you make me

Tonight should have been one of the best nights of your life.

Instead, it feels like the end of the world.

See, you had the whole thing planned out months in advance. How the proceedings would go from start to finish. It was gonna be special; people would go crazy. They'd cheer, celebrate, and scream your name so loud you'd feel like you're on top of the world.

None of that happened. What you were left with is a broken dream and absolute heartbreak.

 Time flies when you're having fun. At least that's what was supposed to happen.

Tonight should have been the triumphant climax of all your hard work and patience. The culmination of five long years of diehard, borderline obsessive fandom. Years of saving little by little, counting the days, making countless prayers to a God that's mostly indifferent, until, finally—your pleas had been heard by the powers above. One simple announcement on a Wednesday morning:

IVE is coming for their world tour.

You've been a fan since debut. Anticipated the months after Yujin and Wonyoung finished their time in IZ*ONE. Almost five years since you knew they'd be the one, you'd only seen them from behind screens, in other people's cameras, and curated content. Years pass; they take over Korea, eventually the world. You have no place in it. But you're still waiting.

For lack of a better word, you're obsessed.

Not in a stalkerish, 'I'll follow them to their place and bother them' way. Fucking no. You know your boundaries as a fan. Rather, the kind that teeters along the line of parasocial and absolute dedication. Their influence is all over your bedroom: posters that plaster the walls, shelves of magazines with them on the cover that you carefully maintain from dust, binders upon binders of photocards both common and rare, but most importantly, albums of every version that you consider sacred. The crown jewel of your hypercapitalist consumption.

The family says you're wasting your time and money. Your friends laugh it off and call you quirky, steering conversations away from K-pop whenever possible, because they know you'll go into 30 minute tangents that somehow lead into IVE. At least they're understanding. Or highly tolerant.

They don't really know just how deep it goes. How much these six women mean to you, beyond the music and the fact they're so unbelievably pretty. That's a given.

But back to the matter at hand:

You've had the dates marked on the calendar the moment the official announcement hit. After five years and two world tours, they were stepping foot on home soil for the first time. Your territory. Not a festival with only 30-45 minutes per performer, not even as a one hour headliner. A full blown concert. They'd missed you the first go around, and for many days and nights, you'd cursed everything. Lamented that the only way you could ever remotely get close to these girls was to take a flight elsewhere, and the process was already a battle of its own. 

Not anymore. That risk was gone; the only thing you needed to secure was the ticket. You'll worry about what happens after.

And you'd been preparing. Waiting for the day when you could finally take from an account that had been storing bits of leftover money from your salary or allowance, four years of slow-burning patience and hope.

It was enough. More than. Except it wasn't. 

You were not taking any chances. You used every dirty trick in the book; bots, third-parties, people who only accepted a small fee in exchange for direct links to skip the impossibly long queue, to get an unassailable advantage even during presale. The people were yearning for more K-pop concerts, and at last, they were blessed. In a place where live music is few and far between, you weren't the only one starved. Anyone, regardless of their public recognition, could come and sell out if they went; that's how dry it's been. 

All those efforts weren't for naught. You're right where you want to be: front row. Exactly where they'd be passing by every now and then.

The rest could take care of itself.

 Even through your earplugs, you can feel the ground moving beneath and the collective noise of thousands piercing your eardrums. The way the roar of the crowd reverberates everywhere, the bass of the speakers thrumming throughout the arena. 

You're ready. Everyone is ready.

Anticipation pulses through your veins. You're counting the minutes till they take the stage. Lightstick on one hand—the latest version—your phone in the other. Your bag feels heavy, but the adrenaline makes you soar. Not even the stash of freebies from other fans, tour merch you'd bought at a rinkydink tent after waiting in line for hours, and an album and some photocards you hope they'll sign keeps you down.

This is your second concert, actually. You promised they would be your first, but circumstances got in the way. So you wound up flying off elsewhere to see another group instead. But finally, after four years of watching behind screens, of saving what little money you can, of building a shrine to the girl group of your dreams—it's all led to this.

The lights go dark. The crowd lets out a thunderous roar. Nothing else matters anymore; only you and the stars on that stage.

They emerge like angels descending from heaven to bless the ground you're stepping on. In all black leather looking lethal. It's a tired saying, but screens do little justice to how godly they are in real life.

And for the most part, it's everything you wanted and more. They move at a breakneck pace, performing one song to the next, even completing their solos with hardly any opportunities for them to speak until past the first hour (when they formally introduce themselves). Then they do their trademark hits. At one point, the crowd barks; you cringe, but they revel in it, so it's now tolerable. Your ears may be hurting, your arms are sore holding up their lightstick, and your body is being put through hell and back crammed inside a crowded pit, but you're having the time of your life.

You don't think in the moment; the music is still booming, and your fervor is still at a fever-pitch. They come out for the encore and spread everywhere. A member or two comes around your area every now and then. You hold up a sign. One handcrafted from love and patience. They glance, but their attention ends up with someone else. Even when you wave harder, they give hearts, blow kisses, but not of them land on you. 

Something shifts. Your zeal flickers. They're now giving their farewell speeches, and fans are shouting mid-speech: they laugh, giggle, get them to answer back. You're still holding up the sign in the hopes one of them will acknowledge it, but their gaze fixes up ahead. They do their final two songs, and the cycle repeats: a member passes your way, you hold up a sign, they look everywhere except you. Each pass, each distant gaze chips away at your heart.

And after two hours, it ends.

Confetti springs everywhere, they're waving goodbye, headed in your direction as a collective. Fuck concert etiquette now; you have your sign held up to the sky. Just a flicker, a single point of recognition is all you want. Their gazes move from left to right, mostly at the seated lower box—but they look past you again. To the people beside you. Everywhere but you. Then they turn away. They've given you the cold shoulder.

They take their final bows and walk to the back of the stage, still waving as the panel closes in front of them, and then they're gone for good. 

The stage lights come back on. Staff usher out the crowds, telling them to leave as the cleanup crew steps in. VIPs are told over the speaker to stay put. You are staying put, but your excitement has completely died. Your body leans on the barricade, folding in utter disbelief, giving out after enduring so much: the frenzied movement of the crowd, the energy you exerted waving your lightstick and sign, a general lack of sleep, and the fact that none of the girls looked at you even once.

But the night isn't quite over yet. There's still a send-off. And one way or another, you will leave with something.

 Waiting is its own torture.

You're scrolling through your camera roll in the meantime, scanning, assessing all the photos and videos you've taken. None of them do justice to how they truly shine with your own two eyes, even with the occasional blur and shake. Being a hair's width from them, breathing the same air as them—it should have been enough. It isn't.

There's no point of contact. Not a single photo, not a single second, not even a single frame in any of the footage you've checked where at least one of the girls meet you or your lens, even when they're right in front of you. Nothing at all. 

You were too caught up in the heat of the moment to truly notice. How they'd get the ones beside you or behind you, but never exactly you. The way they'd skip past in favor of someone else. Maybe it's only coincidence; so far, you haven't analyzed every video frame by frame.

Doesn't matter right now. The staff are making the announcement, ushering in clusters of VIPs into the backstage pen where send-off happens. Perhaps this is how the universe corrects; that this is the twist that tonight will bring to give you the happy ending you dreamed of.

When they lead your section in, you follow along. Carefully monitoring the environment, the groups that have already flanked the front rows ahead. There's hardly any space left to fit in, nor is there enough room around the corners. At this point, you'd be three or four people behind, some behemoths, others carrying obstructive signs. If they couldn't see you up front, they definitely won't see you now. But your eagle-eyed gaze catches on the far right edge of the room: a tiny, intimate zone beside a concrete pillar that is an island in and of itself. 

So while no one's watching or paying attention, you stake your claim: a prime spot before anyone else even considers it. Given the circumference of the lounge, they're bound to walk past you again. This time, you'll correct those mistakes.

The others pick up rather late, take their spots beside you. No matter. You're still in a prime spot, right as they're about to exit—or where they'll start first. Either way, that interaction you've been chasing is all but guaranteed. Surely.

For a few minutes, everyone waits. Across your vantage point, some push and assert their presence, but for the most part, it's all calm, tense excitement. One last chance to see their favorites up close. But for you, one last chance to prove you meant something.

From a distance, a door can be heard swinging open. The ripple comes quietly at first, like the calm before an incoming tsunami. And then, a thunderous roar echoes around the intimate room.

They're here. Again. Still wearing their encore fits. Still unbelievably ethereal. 

Etched on their features are tired but steady little smiles. But they're not complaining, nor does the idol veneer crack. It's only been 40 minutes since the concert ended, and they were performing for almost two and a half hours straight. Yet here they are, waving at everyone like they can go another round. They're professional as ever, even when signs and albums and phones are being harshly thrust upon their faces.

Your items are ready: a pen, their latest album, the same A4 sized sign you've been raising on and off throughout the show, now ragged and worn, and a set of photocards, one for each member to sign. There's also a handwritten letter in your bag that you plan to bring out when they get close. And somehow, even after two hours of shouting and yelling, you still have a voice. You'll expend the last your lungs can produce if it means they finally see you.

They're starting from the other side of the room, and you watch them deliver their best. From left to right, they settle into fanservice like it's muscle memory.

Gaeul calmly waves at anyone she sees. She looks at a girl's banner with her photos on it and a message printed in big Hangul font. Points at it like it's the most precious thing in the world. Then she leans forward to pose for another fan's phone, and it's like the spotlight is shining just for her. She asks them to show the photo, and after a brief inspection, nods in approval before moving on.

Leeseo's moving like a ball of charisma. Her smile is sunshine incarnate. She's energetically active on her feet, but grounded at the same time. She meets a half-heart from a girl and completes it. Then another. And another. Someone presents their Erang-e plush in front of her, and she tickles the fabric like it were her own. Someone's trying to reach out for a heart from behind a trash bin, and she meets them halfway. Doesn't matter that her hair's touching the chute; she's gonna meet them all.

