in ways they hadn’t before, sharing their fears and hopes, but that kind of vulnerability took a toll. Dahyun herself felt drained. She rubbed her eyes briefly before taking her seat between Momo and Mina.
The fire burned constantly, as it had for nearly a week now—never extinguished, never fading. They needed it, a beacon to signal their existence to the world, to any passing boat or airplane. It was larger than they’d anticipated, but still manageable enough to cook over it everyday.
“Food’s ready,” Jeongyeon said, breaking the quiet as she passed the first skewer to Jihyo.
One by one, the skewers and coconut halves were passed around. Tzuyu took hers, though Dahyun noticed the slight wince when the girl shifted her leg. She caught the younger girl’s eye, but Tzuyu shook her head quickly, giving Dahyun a tiny smile as if to say, Don’t worry about it.
Dahyun bit her lip, unsure whether to press further, but decided against it. She knew Tzuyu well enough to understand that if she wasn’t ready to share, pushing wouldn’t help. Still, her stomach churned with unease. They were all falling apart slowly, bit by bit, and Dahyun hated that she couldn’t do more to keep it from happening.
A sudden choking sound pulled her from her thoughts. Nayeon sputtered, coughing violently, before spitting out a small fish bone onto the sand. For a moment, everyone froze, unsure of what to do, until Nayeon’s sheepish grin broke the tension.
“Guess I need to chew better,” she said, her voice raspy but lighthearted.
They looked around at each other before laughing, it felt strange, like shaking the dust off something they’d forgotten how to use. For a fleeting moment, it felt like home again. Dahyun smiled, grateful for the distraction, and let herself laugh along with them.
Jihyo took the opportunity to lift the group’s spirits further, she adjusted her posture, wincing slightly but determined to hold their attention. “You’ve all been amazing today,” she said, “This... this isn’t easy, but we’re making it work. And I just—I’m really proud of us.”
A few nods followed. No one rushed to fill the silence, but the meaning lingered, settling in the spaces between them. They had fought through another day. That was enough.
Then Sana, ever restless, leaned forward, her lips curving in a way that suggested trouble. "You know what we need? A day off."
Momo scoffed. "A day off from what, exactly? We don’t have jobs anymore."
"Yeah, but we do," Sana shot back. “All we do is work—hunting, fixing, rationing. We deserve a day where we don’t worry about food or shelters or anything. Just... a day to breathe.”
Dahyun looked around, gauging the reactions. Jihyo hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly, but Nayeon nodded in agreement. “She’s right,” Nayeon said. “We’ve got enough coconuts and fish to last. One day won’t kill us.”
Jeongyeon raised an eyebrow. “Unless we all get sunburned to death.”
"Then we stay under Mina’s fancy new shades," Sana reasoned, waving a hand. "Just one day. No work. No planning. Let’s just agree to take a break tomorrow. Deal?”
There were reluctant nods at first, but soon everyone was on board. Dahyun felt a flicker of relief. They needed this—time to recharge, to remind themselves that they were more than just survivors.
So as the fire crackled and the conversations around her drifted and faded into the distance, Dahyun leaned back on her hands, stretching her legs out in the sand. The heat from the flames licked at her skin, soothing in a way that made her want to close her eyes and sink into it. The idea of a day off felt strange—like something from another life—but she wasn’t going to question it. They needed it. She needed it.
Beside her, Tzuyu moved close, stretching her legs out, dragging lazy patterns into the sand with her fingers. The distant sound of laughter from the others floated toward them, muffled by the crackling fire, but here, in this small pocket of calm, it was just them. Dahyun let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders, only now noticing the dull ache in her muscles. The exhaustion settled deep, like a weight pressing into her bones, but for once, she didn’t fight it.
"Are you okay?"
Dahyun tilted her head, giving a faint smirk. "You’re asking me that?"
Tzuyu’s lips twitched, but her eyes remained serious. "You check on everyone else... who’s checking on you?"
The question struck something deep, something Dahyun wasn’t sure she had an answer for. Taking care of the others, keeping her hands busy, making sure things kept moving—it was easier than stopping, easier than thinking too much. "I guess I don’t really think about it," she admitted. "Maybe I should."
Tzuyu studied her, then nodded. "You should."
Dahyun huffed a laugh, nudging Tzuyu’s shoulder lightly with her own. "Alright, you can check on me then."
There was something unreadable in Tzuyu’s expression, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she let the moment settle before speaking again, this time more carefully. "Tzu... have you thought about telling the others? About your autism?"
