"Jennie, I—"
But Jennie moved first.
She surged forward, fists catching in the fabric of Y/N's hoodie like she was drowning and Y/N was the only thing keeping her afloat. She dragged her down, lips crashing against hers. It wasn't polished. It wasn't practiced. It was messy, wet with tears, desperate in a way that split Y/N's chest wide open.
For a heartbeat, Y/N froze, stunned by the shock of it. But then her body moved on instinct, on everything she'd buried and tried to silence. Her hands came up to cup Jennie's face, fingers sliding against damp cheeks, thumbs brushing tears. She held her together, kissed her back like she'd been waiting for this moment without ever daring to admit it.
Jennie kissed her like she was shattering, every press of her mouth saying what words hadn't. I'm scared. I'm breaking. Don't let go. And Y/N kissed her like she was promising. I see you. I won't.
Time dissolved around them. It was nothing but the thud of Y/N's heart, the salt of Jennie's tears, the ache of years of silence breaking all at once. When Jennie finally pulled back, her forehead rested against Y/N's shoulder, breath hitching. Y/N held her, hoodie damp with tears, hands still trembling.
That night changed everything.
They didn't call it a relationship. Didn't label it. But it was there now, alive between them, undeniable, and there was no going back.
It started small, like gravity pulling them into the same orbit.
Nights stretched long in Jennie's room, the city lights glowing against her curtains while the rest of the dorm slept. Sometimes they talked until their voices went hoarse. Sometimes they didn't talk at all, just lay tangled under blankets, Jennie's head against Y/N's chest, Y/N's fingers tracing circles against her back until sleep finally took her. Y/N always left before dawn, hoodie pulled over her head, sneakers silent against the floorboards.
In vans, Jennie passed her one earbud, playlist queued up on her phone. No words, just shared music, the kind that said more than conversation ever could. Shoulders pressed together, hidden under the excuse of cramped seats.
Backstage, where cameras didn't reach, Jennie's hand would brush hers, fleeting, too fast for anyone else to notice.
But Y/N noticed. Always.
And then there were the cracks. The moments when Jennie couldn't keep the mask in place.
A crowded airport, flashes too bright, voices too loud. Jennie's breath faltering, her steps stuttering as panic clawed up her throat. Before anyone else caught it, Y/N was there. Her hand brushed Jennie's wrist, not a grab, just contact. Steady. A tether.
"Breathe with me," Y/N whispered, low, firm, the same rhythm they'd fallen into months ago. In. Out. In. Out. Jennie's chest rose and fell against the pattern until the storm dulled. She never said thank you. But when their eyes met, raw and unguarded, Y/N read it there anyway.
Cars. Dressing rooms. Hotel hallways. The panic came and went, and every time, Y/N was the one who pulled her back.
They never said what they felt out loud. But it lived in the way Jennie's fingers lingered on her sleeve when no one was looking. In the way Y/N carried her pain like it was her own. In the quiet, the secret, the undeniable.
It was something more.
And both of them knew it.
But knowing it didn't change the world pressing in around them.
The hotel was gilded and suffocating, every hallway gleaming too brightly, every chandelier humming with silent scrutiny. Staff moved like shadows, arms full of garment bags, clipboards pressed tight to chests. The girls were fitted, adjusted, rehearsed, polished until they glittered under the Paris lights.
From the outside, it was dazzling, Fashion Week in the city of dreams. From the inside, it was a cage dressed in velvet.
Jennie wore it well, as she always did. Smiles perfect, posture effortless, charm spilling in interviews with just the right tilt of her head. But Y/N saw the truth. The faint tension in her shoulders whenever another camera flashed. The way her laughter clipped short, fading too quickly. The exhaustion she carried like an invisible weight.
By the time midnight came, Y/N thought Jennie was finally asleep, locked behind her suite door like the rest of them, swallowed by silence.
So when the knock came, soft and urgent, Y/N almost didn't believe it. She opened her door to find Jennie standing there, hood pulled over her hair, mask covering most of her face. No diamonds, no silk, no lights. Just her.
"Come on," Jennie whispered, eyes sparking with mischief, with freedom. It was the first real thing Y/N had seen all day.
Y/N's chest tightened. "Jennie—" She hesitated, glancing down the hall.