Rei's the chattiest of the bunch. Hand to her ear, playfully making everyone shout louder, listening as everyone calls out her name. And somehow, in the midst of the commotion, she can single out a specific voice to find them. A fan holds up a sign asking her to do that stupidgesture, and she does exactly that with her cheeky trademark grin. The crowd roars its approval as they all collectively shout 'six-seven!', sharing a laugh with them before moving on.

Wonyoung is exactly who she is: an untouchable princess, grace given human form. Her movements are effortless, but deliberate; she keeps herself distant from the barricade, but she's the most attentive and keen-eyed (though they all are). She points at every girl in the crowd, her skin radiant under the pale orange lights, and she floats along the line with her usual style. Someone asks her to do her legendary twirl, and she delivers, leaving that section swooning. Another asks her if she can have her photocard with her face signed; she claps her hands together gently and bows apologetically. To compensate, she playfully waves her fingers around in the shape of her signature and blesses their camera.

Liz quietly scans the crowd. Takes her sweet time to find someone holding a banner clearly breaking venue rules, with a clear message: Kim Jiwon you're unreal! She gently laughs and blows a kiss directly at the lucky fan, who almost immediately fucking loses it. Much like her older member, she keeps a respectable distance from the barricade, but her eyes quickly work through those holding her photocards, banners, and makes sure she points out every single one. Someone asks them to pose with Rei; of course she hesitates, but Rei obliges and the chemistry is undeniable.

And finally, Yujin makes the girls in front berserk. She knows she's got them all hooked. The slight hint of her toned midriff is enough for them to go feral. She keeps the motions simple: wave, then heart. Rinse and repeat. But every now and then, she'll tease her bare shoulder off the cut part of her shirt, or lift the bottom to make her stomach clear, and she relishes in being gawked at.

Slowly but surely, the members make their trip around the line. Trying to find every face possible, trying to acknowledge everyone in the room. Staff and security closely flanking each girl gesture subtly, whispering behind tightly knit hands. A little bit faster please. We have to go. 

And they try. Even with the pressures of time, they try. Most of the love and affection end up falling in the first three rows; anyone below 5'5 and those in the back are hidden behind taller, more demanding heads and a cloud of unruly banners, signs, picket fans, and cellphones. It's bad luck and poor optics at play.

Not you. You're in the right spot. The place perfectly suited for them to find you as they finish their walk around the line.

So you wait. Each step forward they take makes you tenser, more anxious. The thought starts out innocuous: what if they don't see you, what if they stop right before your section, what if—

No. There's no way they wouldn't—

But not right now. They're about to turn the corner, one member after the other. Gaeul first.

Phone in one hand, sign on the other. You've returned the photocards and album back into your bag, knowing they've actively refused to sign anything other than air. Company rules or whatever bullshit, it's not gonna happen tonight. That's what fansigns are for, probably. Any interaction—even a second of clear recognition through your lens—is more than enough to complete your night. 

You're screaming her name now. Still harsh, still as loud as it was two hours ago, even when the cracks occasionally show. She's completing a guy's heart, mere spaces beside you. Waves to someone in the back holding a Dal-e plush. The guy you've been beside with the whole concert shows her a banner with her head photoshopped wearing an orange around her head, and she laughs, pointing at it and asking if she can hold it for a photo. Her gaze shifts quickly, and you can feel her eyes tilting in your direction. This is it—

But she snags right before you make direct eye contact, stops on a dime and turns on her heel, walking away from your section, slowly, waving off to the crowd in the distance. Ouch.

So you try again. Rei bounds in next, smiling from ear to ear. She hi-fives a kid and gently pats her head, then does her trademark aegyo for a fan holding a sign saying he traveled from the Philippines just to see her. Right there, dancing along the barrier, she's just one glance away from finding you—and she doesn't. Much like Gaeul, she turns around and heads the other way, done with your section.

The pain doesn't ache, at least not right away. Your smile quirks just a tad. Hope isn't completely dead yet. Not until they're all saying goodbye. Still four more chances. Surely. 

The worst thing imaginable isn't about to happen, right.

Leeseo steps in, still lively as ever, still infectious. She completes a heart from someone in the third row, pushing through the wall of bodies between her and the fan sandwiched in there. But that's pretty much it; she takes a step back to wave at the surrounding area, which somehow feels intentionally hurtful and personal since her gaze completely erases your presence, and blows a kiss spanning everyone but you. Then like the members before her, she proceeds to look the other away and back to the center.

Still keeping her distance, Wonyoung points and shoots. Blesses every fan she finds with her magic fingers. A girl holds up a paper asking her to make a wish since it happens to be her birthday, and she pauses. Closes her eyes, softly puts her hands together for a brief moment of prayer, and then blows a magic candle in her direction. She spots a fan in the fourth row holding up a peach-shaped sign with a picture of Yujin and her together from one of their fansigns. Yujin spots it and joins her in winking at that lucky son-of-a-bitch. Then Wonyoung spins away in the opposite direction.

At this point, it feels like you're fighting an uphill battle. No matter how much you scream their names, they don't hear you. No matter how hard you wave your sign, it simply doesn't exist. In their eyes, somehow, you seem to be like transparent glass that they see right past.

You don't break, at least not completely. Your knees begin to crumple, your heart splintering into fractures. You barely manage to keep the tears at bay, trying to avoid causing a scene, especially in a private, intimate setting like this, with all the phones around and the idols you adore standing right there. 

Your gut tells you it's over, to give up and accept the harsh and brutal reality that you're nobody, but your heart believes in miracles. 

It's only delusional until it works.

Fortunately, Yujin hasn't completely turned away yet. She's moved back in the line to entertain what you assume to be a personal friend, and Liz is now going ahead. So you focus on her instead. She blinks, waves tirelessly at every fan she can see. Someone dressed as her from the Eleven music video (Elizabeth Helga Muller, obviously) catches her eye, and in a rare moment, she steps forward to pose for her camera. But it's fleeting; she steps back just as quickly as she bounded, and returns to waving at everyone within her line of sight. Even so, you appear invisible to her; she stops right at the fan beside you, pointing her face on the guy's shirt and takes her leave.

And finally, Yujin. Back to completing your section, she laughs at a sign held by a guy saying he's cray cray for her. She winks at a fan's camera, then poses by flaunting her bare, toned shoulder for good measure. The screams climb a pitch higher, much to her amusement. You're screaming her name loudly; you don't know where this second wind came from. Desperation, most likely. Like if she doesn't find you within the next five or so seconds, you're probably going to explode.

Nothing like that happens, obviously. But the pain doesn't hurt any fucking less. If she was holding a knife, then she twisted it into your heart, took it out, and then stabbed you again for good measure. 

So yeah. Of course she doesn't see you either.

One last time, all six girls gather at the center of the lounge where everyone can see, and they wave in every direction. Yujin yells out "Thank you for coming! Safe travels everyone!" to a roar of approval from the crowd. Then they leave, in the direction where they entered from—for good. 

It's only after Liz, the last member to disappear past the door, when reality finally sets in:

You are nothing to them. You mean nothing to them. They don't love you like that. 

The tears come falling down. Slowly at first; little drops here and there, the occasional sob and sniffle shadowing the blind, carefree joy that had been stretched thin the moment the stage lights came back on. But it waterfalls almost as quickly, trickles onto the floor like storms on a dark, gloomy sky. Your head bows almost instinctively, like you've laid someone or something you love to rest after watching them die. And something did: a piece of your heart. Actually, the whole goddamn thing.

You didn't ask for much. You didn't even want them to read your sign anymore; a simple eye contact from even just one member was all you wanted. A glimmer of recognition from the people you loved unconditionally, through highs and heartbreaks, and they couldn't even deliver that. Four years of waiting. Of hoping. Of praying for a moment where they could see you, and it never came. 

At first, you thought of the whys, the hows. Where it all went wrong. Nothing makes sense. You had signs like everyone else. Their lightstick in your hand. By the grace of God, you were posted up front row. Screamed their names like it was your religion. There were countless moments, opportunities, frames where you swear they would have 100% found you, but no. Three different avenues to see you, just once, even for a tiny glimpse, and you were completely invisible. 

In the end, you were nothing. You've been nothing. It took this, a brutal wake-up call for you to realize that.

The world you know has been reduced to blurs and white noise. Your knees have given up; you've let your body melt onto the metal post like all the adrenaline keeping you afloat has finally run dry. Even as the crowd begins to disperse, as security and staff usher out the VIPs since they have to clean house for tomorrow's event, you remain there. Frozen. Unwilling to let the impossibility of the situation fully sink in. 

Eventually, you push away. Your legs move of their own accord, slowly walking away from the place where your heart was crushed. To avoid being hounded by the staff, probably not; the world keeps turning. Life goes on. 

Here's the harsh, cruel reality of fandom: the biggest, core memory defining nights of your life is just another Saturday to them. For them, it's another date on an already tiring marathon, another stopover to a massive paycheck. They always say the same things, about how much they love all their fans, love the place they're performing in, and it's all in the oh-so obvious rehearsed script. You should have known this by now; the screen containing their script was right next to you on the floor.

But for the four years you've waited, it was real. And for those two hours or so, you wanted it to be true. Instead, it turned out to be a fucking lie. You peered through the magician's hat and instead of finding a rabbit, there was nothing at all.

The only thing left is a heart that's been completely hollowed out.

 Suddenly, everything feels louder, more oppressive. More tilting than the floor you'd been standing on for hours.

The walk out of the venue feels like a slow-moving procession to your fandom. Instead of leaving in joy like everyone else, you're walking away defeated and dejected. Your shoulders are slouched, head dipped to avoid human contact, the bag holding your merch barely clinging to your hand. 

You feel alien. Actually, you are.

All around you, people are celebrating. Fans, families, friends moving along in high-spirits, comparing interactions, texting loved ones, sharing pics and fancams that are worth a few hundred likes on social media at the bare minimum. 'Gaeul pointed at my banner!' 'Wonyoung blew me a kiss!' 'Rei laughed at my sign!' 'Liz took a selfie with me!' 'Leeseo completed my heart!' 'Yujin danced Genie for me—'

Every win is a personal attack; every smile and laugh is an insult. Nevertheless, you quietly soldier on. 