Tzuyu didn’t flinch at the question, which Dahyun took as a good sign. But she kept quiet for a long time, tracing patterns in the sand with her fingers. "I’ve thought about it," she said. "I just... don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t want them to treat me differently."
Dahyun nodded, keeping her voice soft. "I get that. And you don’t have to. But I don’t think it would change how they see you. They already know you, Tzuyu. It wouldn’t make them love you any less. If anything, it might help them understand."
Tzuyu exhaled, as if weighing the words. "Maybe. Just... not yet."
“I’m not pushing you.” Dahyun reached over, squeezing her hand. “I just wanted to put it out there. Whenever you’re ready."
They fell into a companionable silence for a moment, the sounds of the night filling the space around them. Tzuyu shifted onto her side, facing Dahyun fully. Her eyes were clear now, her lips curving into a slight smile.
"Can I ask you something?"
Dahyun sat up a little straighter. "Of course."
"Where do we stand?" Tzuyu asked, her words careful but direct. "You and me."
Dahyun blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, though she couldn’t say she hadn’t felt the shift between them. She couldn’t help but smile at her honesty. It was one of the many things she loved about Tzuyu—her inability to sugarcoat or dance around a topic. “I thought we were already something,” she teased lightly, though her tone carried a sincerity that matched Tzuyu’s question.
Tzuyu held her gaze, considering her words before nodding slightly. "Then... can we say it out loud? can we make it official?"
Dahyun felt a warmth spread through her chest, her lips tugging into a smile—the kind only Tzuyu ever brought out of her. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It’s real, Tzu. We’re officially together.”
Tzuyu’s shoulders relaxed, but her expression didn’t lose its seriousness. "There’s one more thing I wanted to ask.”
"What’s that?"
"I don’t want anyone else," Tzuyu said, her voice quiet almost afraid. "Just you. Is that okay? And... can I ask the same from you?"
Something in Dahyun softened. There was no hesitation, no need to think twice. "Of course," she said, the words steady. "I’ve only ever wanted you."
Tzuyu’s breath hitched slightly, her fingers tightening around Dahyun’s wrist like she was anchoring herself to the moment. "Okay."
She didn’t mean to, but a heartfelt laugh slipped past her lips. She adored her. Truly. Completely. And here, in a place where there was little else to do but feel, she could see herself doing just that—falling. Falling deep into that endless rabbit hole called Chou Tzuyu.
She watched as the others started retreating into their shelters. The sleeping arrangements always changed, rotating night after night, yet somehow, the girls always seemed to leave space for the two of them to stay together. So, without a word, they moved—passing the already occupied shelters, heading toward the last one.
In the distance, Momo and Nayeon stood by the shore, their bodies close, almost leaning into each other. Not quite a hug, but something just as intimate, as if neither wanted to let go of the warmth lingering between them before the night swallowed it whole.
Stepping inside, she adjusted to the hard surface of the bamboo floor, her body instinctively bracing against it. No matter how many nights passed, she still couldn’t quite get used to it.
So she leaned back, letting the worn bamboo press into her spine. The dim glow from outside barely reached them, but she could still make out the way Tzuyu’s head rested lightly against her shoulder, the slow rise and fall of her breathing. But then Tzuyu shifted just enough for Dahyun to feel it, and her voice cut through the stillness.
"Do you think this would have happened?" she asked. "Us... if we weren’t here?"
Dahyun blinked at the question, her fingers pausing where they had been idly tracing patterns against her waist. She hadn't expected that. “I... I don’t know," she admitted. Honesty, always. "I’ve always felt connected to you, Tzu. But maybe—" She hesitated, exhaling slowly as she tried to sort through her own thoughts. "Maybe being here makes everything feel sharper. Like I have to hold onto something real before it all slips away."
She didn’t know if that was the right way to say it, but it was the truth. She felt Tzuyu nod against her shoulder, her fingers absentmindedly brushing against the hem of Dahyun’s shirt.
"I feel that too," Tzuyu murmured. "But... I don’t think I would have acted on it if we weren’t here."
Dahyun turned her head then, trying to read her expression in the low light. "Why not?"
Tzuyu let out a slow breath, her fingers falling from their place. "Because I never thought I could," she said simply. "I’ve always loved you, Dahyun. But back home... I don’t think I would’ve let myself say it."
Dahyun’s throat tightened at the honesty in her voice. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the truth laid bare between them. "Tzuyu...”
Tzuyu gave her a small, wry smile. "Being here, losing everything else... it made me realize that if this is all I have left, I don’t want to waste it. I don’t want to leave anything unsaid again.”
Dahyun swallowed, her fingers tightening around Tzuyu’s. There was something crushingly beautiful about about this version of her—the way she held herself together, not with indifference, but with honesty, stripped bare. No walls, no pretense. Just her.
"We’re still here, Tzu” Dahyun whispered, squeezing her hand. “We’re making it, I promise.”
Tzuyu exhaled then, her shoulders loosening as she turned, her face impossibly close. When she leaned in, Dahyun met her halfway. Their lips brushed together in a slow, unhurried kiss—not desperate, not claiming, just... real. Tzuyu’s hand curled against Dahyun’s jaw, her touch light but sure. Dahyun felt the weight of it all—the love, the fear, the unspoken certanty that they had found each other in the middle of chaos. And somehow, that was enough.
The moment stretched until the sound of footsteps in the sand outside pulled them apart. The bamboo creaked slightly, and Momo’s head peeked in, eyes widening immediately.
"Oh—oh. Uh, sorry," Momo stammered, her face flushing as she took a step back. "Didn’t mean to interrupt."
Dahyun bit back a laugh at Momo’s expression, glancing at Tzuyu. She was still holding Dahyun’s hand, her grip loose, her posture unchanged. Unlike Momo, Tzuyu didn’t seem flustered—she rarely did. But Dahyun could tell she was processing, trying to decide how to respond.
She squeezed her hand. "You want to tell her?" she asked, giving Tzuyu a clear way forward.
Tzuyu blinked, then nodded slightly before turning back to Momo, her voice calm, composed. "We’re together now," she said, her words direct, as if stating a fact. "Officially."
Momo’s eyes flickered between them before she exhaled, a small, knowing smile forming. "Yeah," she said, voice softer than expected. "I figured."
Dahyun tilted her head smirking. "That obvious?"
Momo gave a half-shrug. “Aside from the kissing... Yeah. You two have always had something. It was just a matter of time."
Dahyun felt something loosen in her chest—not surprise, not embarrassment, just relief. She reached out, giving Momo’s hand a squeeze, and Momo squeezed back
"I’m happy for you guys," Momo said, "Really."
Dahyun settled back into her place, feeling lighter somehow. Maybe, despite everything, they weren’t just surviving. Maybe they were still finding reasons to live.
/////////
The midday heat pressed down on them, thick and unrelenting. The shade offered little relief, but at least the air was still enough to make the humidity bearable. She sat between Tzuyu and Mina, watching as Mina worked on the bamboo shades she’d been weaving all morning.
Dahyun found herself mesmerized by the rhythm of it, the way Mina’s fingers never hesitated, as if they already knew exactly what to do before she even thought about it.
“You’re really good at this.”
“It’s just repetition,” Mina said. “Once you figure out the pattern, it’s muscle memory.”
Dahyun reached for a strip of bamboo, rolling it between her fingers. “Think you can teach me? I might as well learn while we have time.”
Mina nodded, shifting in her place to give her more space. “Here, hold it like this,” she said, taking Dahyun’s hands and positioning them. “Then pull it tight before weaving it through. If it’s too loose, it won’t hold.”
Tzuyu, who’d been silent up until now, leaned in to watch. “Can I try too?”
Mina offered a small, knowing smile. “Of course.”
As they worked, the occasional creak of shifting bamboo and the quiet rustle of leaves overhead filled the silence. It was almost soothing, their hands moving in tandem, following Mina’s patient instructions. Then, as if the memory had been waiting for the right moment, Tzuyu spoke.
“This reminds me of all those dates... The things we used to do back home.”
Dahyun glanced at her. “Like what?”
“Those DIY places we’d go to,” Tzuyu said, her voice thoughtful. “Painting pottery, making candles... Remember?”
Dahyun let out a small laugh. “Yeah. You were terrible at pottery.”
Tzuyu huffed, nudging her lightly with her shoulder. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You painted a... was it a dog?” Dahyun reminded her, grinning. “It was cute, in a weird way.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be a dog,” Tzuyu muttered, sensing the teasing. “But you were nice enough to say it looked good.”
Mina chuckled, glancing between them. “Sounds like you two had fun.”
“We did. Some of the best memories I have now,” Dahyun admitted, the laughter fading into something softer. “We should’ve gone on more...now that... well.”
She hadn’t meant for the conversation to take such a bitter turn, but here, it always did. Even the lightest moments never stayed that way for long—darkness crept in too easily, settling in the spaces between their words. It didn’t take much. Just a glance around, a reminder of the life they were living now. How it swallowed it all.