Outside, lampposts guide your way around the mostly lifeless parking lot. The crowd behind you becomes dark blots the further you get away: some hail cabs, others leaving in organized carpools, the rest walking to nearby hotels—same as you. The noise fades the deeper you go. It's here, when the only thing you can hear is the crunch of gravel on the floor, is where you finally feel well and truly alone. Walking by your lonesome in this empty night, it's as if you're returning to the dark, empty void where you belong.

At the outer edges of the car park, you come across a dumpster. One side of the lid is open, reeking of God knows what kind of trash. You lift your plastic bag containing evidence of tonight's wreck: half a dozen unopened photocard packs, a white tour shirt and matching gray hoodie, a handmade sign you spent countless tries perfecting and fucking up, quirked up with each member's distinct personalities, aesthetic preferences, and MINIVE stickers, and finally, the group's lightstick dimmed out.

And much like an alcoholic waking up after a hangover, you begin questioning your life choices.

I should have just followed this group instead. Should have never gotten into K-pop. Should have just stayed home. Wasted all that time, effort, and money to be treated like shit. Could have made my money back if I just sold my ticket, maybe more in the secondary market. Some desperate fuck would have paid for it—

Four years of support. Of waiting. Of hoping. For nothing.

You flinch just remembering. It's in vivid detail: how they glossed over you, how their gazes flicked over and right past you, as if they had actual malicious intent. How they must have perceived you. Like they knew you were there, somehow, and actively chose to avoid you like you were carrying the plague. It doesn't make sense, because tonight never did. 

Your hands are trembling uncontrollably. You're unknowingly shedding tears that didn't escape the first time. The heart has finally understood, and is now telling you this: they hate you. They don't love you like that. Anger has taken grief's place.

So you crumple the bag. Crushing all its contents, but they don't break—not quite. The clothes are wrinkled. The packs are still mostly in place, hardly scratched, and the sign is partially bent, but mostly intact. 

God, you just want to smash it against the dumpster now out of sheer frustration.

Perhaps this is a sign of mercy. That one man's trash is, indeed, another man's treasure. Fine.

So you let your hand hover over the opened side of the bin. Let go.

But you're hesitating, unwilling to pull the trigger, even as your fingers loosen their grip. Letting go means you're done with this life for good. And you're not quite sure what will happen after that.

Suddenly, your breath hitches. Your brain registers something: a touch. Behind you. On your shoulder.

So you stop. 

Turning around slowly, you're expecting venue security ordering you to stop loitering. You'll say 'Just a moment, I'll leave shortly,' or some fan asking about your experience, probably flexing their interaction and pretending to commiserate when they just want to inflate their ego or something. No amount of excuses can hide the pained look on your face. And you'll quietly tolerate it, because you don't want to ruin your night any further by affecting others who are there for themselves too.

With a heavy sigh, you're glancing up from the ground, expecting the inevitable. Your lips are already moving, mumbling some made-up alibi: "Sorry, I was just—"

The words die just as suddenly as they come. It isn't security nor a random fan, none of that: it's much, much worse.

Six distinct figures are standing there, lined up in their usual position from left to right, several breaths away, under the same streetlamp as you. No barriers, no staff keeping you apart; just some K-pop idols fresh off a concert, wearing the same clothes from the same crime scene where they broke you.

Nothing about tonight makes any goddamn sense anymore. The image is difficult to comprehend, but you're staring wide-eyed: why on God's green earth is IVE outside at an empty parking lot. You saw them leave with your own two eyes. How they glossed over you at every single opportunity. How they would narrowly avoid making direct contact, as if you were declared persona non grata. And now, they're here. Actually looking at you. Without obstructions.

Yujin's a step closer compared to the others, but their eyes all share the same expression: concern, regret, apologetic. Her smile is there; not the stage-friendly, upbeat grin that makes her Popo, but a fraction: willfully restrained, delicate. She's twiddling her thumbs, casting her gaze down to the ground, trying to find the appropriate words to say. And when she does, it comes out just as small as her lips:

"Hi. We didn't mean to startle you."

It doesn't quite register; not at all. Seeing them is one thing, but hearing Yujin herself actually talking to you—after seemingly ghosting you the entire night, after you've tried so hard to get their attention, even just one member—is another.

"We didn't realize—" Rei starts. She's got her hands behind her back, also tilting her eyes down to the pavement, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Her usual energy is equally as dialed down as Yujin's smile, inhibited to something safer, more intimate. "We were waving goodbye, and then I turned to my left, and I saw someone crying. I thought I was just tired, or that it was tears of joy, but I saw you, crumpled at the barricade, and I knew something was wrong."

"Yes," Leeseo interjects. Her smile beams, but it lacks her usual energy, reading the room—or space, in this case. "I also saw you too. Or at least I thought I did. I didn't realize—we missed you."

"But by then, it was already late. Staff told us to keep moving, and we couldn't come back to you," Gaeul finishes. 

Their voices are quiet. Too quiet. The entire time you saw them, you'd watched them remain steady and persistent through exhaustion and one tiring choreography after another. Now, they feel—human.

Liz doesn't say a word; rather, she gently places both her hands close to heart, eyes closed, quietly shedding a tear, letting it fall down her cheek. And Wonyoung, being, well—Wonyoung—softly nods along in agreement, her hands folded together, keeping her gaze on you. 

As one unified group, they lean forward. And with one shared voice, they lower their heads.

"We're sorry."

Formally. Ninety degrees. Their hair fully blocking their faces. The kind reserved for when words aren't enough to atone for a grave mistake.

When they straighten up, Yujin's the one speaking on their behalf. "I know this seems like a lot to take in, but" —she pauses. Swallows her throat, closes her eyes for a flash before looking you in the eye again— "We see you now. We're here. And we are so, so sorry."

And to be quite honest, you don't know how to react. Because you've experienced more lifetimes within the last three hours compared to every other day you've been living on this earth until now. Tonight has thrust you into one roller coaster after another. It's a miracle you haven't thrown up yet, but you'd rather just get off the ride, actually. 

To say that all of this is hard to believe would be an understatement.

"No." The word comes out naturally, inaudible, like you don't want them to hear you now, after you already spent your vocal cords and your lungs screaming their names to high heaven. Instinctively, you're stepping back like a trapped animal, haunted by the ghosts you tried calling out to no avail. "This isn't" —you say, hoarse and worn, flinching and wincing in light pain as your shoulder bumps the closed lid of the dumpster you were ready to toss your life into— "You're not—"

"We are," Rei gently interjects. She takes a step forward, joining Yujin. The girls maintain a respectful distance, even as you stagger away. "This is real.We're real."

"No, no. You can't make me believe." You're smiling, but it's deranged. Laughing a little, too. Not because you're happy to see them, but rather the utter insanity of this situation and everything leading up to this moment. "This has to be some kind of joke."

You're scanning your surroundings now, waving your arms around like you've caught their scheme: hidden cameras, boom mics, skeleton production staff, expecting the rug pull that you're not actually talking to IVE at all. Or at least, the same idols you've seen on stage and on screen. "Alright, you got me guys. I enjoyed the prank, but you can stop now."

"It's really just us," Gaeul insists. She looks remorseful. The way she constantly assesses you,then flickers away when you meet her gaze halfway, uncomfortable watching you acting lost. Or she's sorry for herself. How they made you like this. You don't fucking know anymore. "No cameras. No staff. This is just—us."

"Sure," you snicker, and your reply comes out a little higher, a tinge more angry than intended. The idea is just ridiculous, even for your own delusions, and you explain it best: "because why would any K-pop group be looking for some random fan at 10 in the evening after finishing a concert when they should be flying out now. Is that right?"

Leeseo flinches slightly. Almost imperceptible, but you catch it because Wonyoung's right there to hold her while she's trembling. And through the seeming hurt and a shed tear, she manages to speak steadily: "We—we ran out. Our manager said no. They said we were in a hurry and needed to go. But we insisted otherwise. Just for you," she sniffles. "You were—"

"Shattered," Liz completes, facing her despondent member, sharing in her pain. "You looked really, really sad."

You don't bother denying. God, you weren't even trying to hide the fact you looked absolutely destroyed. It's one of the few times where being alone actually helped; every other fan was too busy celebrating their interactions to notice you falling apart, and they saw through that.

"But why? Why here? Why now?" You find your voice somehow, teetering between confusion and anger, and you're not holding back. It doesn't matter you're shouting at the very idols you loved so dearly; there's only pain, despair, and an innate urge to validate your feelings. "I was there. Soundcheck. The concert. The send-off. Three different opportunities where you could have seen me. Even just once. But you didn't. You—"

"We messed up. We know," Yujin interrupts, sounding smaller than before. It's genuine pain, taken from a place that feels sincere, like you directly took a shot to their heart. "But we did see you. You were front row, closest to the main stage. And at the corner during send-off. You were holding a sign. It—it's just—"

"—overwhelming," Rei completes her member's sentence as Yujin sputters. You've never seen her look this deflated, this—downtrodden. Same for the other members. "We try. There's so many of you, but we try our best to reach you all. We know how much you give to supporting us, and we do our best to give that love back. But sometimes" —her gaze flickers to the floor, to the girls, their hearts and minds moving as one— "people slip through the cracks. Sometimes we miss them, and believe me when I say: it pains all of us. Staff tells us to keep moving, and we try to stay and accommodate you all for as long as we can. It happens. But it doesn't mean we love them any less. It's just" —she sighs— "a hard lesson for us to do better next time."

Honesty stings. As painful as it sounds to hear, and even with the sincerity emanating from their tone, some part of you feels like this is rehearsed. Like they've had this situation happen before. Fanservicey bullshit to make everyone feel included, somehow, even when the evidence is right there. 

"But," Wonyoung starts, careful to make sure each word is chosen deliberately and carried by the wind. She's placed Leeseo in Liz's care and steps forward slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. Stopping inches from you, her mole's now visible, her hands a touch away. "it's never personal. I swear, we never meant to ignore you intentionally." 

You're shaking your head, firmly in denial. Only someone who willingly ignored you would make such a pathetic, lazy excuse.

"You don't have to believe what we say, nor do you have to forgive us," adds Gaeul. She's stepping forward too, sharing the same distance from you as Yujin and Rei. "But we just needed to come here and apologize. To you. Personally."

You can't stress this enough: nothing makes any fucking sense anymore.

"But—why me?" you argue. You're losing your mind, your brain going around in circles. "You had other fans. They probably got ignored too. Fans who actually deserve—"

"You were alone," says Yujin, and the world comes to a full stop. It's delivered quietly, just like every other word, but the impact is far more devastating. And the reason is right there, standing mere inches away from you: the very people that made you feel like you belonged somewhere, now outwardly expressing your inner feelings. "Everyone was with friends or family, or if they were crying, it was tears of joy. But you—"

She pauses. Releases a held breath that feels heavier than it should. And when she opens her mouth again, a tear happens to escape her eye. "You were walking like you had nowhere to go. Like you had nothing left."

So when you were contemplating what would happen next had you thrown everything in that dumpster, you really meant it. They were your everything, your purpose. They made you feel special without ever being aware of your existence. And when they looked past you like you were air, the foundation of your life was shaken to its very core. 

They saw you as nothing. Fuck, you were nothing. And that is more heartbreaking than any relationship.

The tears follow naturally. Again. Really, what else can you do other than fall apart. Of course you wanted them to see you—what fan wouldn't want their favorite idols to notice them—but not like this. You, at your lowest, shaking uncontrollably, drowning in your own guilt and shame, overwhelmed by so much. Meanwhile, they're standing there, apologizing for something that's not even their fault. 

This should have been a joyous moment, something you can happily tell your friends over and over and remember for a lifetime; now you just feel like shit for making them go out this far for something that, by all accounts, is an accident. They have better things to do and places to be, but no: they're right there, trying to mend a broken heart—your heart—and you feel all the worse for it. You're so caught up in your own grief that you don't realize that the bag containing their essence—the very bag you were intending to throw away—slips from your clasp, clattering to the ground. 

Liz takes a step forward. Suddenly stops. She's held back by Yujin and Gaeul, and she immediately understands. Leeseo doesn't; she rushes past everyone, ignoring the panicked shouts of the other members. Crouches down and picks up your bag off the pavement. Carefully brushing away the dust and gravel, she holds it delicately like a prized treasure, but her gaze snags on your lightstick, completely dimmed, and turns it back on. 

Leeseo waves it around with one hand, holding your bag on her free shoulder. She's copying the way you were cheering for them hours ago. The tears have mostly dried out. Only wet tracks remain in its wake, no more noise when you sniffle; just a deep, aching hollowness burying itself deep within your heart. And when you see them through tear-stricken eyes, they're a little too close for comfort, even though they're mostly looking after their youngest. A little too intrusive, like you're an ant being studied under their magnifying glass, and you're burning up.

"It's okay," she reassures you, holding it out for you to reach. "We're here. It'll be—"

"It's fine," you suggest, even though you damn well don't believe yourself. You're swiping your eyes with the back of your hand, brushing aside the last of your tears that have left you vulnerable. "I'm fine. I'm just—"

Laughter comes naturally. Not the hearty, whimsical kind, but the broken, forced type that you turn to whenever you need to cope with something painful. "You said it yourself. I was in the front row. Spent the last few years of my life supporting the only people I loved almost as much as my family. Spent so much of my time and money on you that my friends think I'm crazy" —you're shaking your head— "and I wouldn't care because you mean that much to me. You have no idea the countless nights I cried because you'd announce a show, or some event, or some new pop-up, we couldn't even have that—that you were something I thought was impossible. Until tonight.

You huff, shaking your head, looking unhinged because even talking feels like a gauntlet in and of itself: "All I wanted was just a glance. I didn't even want anything like a selfie or a heart anymore; I stopped trying the moment you wanted to ignore me. A sliver of eye contact" —you motion with your fingers— "that's all I wanted. And you couldn't even give me that. And now you're here, apologizing in front of the dumpster like that's gonna make everything better."

Almost immediately, every member's face cracks, and they bow their heads, instinctively, unable to look at you. They're hurt. Broken. Not because you hate them, but of the realization of just how much you've dedicated yourself to them, only to be treated like nothing, even if it was unintentional. They simply nod, accepting the harsh, scathing truth, because that's exactly what happened: they broke you.

"You're right," says Yujin, still kowtowing, almost muffling herself. "Nothing can make it better. Nothing we can do can change what happened. But we're so, so sorry."

The others bow in agreement with her, unanimous.

When you look up and see them like this: frail, fragile, hurt—something changes again. Maybe you went a little too far. Maybe you shouldn't have said that. At the end of the day, you're just a fan, and idols are still human. There's still boundaries, ones you've overstepped on. This feels like a violation.

You've exhausted your heart to the point where you can only feel empty. No more tears, no more anger. Just cold, unforgiving exhaustion.

"I'm sorry," you start again, letting out a sigh that feels forced out from the depths of your lungs. "I just—I don't know what to believe anymore, and—"

"We know," says Rei, quietly interjecting, slightly tilting her gaze up to meet you. When she talks, there's a bit of her sassy wit coming out: "And I know that tonight's been too much. Not just for you, but us too. Mostly you. I mean, where do we even start—"

Somehow, in the midst of all this tension, her little quip manages to make your lips quirk. Just a tad, but that's enough. That's Naoi Rei for you.

And the girls catch on. The space between you begins to soften to something lighter. 

Leeseo holds out the lightstick again, barely scratched, still glowing. You don't reach for it; don't bother trying. It feels like sacrilege to take it back after your attempt at severing that connection. It's theirs now rather than your own.

"I don't know what to make of all this," you remark, because no amount of logic can make heads or tails of what's happening right now. You should have left this all behind. They should have carried on with their lives. Instead, you're both here, in the middle of nowhere, trying to meet halfway. "I was ready to throw this all away. Forget this night ever happened. And then" —you're gesturing at all six members— "you happened."

"It's our fault," says Gaeul, now meeting your gaze once more. "We should have seen you then. Once we were leaving the send-off lounge, we felt something was wrong. And by the time we saw you, you were broken, and we couldn't come back."

"We're not asking you to forgive us," repeats Yujin, stepping forward, her hands folded together. "nor do we want you to pretend it's anything but our fault. We failed you, and we had to apologize. It's simple as that."

No matter how many times they insist, it never really sinks in. You always keep coming back around to blaming yourself.

"But—your schedules," you argue, unable to accept, not for lack of trying, "Don't you have a flight—"

"That can wait," Yujin answers, and for the first time in a while, there's conviction behind her voice. "There will be another flight. There's only one of you. What matters now is that we do this. We do at least one thing right. We make sure you" —she hesitates— "that you get what you wanted. What you deserve."

And to be quite honest, that'll do. Not because you fully believe them—not at all, actually—but rather you'll likely just go back and forth until one side inevitably concedes. You've already spent most of the day in battle: struggling behind long merch queues the length of your weekday rush hour, jostling for barricade like new sneaker drops, visualizing interactions that never happened, fighting inner demons—the list goes on and on.

"Okay," you breathe out, closing your eyes and letting out a deep breath. "Okay."

Leeseo steps forward, shimmies your bag off her shoulder and hands it back alongside your lightstick with a smile. "Please keep these. They belong to you. For next time."

As you take your items back, you can't help but mutter: "There almost wasn't," and it makes her frown.

"I'm sorry we made you feel this way," Leeseo says, reaching for your hand. You let her. Soft, gentle, delicate, like the kind, sweet girl she is on screen. "Just so you know that this is real. We're real. We're not—whatever monsters you think we are."

"I don't think you're monsters," you reply. "I just felt hurt."

"And that makes us monsters," she insists, her eyes twinkling with welled up tears as you stare back. "What kind of idols would ignore one of their innocent fans? Monsters, am I right?"

"Seo—"

"Just let her apologize," Wonyoung gently chimes in, smiling slightly, her head slightly dipped, now holding Leeseo's hand. "The point stands. You tried to get our attention, we looked past you, and you were hurt, so we had to apologize. No need to complicate it any further."

"You don't have to accept our apology," Liz repeats, driving home that point over and over, and she's right behind Leeseo now. "If you wanted to hate us, then that's fair. Your hatred of us is completely justified. But at least we were able to say sorry, and you listened. That's all we can ask from you."

As she finishes speaking, the arena in the distance goes nearly dark. Only a few lights remain, particularly the big white letters spelling out the arena's name. Most of the crowd have dispersed; all that's left is a mostly desolate parking lot and presumably a team of managers and staff searching for their untouchable assets. 

And speaking of—

"You should go," you tell them, ready to say goodbye, expecting the inevitable rug pull any moment now. "I appreciate that you did this and all, but—"

"We promised ourselves that we'd find you and do it right. They can wait. You can't," says Yujin, and she's looking at the others, and they're all in complete agreement. She's smiling gently when she adds, "We can't change what happened back there, but we can make it up for you. If you want."

The spark that died in that venue flickers back to life. Your brows rise. You're hoping once again. Reckless, youthful hope. But there's always that underlying feeling, a lurch in your heart that's afraid there's something waiting around the corner ready to break it again. 

"Are you sure?" you ask, hesitant, but secretly hoping again, just a little. "I—I don't wanna—"

"None of it—none of this—is your fault," Gaeul interrupts, gesturing around the small circle under the lamp post including you, firm but gentle. "Don't blame yourself for our mistakes." 

"We'll be here," Liz assures you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "As long as you need us. We wanna do this right. If you want us to."

Wonyoung and Leeseo nod their heads in near-perfect harmony.

"And besides, there are better places we can talk in. Other than—I don't know, in front of a dumpster," Rei quips, and it elicits a wave of little, but hearty smiles from the members. "I mean, it is a nice looking dumpster, to be fair."

You can't help but chuckle. Realizing she's broken through, Rei pokes your cheek. "There he is. That's our fan."

Yujin turns her gaze from Rei back to you. "So?"