They did their best to ignore the tension, and after a while, Dahyun let Mina and Tzuyu continue their work, standing up and stretching her legs. The air felt stifling, and she needed to move, to see what the others were up to. Wandering away from the shaded area, she spotted Nayeon and Chaeyoung a little ways off, crouched over something in the dirt. Curiosity piqued, she made her way over, brushing the sand from her hands.
"What are you two up to?" she asked, peering over Nayeon’s shoulder.
Nayeon looked up, a mischievous glint in her eye. "We’re testing something. Science. Innovation. The future of survival."
Chaeyoung huffed, shifting her weight as she dug deeper with a sharpened stick. "Are we even sure this is the right spot?"
"It has to be," Nayeon insisted, scraping at the earth with determination. "I'm telling you, it was a really good movie. Super realistic, too. He survived for months, Chae—trust me. We just have to keep going."
"You and your survival movies," Chaeyoung muttered, shaking her head. "I can’t believe we’re relying on your recommendations to stay alive."
"Don’t act so surprised," Nayeon quipped, smirking. "You always end up watching the same things I do."
"You force me to watch them," Chaeyoung shot back. "I fall asleep halfway through most of them."
Dahyun crouched beside them, watching as their hands disappeared into the damp earth. It wasn’t long before Nayeon let out a triumphant shout, pulling up a handful of sticky, grayish clay. "See? Told you."
Chaeyoung leaned in, inspecting it with a newfound sense of curiosity. "This... might actually work," she admitted, rolling a bit of it between her fingers. "If we mix it with coconut oil, it could work as sunscreen. At least for a while."
Nayeon grinned, wiping her hands on her thighs as she turned, making her way back to the shelters.
Dahyun followed them as they trudged back. "Guess who just saved us all from becoming crispy lobsters?" Nayeon announced, dropping the clay near their makeshift supply pile.
Chaeyoung dusted her hands off, a rare grin on her face. "You’re welcome."
Dahyun laughed, watching as Tzuyu and Mina gathered around, inspecting the clay. She watched as the others started moving, but only Jeongyeon and Sana emerged from the shelters. Nayeon didn’t miss a beat, her teasing starting the moment she caught sight of Sana stepping out from the same shelter as Jihyo.
The playful accusations came easily, filling the air with laughter that felt like a brief relief from everything else.
Dahyun caught the moment Sana swatted at Nayeon, her face still flushed. “We were just talking!” she insisted, though the way her voice wavered made it hard to believe.
“Talking?” Nayeon repeated, drawing out the word with a smirk. “Right. We’ll go with that.”
Sana groaned, letting her head fall back against the bamboo post behind her.
Their laughter rippled through the camp, a rare and precious sound. But then Momo emerged from the shelter, guiding Jihyo carefully, and just like that, the mood shifted.
Jihyo moved stiffly, her injured knee unsteady even as she leaned heavily against Momo’s shoulder, a slight tremor running through her with every step. She tried to keep her face neutral, but Dahyun could see it—the way her fingers curled against her thigh, the tension in her jaw.
Concern prickled at the back of her mind. She exchanged a glance with Tzuyu, who’d gone quiet beside her.
Nayeon clapped her hands, pulling their attention back. “Alright, focus. Chaeyoung and I mixed up some batches of clay with different ingredients,” she explained, gesturing toward the bowls they had lined up. “We’re testing which one works best as sunscreen. So, everyone, stick out a leg.”
Dahyun rolled her eyes playfully before extending her leg, watching as Nayeon smeared a reddish mix over her shin while Chaeyoung worked on Sana’s. They moved with efficiency, dabbing, spreading, comparing.
“Now we wait,” Nayeon said, wiping her hands on her shorts. “Stay in the shade, and we’ll check back in thirty minutes.”
They settled into an easy rhythm, chatting about mundane things—remembering favorite foods, embarrassing moments from their past schedules, what they’d do if they got back home. For a while, it almost felt normal again.
Then Jihyo shifted beside Momo, her face tight with pain. She let out a breath, shaky and strained.
Momo caught it immediately. “Jihyo, what’s wrong?”
And as usual Jihyo tried to wave her off. “I’m fine.”
Dahyun moved forward, frowning, letting her frustration show. “Jihyo.”
She wasn’t fine. Dahyun could see it now, the way Jihyo’s hands hovered near her knee, the way her shoulders tensed as if bracing for something worse.
Jeongyeon stepped closer, assessing the situation. “Jihyo, let me see.”
Jihyo’s breath hitched. For a second, she looked like she might refuse. But then, slowly, reluctantly, she nodded. Jeongyeon crouched down and began unwrapping the bandage.