This should be the easiest 'yes' of your life. They're offering themselves to you on a silver platter; even the most insane person would call you mad to turn down this generational opportunity. But you consider it: the 0.001% that feels like someone running up the score to ruin you so there's some kind of opposition. The trauma is real, still fresh in your mind. You've been through so much from just the last three hours alone. Trust, once broken, is difficult to rebuild. 

And you're thinking as you nod, the most subtle of motions that it almost appears imperceptible, that you might regret this. But you're already moving with them.

"Okay. Let's go somewhere."

No one claps. No one cheers. Even their breaths remain held, like they're walking on holy ground. They just quietly smile with a calm, careful acceptance as they step into formation beside you, away from the dim light of the parking lot and into the complete unknown.

The cafe is closed. 

Of course it is. Tonight is just too good to be true after all.

It's only 10:27 in the evening and yet the whole place—and street for that matter—has already shut down. Your suggestion, a coffee shop across the venue, where you celebrated a fandom cupsleeve event marking the group's arrival in the country hours before the concert, now is just—dead. The commemorative decor is gone; only darkness and chairs stacked upside-down on top of tables and a closed sign hanging behind the entrance door like a middle finger to hope.

Leeseo's sticking her face against the glass like someone's gonna entertain them (nobody's home), while Liz entertains her. "Maybe if we knock on the windows hard enough, someone will open—" 

"I don't know, Seo. The sign says it's closed—"

Meanwhile, the rest—you and the four others you never thought you'd be walking together with—can only smile. But it's wistful, a fleeting moment of levity before reality sets in again.

"We can try somewhere else," Yujin suggests, turning to face you, sounding like it's her fault the café you offered to take to isn't open right now. "There's a nice Chinese restaurant we had dinner in last night—"

"No, no. It's okay," you answer quietly, the words coming out faster than you thought. Shaking your head, regretting the decision to follow them, questioning why you're even here. Why are they still here. "Think all the stores are closed—"

"Look. Over there."

Gaeul breaks the conversation, her gaze directed at a park just across the street. You've been walking for a few blocks, trying to find the few stores that are still open at this ungodly hour, except there's hardly anything left that feels appropriate for the people you're with. Mostly cheap eateries and 24 hour convenience stores. Even worse, the venue is no longer in sight, and you're 100 percent certain the managers are losing their mind, and this is your doing. 

"Quiet, fresh air, plenty of trees and benches to keep us tucked away. Perfect," Rei comments, and she's already moving before any of you can consider other options. The rest follow suit, with Liz yanking Leeseo away from the café windows, and your words of protest die when Yujin gently pushes you along with them.

These last few stretches have been awkward. Quiet. Mostly the girls conversing among themselves in hushed whispers while you're out here being the worst navigator ever. Whenever you check on them, they're just smiling at you, nodding, but their eyes tell you otherwise—something about guilt and regret. Yet they never look as hollow as they were on screen or even during the concert. You wonder what they could possibly be talking about: something about how you've only been crying every five minutes, that they just gotta endure at least a few more minutes before they can finally leave, that they're only doing this because they're idols and they don't want any bad PR—

"This looks nice," says Rei, and you all stop in the middle of a stretch of park road with two benches positioned beside each other, shadowed by an imposing tree, whose leaves gently rustle with the nighttime wind. It's wedged near the main center, you think, the one with a fountain and a statue, but nestled away from the outside world.

They take their seats in the same position they're always in: Rei and Liz around the corners of the benches, Gaeul and Leeseo beside them, respectively, and Wonyoung and Yujin at the center—usually.

Only now there's a conveniently empty slot between Wonyoung and Yujin. A you shaped void. Right in the middle.

Yujin pats her hand down on the unoccupied space. "C'mon. Sit."

It's supposed to be gentle, given how soft she sounds, but with six pairs of eyes staring at you, it feels more of a command. But you follow anyway. You've never felt this self-conscious, this aware of your surroundings and actions. How every little motion feels heavy and weighed with so much at stake. Every little twist, every little muscle—even the way you breathe feels like it's being judged. Even if they're friendly looking.

"Wait," Leeseo suddenly rises from her spot, like an idea came to her. "Ice cream. Let me go get us some ice cream."

"Hold on—" Yujin protests, but Leeseo's already ran off with a hand raised.

"I'll be right back!" she yells out before disappearing from view.

Your stare lingers a minute or so longer than you initially wanted. At the bushes in the distance, at the path she took to run out. All around you, gentle winds sweep away the leaves, brush against the walls, making a light clanging sound. The world here is quiet, peaceful—the type that lends itself to self-reflection. And compared to the tight, suffocating crowds of the concert venue, you feel like you can breathe.

"She's been wanting ice cream the whole day," Rei casually remarks, facing you and reaching out to grab your shoulder. Her smile is warm and fond: not her trademark bubbly grin, not quite, but something a bit more restrained. 

To your right, Wonyoung's kicking her legs while staring up at the night sky. The stars have come out tonight, and you're not referring to the idols surrounding you. One in particular shines brighter than the rest, drawing her complete attention. Liz finds a flower beneath her bench and plucks it, smelling and holding it like something precious. Yujin loops an arm around your shoulder, brushing strands of your hair with her free hand. Gaeul closes her eyes, posture upright, hands elegantly kept together, just soaking in the quiet atmosphere. Rei tries to make a silly joke, but you can only smile while she laughs at herself.

No one says a word. They let you stay quiet. You become something they look after: assessing, constantly checking every quirk of your lip, every twitch of your eyes, constantly assuring you that their time is yours, that this is your moment. 

In all your time following them, you've known them only as idols. Performers. Role models. People who could do no wrong. Yet here they are, appreciating all the little things, like they've been given permission to stop and smell the sights, even if only for a few precious minutes.

Everything about tonight—from the show, to the dumpster, now this—leaves your head spinning. Not even your dreams were this—vivid.

"You alright?" Yujin asks, and you don't wanna tell them how you feel. Even if its valid.

"I don't know," you ultimately admit, looking down, feeling everything about you is tacky and shameful in their presence. "This—all feels like a dream. Or a hallucination. And if it is, I don't wanna snap out of it. I don't wanna wake up. Not now. Maybe never."

"But this is real," Liz replies, cupping your face. "You just have to believe."

No matter what they say, you just can't. There's always that sinking feeling, the inevitability in the back of your mind: maybe you're just tired and imagining all this, or they'll disintegrate into dust, or maybe the staff will finally come and force them away. Any second now, you'd be taken back to reality and life moves on as normal—

"I'm back!" Leeseo shouts as she returns with a plastic bag flailing on her wrist. She's taking her sweet time, cheeks flushed pink, walking instead of rushing when she initially left. "They had exactly six flavors, so one of you has to share." Her gaze tilts over to you. "You don't mind, right?"

You nod, accepting without resistance.

One by one, she pulls out different colored packaged ice cream bars for each member, handing them left to right: strawberry for Rei, chocolate for Gaeul, pistachio for Yujin, mint chocolate for Wonyoung, vanilla for Liz, and finally, coffee for herself. 

She saves you for last, seated tensely in the center. It's chocolate, the same flavor as Gaeul. 

"I didn't know what your favorite flavor was, but everyone likes chocolate," she says with that sweet smile, pressing it into your hand, and you just can't deny her at all, even with guilt wracking your brain. 

You unwrap the bar from its packaging, but you don't eat. Even when your stomach groans in protest, you just let it slowly trickle on your fingers and drip on the floor. Holding it feels like it's weighed with a lifetime of burdens. And it's not that you don't hate chocolate (for reference, your favorite is actually mango), but more just the absurdity of this whole damn thing. 

IVE did their part: perform for two or so hours, two and a half if you count soundcheck. Finally, send-off that's at least 10 minutes long. Then they have the audacity to break whatever idol protocol and schedule they have just to chase you down, apologize, walk with you, and now even share ice cream in the middle of an empty park after a concert when it's almost midnight. You can never ask for anything ever again. 

Someone's getting fired, you're completely certain. Fuck it, half the staff is getting sacked when they return to Korea. And knowing you're responsible for that makes you feel all the worse. They didn't have to go that far to find just one fan out of thousands, but also, this is far beyond your wildest dreams. Both sides can be true.

"Something wrong?" Yujin snaps you from your daze, and you instinctively look the other way before turning to her. The others have finished their ice cream bars, mostly, (Wonyoung's still halfway through hers) and yours is the only one that's completely untouched. "Come on. You must be hungry after all that waiting and cheering."

Leeseo frowns. "Don't like chocolate?" she asks, like you're judging her for the poor choice of flavor. 

With just one single, concerned glance, you concede. You take your first bite, let the lukewarmness of the treat rest between your teeth, and for the first time in a while, maybe, just maybe, things might not be bad after all.

"Good?" Leeseo asks now, leaning her head forward, her smiling gradually returning as you gobble through the snack. "Mom told me ice cream always makes you feel better."

You give her a nod and a little smile, one that feels reminiscent of a ray of light peeking in the midst of a cloudy day. 

She's elated. Her idea worked. But she's not celebrating, not quite. You're getting somewhere, and that's what matters.

"It's so pretty," Wonyoung suddenly remarks, and everyone turns their attention to her. She's transfixed on the stars above still, watching the same one in the sky shining brighter than the rest. "So lovely. Haven't seen them out in so long."

"But it's always there," you casually remark.

"I know. We don't ever see them much these days, but it's a nice reminder that they are always there for us, even if we aren't."

Your mouth twists, understanding but tired to get the full context. They hardly ever see the night sky given their schedules and commitments. They don't have room to breathe. Giving them room like this—to slow down, to pause—is something rare to them.

Leeseo takes back the wrappers and popsicles into the plastic bag, not asking permission. Doesn't need to. 

No one speaks. Neither do you. You soak in the gentle breeze, the slow passage of time, the way the world stops spinning and just—breathe. For a moment, you're all alone again. Reduced to your own thoughts with nothing except what's in your head, but it feels clearer now. Your chest feels lighter. Everything's gonna be fine. 

Then you feel the nudge on your shoulder and the echo of someone's throat clearing.