They had helped her at first—cleaning the wound, changing the bandages, doing whatever they could to keep it from getting worse. But over the last few days, Jihyo had insisted on handling it herself. Now, Dahyun understood why.
As the bandage peeled away, Dahyun sucked in a sharp breath. The skin was swollen, raw-looking, and rimmed with an angry redness. At first, it seemed like just another wound slow to heal—until her eyes caught the tiny bumps beneath the surface, the unmistakable signs of something foreign still lodged inside. She couldn't see the debris itself, but she could feel its presence just by looking—the way the skin swelled unevenly, the way the infection was beginning to take hold.
"Jihyo," Dahyun said, voice tight. "How long has it been like this?"
Jeongyeon muttered a curse under her breath. "There's still stuff in there."
Jihyo pressed her lips together, her fingers twitching against her knee like she was holding herself back from pushing their hands away. She saw her look away, afraid to look them in the eye and confess.
“I knew it was bad," she said, voice tight. "But I was hoping it’d get better on its own... I didn’t want to—" She stopped, inhaling. "I didn’t want to deal with it. To make you all more afraid than we already are."
Silence swallowed them. Dahyun glanced around, catching the stricken looks on the others' faces—shock, guilt, fear. They had all been running on borrowed time, pretending certain problems didn’t exist until they had no choice but to face them. But this—this was different.
Jeongyeon looked around, rubbing a hand over her face before meeting Jihyo’s gaze. “It’s bad, Jihyo,” she said, her voice low, careful in tone. “We have to do something now... take out what’s inside. You understand it’s not just your leg you could lose, right?”
Jihyo let out a breath—half a laugh, but it was hollow, bitter. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I know how this goes. Infection, fever... then my body starts shutting down. And after that?” She met Jeongyeon’s eyes, something dark and unspoken hanging between them, even with the unshed tears pooling in her eyes. “Game over.”
"Then let’s do this," Jeongyeon said. "Before it gets worse."
Jihyo hesitated, her hands curling into fists against her lap. “With what?” she bit out. “We have no proper tools, no painkillers. Are we seriously going to just dig into it and hope for the best?” She shook her head, her tears falling. “I don’t—I can’t do that.”
Momo reached for Jihyo’s wrist—not gentle, but not harsh either. Just firm. “It’s not a choice,” she said. “I don’t care if you think you can handle it or not. We’re not risking it.”
Jihyo shook her head, her frustration breaking through. "It's not just the wound. I'm just... tired. Of all of it. Of not knowing what's going to happen to us. Of pretending we’re okay when we're not. Of feeling like I have to keep it together when I can’t."
Dahyun's throat tightened. "You don’t. Not with us. You know that.”
Jihyo sniffed, exhaling sharply through her nose. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming, frustration bleeding into exhaustion. "I can't do this. I can't—" Her breath hitched, her body curling inward. "Im sorry, I know I have to, but I can’t.”
Dahyun felt her chest tighten. "Jihyo, if we wait any longer—"
"I know!" Jihyo snapped, then immediately deflated, her shoulders sinking. "I know," she repeated, softer this time. "But how am I supposed to sit here and let you do this? How am I supposed to make you do it?”
Jeongyeon’s voice was steady, but there was a rough edge to it now, something frayed. "You think this is a choice? If we don’t do this, you could get worse. We don’t have the luxury of pretending it’ll go away."
Jihyo’s hands clenched, nails biting into her palms. “You don’t understand. You’re not the one feeling the pain everyday. The one stuck in place... I can’t, please. i can’t do it anymore. I’m begging you... I just... you haven’t done anything and I’m already begging you.” She huffed a laugh between her sobs, “I can’t, I just can’t.”
Dahyun’s voice came quieter this time, strained with her own anguish. “You have to. For us, Jihyo.”
Jihyo squeezed her eyes shut. "I hate this," she whispered. "I hate all of it."
No one had an answer for that. Not for the pain, not for the fear, not for the helplessness swallowing them all whole. So they didn’t try to offer one. Instead, they gave her space, waiting—not with words, but with patience.
And finally, after what felt like forever, Jihyo let out a long, shuddering breath. She didn’t look at them, didn’t lift her head, but she gave a small nod. It wasn’t agreement, not really. But it was the closest she could get.
Dahyun watched as Nayeon swallowed hard before stepping closer, brushing away Jihyo’s tears herself. “You’ll be okay,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then she pulled back, straightening, glancing at the others before making the first move. "We’ll get what we need."