"Look," Yujin starts, and the others straightens up imperceptibly, turning their attention on you. "We should apologize. Properly. For what happened."

Really, they shouldn't. It's an accident, it happens. They've done their part as performers. Meanwhile, you have nothing. You're not entitled to anything from them.

So you vocalize it. "You don't have to—"

"We know," Rei interrupts. "We know we don't have to. But we want to. Need to."

And you just concede because you'll listen anyway. Or they'll never stop insisting. Both.

Gaeul nods in agreement. "Something was up when we left. It felt" —she furrows her brows— "off. It felt like we were missing something. Or in this case, someone. We didn't realize that was you until we finally looked around."

"But it was too late," Liz adds, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "We were already being ushered off, and we couldn't argue with the staff. We couldn't just—turn back. So we have no one to blame but ourselves."

Leeseo squints her eyes. Her gaze shifts to something deeper, more alert, the kind that looks mature and foreign for someone of her age. "I was thinking about the people in the front, at the barricade. I thought I reached everyone. Gave them a heart, a hi-five, anything to make sure I saw them. And I did see you, near the corner, but" —she pinches the bridge of nose with her fingers, trying to think of—an excuse maybe— "I just didn't. I never tried. And I'm sorry."

"Me too," Wonyoung says, inching herself a little closer to you on the bench. "I saw your sign. Flashes of it, but not the whole thing. And staff were pressuring us to move quicker, so we did. We were so focused on staying on track that we forgot about you. I shouldn't have. It's my fault."

"It's on all of us," Rei corrects, reaching over to place a hand on your knee. "We ignored you. Doesn't matter if it was intentional or not, you were hurt because of us. You didn't do anything wrong; actually, you did everything right. We simply just—messed up and forgot about you."

Every apology feels like another stake driven to your heart. A reminder of the cruel reality that even trying your best simply isn't enough. 

"You don't have to," you insist again, shaking your head lightly, looking like you're the one committing the crime by making them share this openly. "I'm just one fan. Out of hundreds. Thousands. I know you can't see everyone. It happens. But—"

"But what?" Gaeul asks, gentle and disarming, and you feel all the more shameful, like you're being interrogated, no matter how delicate they sound.

You sigh. Rei's hand lingers on your knee as you stare down on the park pavement. Your bag containing tonight's memories is still there between your legs. You just wanna curl up and hide away from the world. From them. Let all this pain and despair bubble within. No one cares. They don't have to know everything. Your feelings are mostly invalid.

"We won't judge," Yujin says. "Promise. You can tell us how you feel, and we'll understand."

The six pairs of concerned eyes don't help convincing you in the slightest. But you admit anyway, because you might as well bring it all to God:

"I just wanted you to see me." Every word sounds like a confession to a priest who's probably gonna condemn you to hell for committing the sin rather than forgiving and acknowledging your fault. "I wanted some kind of recognition. A sign that I mattered to you. That I belonged. Because you—your music—mattered to me. More than anything else."

They let it sink in for a moment, their eyes dawning with new understanding. Then Wonyoung holds out her hands, palms wide open.

"Can we see it?" she asks. "The sign you made for us? What else did you bring?"

Your cheeks burn, but you let out a laugh that's more pained than eager. "It's nothing. I saw what the other fans made. Mine is just—slop compared to what they brought. You don't have to. It's not as meaningful as you think it is. Probably ruined cause I crumpled it anyway, too."

"Don't be like that," she replies, correcting but kind. "Please. We want to see it."

You hesitate, because Lord knows it's true you made your sign with middle school arts and crafts, barely held together by glitter, MINIVE stickers, and prayers. But it's out of the bag anyway and you hand it over alongside a wrinkled letter folded in half, one you never bothered to pull out once as they were seemingly barred from accepting any letters during the send-off.

Wonyoung smoothens out the creases around the letter's edges as the members lean over each other's shoulders to read closely. The sign itself is very simple by design: You Make My Universe Spin written in big text while almost every space is covered in something, whether stickers from their merch or glitter or other colorful things, but they focus on the letter more. You watch the way their brows furrow, how their lips read each word several times over (occasionally audible), examining every little detail meticulously. 

"Thank you," she finally faces you, sounding so saccharine and smiling so sweet it's melting your brain. "You really made all this for us? It's beautiful. Really."

"No—no it isn't." You're deprecating yourself, trying to play off your efforts as nothing but a sham. "It's nothing special," you insinuate, trying to take back the sign and letter but she holds them away from you. "You probably read letters and signs that are more—meaningful than mine."

"But this is your letter, right? Your sign?" Gaeul chimes in, pulling on your arm gently to draw your gaze. "You made it, which it makes quintessentially yours. No one has that. Only you. And that makes it special."

"You don't understand," you're still arguing, because you feel it isn't enough. That what you can do will never be enough. "Everyone else had elaborate setups, funny jokes, stuff that actually made you happy or laugh. Mine's just shit—"

"No." Yujin's denial is firm and stops you clean in your tracks, but her stare is warm. "Stop downplaying yourself. It's amazing. The fact you went out of your way to make these says a lot. We see the effort. You’re amazing."

"Yes," Leeseo adds, her hand now intertwined with yours. "We keep these in our dorm. Sometimes we read them whenever we're tired or when we feel like we're lacking. And then we remind ourselves that you exist," she says, pertaining to the fandom at large, one they believe you have a place in, "and it gives us motivation to keep pushing. Because of you."

You were already crying halfway through Yujin's response. There's no point trying to fight the tears now. So they come gushing down, and everything—the last five years—along with it. Wipe them away with your hand, they still keep coming.

"I'm sorry," you sob out, "I'm so, so sorry. You didn't—you didn't have to do this. You deserve so much better than to talk to a crying fan because he thought he was entitled. You should be on that plane by now. You have other schedules, and instead of resting, I'm just wasting your time—"

"Stop."

The voice isn't quite clear; you're too caught up in your own spiraling feelings to stop, and you're still crying a river, hiding your face to notice who—

But then you feel them pulling your arms away from your face and into a hug. Yujin. Through tear-stricken eyes, it's her who's calling to you.

"Please stop. None of that is true. None of what you said is true."

You're crying into her shoulder now, into the fabric of her shirt. She loosens you from her ironclad grip, leaving just enough to grant you space should you want to fully pull back. 

And you do pull away, but not completely; you willingly remain enveloped in her embrace, but there's more distance now, to the point where your gazes are meeting halfway. Yours, lachrymose and inconsolable, while hers is tender and warm.

"Please. Stop apologizing for nothing," she says gently, driving the point home that this isn't your fault, and you still don't quite believe it. You're shaking your head in denial out of instinct. "Us ignoring you—that's on us. Not on you. Never you."

"But—"

"Stop. Please stop." Yujin cuts in sharply again, but there's no malice behind it. Her hands are resting on your shoulders now, lightly shaking you from your spiral, her smile a calming reassurance. "You're not thinking straight. Take a moment. Breathe." 

Once isn't enough; even they know. Each inhale and exhale is a shudder that shudders deep through your bones. She smiles, asks if you feel any better, and you're better off saying nothing than admitting it hasn't helped in the slightest. They understand anyway.

"Just listen to us, okay? Please let us talk to you."

Almost indiscernibly, you nod. And she does too.

"Listen to me. We're gonna say this once, and I want you to hear every word we say."

A pause. To let you breathe. To let you prepare. Then she continues talking.

"You have nothing to apologize for, okay? Nothing. You went to our concert, brought a sign for us to see, a letter you wanted us to read, and who knows what else. You were expectant, like everyone else in that room," she says, pertaining to the send-off lounge, to all the people in the VIP section. "But you didn't get anything, and you were upset. That's normal. That's human."

You're already protesting, mouth half opened, but Yujin raises a finger, so you stop again.

"What happened back there—was our fault. Full stop," she continues. She lets out a sigh, followed by a shaky breath. "Our responsibility as idols is to make you feel seen. To make you feel like you belong. And we failed on that end. We failed you."

The other girls quietly affirm her. Meanwhile, you still have a million reasons as to why you don't deserve this much care and forgiveness.

"I—I still made you come out here," you insist, sniffling, wiping the tracks of tears down your face. "when you should be resting. I made you leave your van. Made you run out without staff in public. Delayed your schedules because I couldn't handle being ignored—"

"Which was our choice," Gaeul chimes in, pulling your hand away from your teary eye. "We knew we hurt you, and regardless of what staff wanted to tell us, we had to make it right."

"But that makes me entitled, does it not?" you argue now, and it sounds so feeble that you're surprised they haven't left you out of sheer annoyance. "I'm no better than a sasaeng or a stalker. I felt entitled to an interaction because I paid for it. Or that I deserved it for showing up. Because I wanted to feel validated."

They don't answer. Not immediately. Then it's Wonyoung's turn to speak up. She redirects your gaze toward hers.

"No you're not. You're not a stalker or a sasaeng or any of those things. Because you aren't following us to our schedules, or harassing us in our free time, or making demands, or shouting in our faces. In fact, we don't even know you. But you wanted the same experience as everyone else; we simply didn't deliver on our end. And again, that's entirely on us. You did everything right. We wanted to make it up to you, that's why we're here."

"But I am entitled," you insist, fighting an impossible battle just to prove you don't deserve this, somehow. Like you're irredeemable, irreparable. "When I saw the other fans around me getting your interactions and I got nothing, I grew angry. At you. And at them. I believed I deserved it too. I've supported you longer and harder. Since debut. Never missed a comeback. But seeing them rewarded and not me left me so bitter that I almost gave up on you. After supporting you for long, I was ready to drop you on a whim. Because I was entitled."

You see the gradual shift in Wonyoung's expression from sweet to something serious. Here you are, telling the truth straight from your heart, and by the way she assesses your features, it seems like a self-indictment more than a genuine confession, evidence enough to condemn you for good. But her hands find yours, and she holds them softly, as if to cushion you from what she's about to say.

"You're right," she starts, and even though you were waiting for the validation you've been desperately seeking, your chest lurches. Like you're being judged, and the punishment is eternal damnation. She hasn't said anything else, but it already hurts. "That's—not a good thought to have. But—as Yujin said, it's normal. It's normal to feel disappointed, frustrated even, when you give your heart to something you love and get nothing in return. That doesn't make you a bad person; it just means you're human, that's all. And sometimes, the best thing you can do is let those feelings wash over you."

You let out a heavy sigh. You're averting your gaze away from Wonyoung and to the ground, newly ashamed again for having such feelings. "It doesn't change the fact that I ruined my whole night because of it," you mutter, still trying to play victim. "I should have just been content to watch you perform. That's what concerts are for: to enjoy your music, your performances. If I wanted a proper moment with you, I could have just gone to a fansign or did a fancall. I became so obsessed with what I was missing that I never saw everything you were giving me on stage tonight."

Wonyoung lightly shakes her head, and she refuses to let go of your hand, even if you try to pull it away or brush her off. "That's also true," she affirms, and it feels like another shot to an already bleeding heart, another clean cut. "You're right that you should have focused on our performance. That being jealous isn't a good mindset to have. But you're already more aware than most others in your place, so that's something you can work on the next time you see us. And there will be one. Trust me."

God, you might as well be thrown the full book. Death sentence. Lifetime imprisonment without parole. Permanent ban—you name it. Not even the assurance of a probable next time makes you feel any better.

They see the frown on your lips. How you winced at Wonyoung's remark. Every word, no matter how brutally honest, has been spoken in the kindest, sincerest tone possible, and that's probably why it hits harder: it feels like a stern talking from your disappointed mother or parent figure, even though you're not that far off in age.

She's not finished yet. Her hands are still intertwined with yours. "Hey. Look at me."

You try; it feels like staring into an angel far beyond comprehension for your frail eyes. So you just—don't. You don't deserve her. You don't deserve IVE.

But she tilts your face back to her gently, however letting you look anywhere you please, just as long as she's in your sight. "It doesn't matter, you know. Even if I didn't call you out, or if you had focused entirely on our performances. At the end of the day, we still didn't see you. We should have seen you. We should have given you just as much love as everyone else, and we couldn't deliver on that. That's something we take pride in as idols—to make you feel like you belong and loved—and we can't even do that for one fan. And you're right to feel hurt because we did that. You have every right to feel betrayed. You have every right to hate us."

"We're not saying it to make you feel better, or to make excuses," Rei adds. "We're telling you this because your feelings matter. You matter. And regardless of what you've told us, you're still a fan. We saw how much you cared, how you gave your heart freely to us, and we couldn't give it the love it rightfully deserved. And for that, we are so sorry."

Again, the tears just keep coming, even when you think you've completely run yourself dry. You were already in the process of breaking down as Wonyoung was talking about how they should have seen you, and even when they themselves admitted they were responsible for their own fuck up, you still feel like it's your burden for putting them in this position in the first place. It's a selfish thing to keep idols hostage, whether willingly or unwillingly.

"I don't deserve this—" you mutter out, freely crying as you don't realize the members closing in to wrap you in their collective warmth. Leeseo softly presses a handkerchief on your nose. Yujin loops an arm on your shoulder again. Wonyoung keeps your hands steady. Liz wraps an arm on your other shoulder. Rei straight up hugs you, with Gaeul and Yujin as fluffy collateral. And Gaeul presses her head against the shoulder where Liz's arm rests. "I—was almost ready to hate you. I almost threw everything away because of tonight. I—"

"We know," Wonyoung chimes in, softly shaking her head. "You have every right to hate us. Even after tonight."

"Your feelings are perfectly valid," Yujin adds. "Hate us. Be upset. Curse us if you want. Lash out at us if you have to. We deserve it. We deserve everything coming our way after what we did to you."

At the end of the day, this is simply not the kind of person you are. Chalk it up to fear or cowardice, you can't be angry forever.

"I can't," you manage between sobs, crying on your shirt because you're suddenly self-conscious and staining their clothes with your tears feels like a cardinal sin. "I can never really hate you, even if I wanted to. Not when you've been my light for so long. That's all what I really wanted: to get close you, my light, and then it hated me back. And even when I was so close to giving up, I remembered how your songs and personalities kept me going. You were there when I felt like there was nothing to look forward to anymore. I was so close to" —you hesitate, but you've already poured out your heart— "ending things, but you made me feel like I can live another day. I just wanted to thank you for all that. That opportunity never came. But I can never hate you after everything you've done for me."

They've been gentle with you the entire time, steady and composed through every moment you've fallen apart. But now, with your admission, they finally open up too. Small, gentle tears, but they're sobbing nonetheless. The dam has finally burst. 

You're drowning deep in your sorrows to notice how tightly they wrap you. Holding you like they're crushing the very embodiment of sadness running through your body. At some point, you cry into Yujin's shirt instead of yours, but she doesn't mind in the slightest. Nobody does. Your tears do all the talking. They just cuddle up close, keeping you warm, letting you pour all that pent-up emotion out. No one tracks how long it takes; even when the droplets are just tracks, the sobs are sniffles, and your anguish is nothing but background music to the city still awake this late in the night, they stay.

And when you finally come to your senses and they find your eyes red from excessive crying, Wonyoung gently wipes it clean with the handkerchief Leeseo offered. The trembling gradually stops; your breath stabilizes, and your chest feels lighter, somehow.

The girls let you gather yourself for a moment. Gentle rubs of your head, your arm, little reassuring smiles. They don't push, don't force it, just let you process everything at your own pace. It's still not enough, not really. You're gonna look back on this 10, 20, even 50 years from now, when they feel like a relic lost to time and feel the same level of awe and disbelief you had when it happened, and everyone's gonna think you're sharing some silly story that sounds like a telltale sign for Alzheimer's, but you've seen it with your own two eyes: they were right there. With you.

"Better?" Yujin gently asks, and it sounds like you're being asked about the meaning of life.

"Kind of," you answer, and it's only half-true: you're certainly in a better place now compared to an hour ago, but these things just don't die within days, let alone overnight. When you return to normal life, it'll be as if you've stepped into a whole new dimension, where everything is mostly the same, except you aren't. 

"That's better than nothing," she says, caressing your cheek. "We'll take it."

Their nerves refuse to relax still. Always careful around the edges, tiptoeing on the delicate, fragile core of your heart, ready to catch you when you fall. 

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," you mutter, shaking your head. "I wish we met in a better place, you know. Like at a fansign or maybe you saw me during the concert and I made you laugh or smile or something similar. Not you having to comfort me in a park letting me cry on your shoulder for God knows how long—"

Gaeul pulls you in for a loose hug, brushing your head and temple. "We're here now, that's what matters. We chose to be here. It's never your fault, remember? You didn't do anything but be present like everyone else and be honest, and what you've shown us says a lot about the kind of person you are."

"But I don't deserve" —you argue, sniffling— "I don't deserve this—I was ready to throw you away—"

"You absolutely do," Liz cuts in, her voice cracking slightly at the last word, holding your hand now. "You could have said no. At the parking lot. When we offered our apologies, when we asked if you wanted to walk with us" —she stifles a sob too— "you could have said no. You could have thrown our merch, yelled at us, told us to go away, posted a hit piece online about how we hate our fans. But you didn't. You gave us a second chance."

"That's true," Leeseo adds, pressing the handkerchief on your nose. "You walked with us. Let us share ice cream with you. And you were honest about everything, including your own feelings. That's grace."

"I don't feel gracious," you insist now, because you're still looking for an excuse to feel like you don't deserve this love being freely gifted to you. "I feel pathetic. I mean, I'm a grown man crying over K-pop idols because they didn't notice me. Do you know how stupid that sounds?"

Yujin simply smiles wider. "That sounds like someone who cares so passionately about the people he loves. And there's nothing wrong with that."

"Right," Rei says. "I'd be concerned if you just liked us cause we were only eye candy for you. Or that you only like us because you want to use our achievements or our talent to put down other groups."

"That has nothing to do with him," Gaeul interjects. "Read the room."

"I'm just saying!" she lightly fires back, shrugging and causing you to chuckle a little. 

The others immediately catch on. "There," Wonyoung points out your tiny, fragile grin. "We were looking for you. That smile. It looks natural on you."

You immediately look away, cheeks flushed a fresh pink. "I can't," you laugh, small and awkward, "I still think I don't deserve this—"

"Stop." Yujin tries to be straightforward. "You deserve—"

"I just can't," you maintain, because you're tired of being silent. "There's more deserving people who should be here instead of me. Prettier, richer, more" —the word dies as you struggle to find the missing piece— "stable—"

"And?" Wonyoung raises her brow, perplexed by your argument, like the very concept is ludicrous and brain-dead. "None of that matters to us. You're our Dive. That's more than enough."

"We take care of all our Dives," Yujin says, one hand on your shoulder and the other constantly tracing your hair and your cheek. "Whether you're a debut fan or just starting since yesterday, whether you spent thousands on us or you only stream our music, and whether you've seen us already or this is your first time. You're all the same in our eyes. All equally deserving of our full love and attention."

"But you especially," Wonyoung finishes. "Because you were hurting and we hurt you."

Even if they actively probed your brain and rewired it so that you believe them with a 100% certainty, you just can't. It's the kind of doubt that religion spits out and negatively affects the people around you.

So you go back to those old ways, those old beliefs. "I don't know how to believe you," and you're crying again, because your heart is made of nothing but unshed tears and utter depression: "I can't—I don't think I—"

"Then let us be the ones who decide." Yujin pulls you flush for another hug, and the others join in too. She looks at each and every single member, one by one, and they nod. Tender and sincere that it finally, finally feels like validation. "And we've decided you deserve this. You deserve so much for giving your heart to us."

"I—I'm not—I don't—"

"Shhh." She insists, so gentle and utterly disarming that whatever fight left in your spirit finally concedes. "Let us take care of you. Just for a little while."

Little by little, the girls rebuild your heart. Not with bricks and mortar, but with warmth and tenderness. Arms loop and enclose around you. Whispered praises in your ear that sound like comfort. For the first time, it feels like you're finally home.

Eventually, the shaky breaths completely fade. All the tears have been shed for a while now. And even the hollowness doesn't feel as bottomless as it used to. It's all because of them: their gentle hearts, their small reassurances, their sincere little gestures. Tonight didn't give you what you wanted; it provided exactly what you needed.

But time stops for no one. They gently disentangle themselves and sit up on the bench, but their gazes never depart. It's been quiet. A little too quiet. One glance and they see you: eyes puffy, still sniffling just a tad, but normal. Mostly normal. Like the very clinical definition of fine.

"So," Rei starts, reaching for the phone in her purse. "we should take some pictures."

"Huh?" you blurt out instinctively, tilting your head in the opposite direction, forgetting where she'd been seated.

"Duh. Selfies," she repeats, lightly mocking like you were supposed to know the memo. She's already held her phone up, perfect angles and all, with the other members already engaged in idol mode. "We didn't have any during the send-off, obviously?"

Rei doesn't wait for you to get ready. She snaps the first shot: six perfect stars encircling an unaddressed elephant in the center of the frame. The girls unanimously approve of it; you don't. You look out of place. Like you're the one that's AI-generated in the photo.

"I'm keeping this," she remarks, mischievously smiling as she returns the phone back into her bag. "Now you. Your phone," she asks, holding out a hand waiting for you to give it to her. Less of a request and more a demand.

You scramble to fish it out of your pocket. The screen lights up, and so do their faces when they see themselves as your lockscreen wallpaper. Liz's mouth makes a silent 'aww,' while Wonyoung tightly holds your hand with both of hers. More importantly, the battery is down to 12%. They're flattered, but all you can think about is just how everything is designed to humiliate you, even though they don't try to bring attention to it.

"Don't worry, this will be quick." Rei's angling your phone now, creating magic from a cramped park bench and under washed out streetlamps. You're still tucked in the center with the others surrounding you closely, making you the focus. 

It starts out simple; a group photo together, nothing fancy, at least not yet. You have your hands folded together, eyes still red from all your tears, your smile semi-present but not quite. Meanwhile, they treat it as if it were another magazine shoot: effortless, natural, like muscle memory. Yujin lets her arm loop around your shoulder like it's her favorite place. Wonyoung leans her head close against yours. Gaeul's smile is small but sincere. Liz makes a peace sign, and Leeseo, over your shoulder, nudges you on the back, whispering for you to grin a little bit wider. 

You feel overwhelmed existing, let alone breathing in their space, but the end result is a shot that's both vibrant and timeless. 

"Perfect," Rei remarks, pointing you out in the frame with her finger. You did, in fact, smile a bit wider. "You mind if I air drop this on our phones? As a memento. If you want—"

"Y-sure," you say, turning to her suddenly, because you can't imagine being in any of their galleries, but she's already sharing it with the other members even before you've agreed (and you would have). "But why would—"

"We want to remember this." Rei answers immediately, already shifting your phone in a new angle. The others prepare for the next shot, nudging you into position, lifting eyebrows, telling you to loosen some more or go at your own pace. "We want this to be a reminder for ourselves to see thoroughly next time. That every person, every corner in the crowd matters."

"And also because we made a new friend," Leeseo adds, and your heart melts.

They fill your camera roll with every shot imaginable: group pics, quirky and cool poses, individual photos—ones with you and a member by your side—solo and paired selfies, so much so that it feels like half of today's camera roll comprises more of their pictures here than the concert itself. Every shot makes your phone feel more and more sacred. It doesn't matter that they're essentially framemogging you into oblivion, still teary-eyed and vulnerable while they're goddesses incarnate; you'll take it, keep them for yourself because every photo is a cherished memory for life.

"Alright. Everyone gather up." Yujin's signaling to the others to hover close again, another group shot it looks like. "Last one. Let's make this special. For you."

"Close your eyes." Rei whispers against your ear, and you comply, without hesitation.

You wait. Trying your hardest not to peek. Yujin starts the countdown. The pit in your stomach tells you something's happening, but you don't think much of it. Probably Leeseo making bunny ears over your head or Liz poking your cheek.

"One, two—"

She suddenly goes silent. But you feel them. Everywhere. On your skin.

Lips softly crash all over your face. On your temple, your cheek, their breaths, the little giggles hushed as they lean away just as quickly as the camera flash pings. It happens all at once. You don't recognize who kisses where. But they kissed you anyway. That's what you know.

When you reopen your eyes, Rei's holding up your phone for all to see, and the result: she's pecking the front of your left cheek, Gaeul's lips just right beside hers, and Yujin kissing your forehead with her arms wrapped around your neck. To your right, Wonyoung blesses your temple, Liz parallel with Gaeul on the opposite cheek, and Leeseo stifling her laughter mid-kiss just beneath Liz. One thing's for certain: they're all beaming.

It's blurry. It's shaky. It's a mess. It's perfect.

All of a sudden, you can't breathe. Your face is burning up, but in a good way. You're telling yourself 'I can't believe that actually happened' without uttering a single word, and they're smiling proudly, showing no regret.

Then a phone buzzes. Not yours, the one in Rei's hand, but from somewhere else. Yujin quickly fishes the one from her pocket and reads. The look on her face, the sudden shift from joy to frown on her lips tells you everything.

"Manager," is all she has to say, and reality has come to bring you back down to earth. You can't even be happy for more than five minutes. "We have to go."

"They're waiting at the park entrance," Wonyoung states, bluntly, now also checking her phone. The message is the same for everyone: South Gate. Five minutes. That's it. Maybe less. 

But they see the returning gloom on your face and soothe you with the same little smiles that had been keeping you warm the whole time. 

"Walk with us," Rei suggests, holding out her hand as they gather themselves and stand. "We want to say goodbye. Properly."

Your mind is telling you to decline. Refuse, say that they went above and beyond, that you don't deserve all this love and special attention they've given you, that they're probably stalling for time for a flight they're almost certainly gonna be late to keep you happy just a little bit longer—

But nothing materializes. You take her hand, and start walking. Together.

You don't go back the way you came from; you continue further down the winding road, and in the distance, you can already see two pairs of headlamps and shadowy silhouettes looming on the horizon. They've been waiting. For how long is a whole other question you have no answer to.

They've encircled closely around you. Yujin and Gaeul lead the way, Leeseo and Wonyoung hover beside you, and Rei and Liz trail right behind. More importantly, they're not rushing. The walk is leisurely, like they aren't supposed to be at the airport right now—or a while ago. The eldest occasionally glance back to check on you, and you just nod every time. Even when Leeseo takes your hand as an assurance, you know the inevitable is just right around the corner, and not even they can't save you from the end.

Eventually, when Gaeul looks at you again, she finally speaks up. "You're overthinking again."

"I'm not." The denial is almost immediate. Defensive but gentle, as to not cause much concern.

"Sure you are," she maintains, tilting her head, assessing your every twitch, your every move. "I can tell by the way you've been staring at the ground and not at our faces. How you've been silent. You don't want this to end."

She's got it spot on. Because the last thing you want to remember is the smiles, the photos, not them waving goodbye from behind a van, even though you have two different lives to live. Even though she only knew you for less than an hour, she's solved your mind.

"Not," you insist, but Gaeul doesn't fall for the bullshit. It came off as weak too, making it all the more obvious. "I—wasn't—"

"Hey. We're not mad or anything like that," she says, facing you, walking backwards, careful to sound firm without provocation. "We're just making an observation. That's all. What are you thinking about right now?"

"Yes." Leeseo swings the hand she's joined to, a reminder that someone is always watching, even if one of the members isn't paying attention. "You can tell us. We won't judge."

Here we go again. They care too much that it's almost suffocating. You can already hear the words: 'Stop—' 'Don't apologize for our mistake—' 'We chose—' 'You deserve this—'

And it's not cause you don't believe after all that's occurred; you do, somewhat. But everything feels too good to be true. That the universe must find a way to restore balance to itself by any means necessary. 

"I don't know," you admit, imagining the annoyed, disgruntled expressions on their faces. "I just—I don't understand why you're doing this—"

Perhaps you wished a little too hard, because Gaeul closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but she doesn't groan or grumble, at least audibly. The frustration on her face is clear as day, however. 

"Because we chose to. Okay? There's nothing else to it," she explains, and Yujin's looking over her shoulder now, at her fellow member, nodding. "What do you want us to tell you exactly? That we love you? That we cherish you? That we will see you again? Of course we will. Because I—we—love you. So, so much."

"We didn't sit on that bench, eat ice cream, let you cry on our shoulders and kiss you for nothing," Rei adds, tapping you from behind. "We really do appreciate you. You just have to believe us."

"Unless you have some other reason you're hiding," Wonyoung chimes in, now taking your other hand. "Tell us. What's really bothering you?"

Suddenly, it feels like their gentle eyes have turned into cold, calculating stares. Being put on the spot like this—it might as well be an interrogation, except everyone's bad cop pretending to act good. And that's exactly why you're doubting. You're still moving, sure, but in a way that makes traffic seem like an open highway, and there's no cliff to drive off from.

"I'm just" —you start, and when you look into their eyes (doesn't matter who), you feel small and fragile— "waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like all this feels like one big lie."

Liz tilts her head, confused. "How come?"

"I don't know," you answer, kicking a small pebble on the pathway. "You've been so good to me it doesn't make any sense. Like I know you've been wanting to leave already, or that you hate me, because I keep crying and whining and doubting you. And I'm sorry. I really wish you just—"

Everyone comes to a complete halt. Yujin stops you with her hand. The rest surround you in a way that feels like cornering a wounded soldier to finish them off. "Answer me this question."

You nod. Your throat feels constricted, but she's expecting words.

"Do you think we would have gone out of our way to find you in that parking lot if we hated you?"

Nothing comes out. You subtly wag your head, but Yujin wants to hear an answer.

"Not enough. Answer me. Please."

You swallow. "—No."

"Do you think we would have asked you to walk with us? That we'd allow you to lead us away from the venue, and eat ice cream here because we hated you?"

Again, "No."

"Do you think we'd let you cry on our shoulders if we hated you? That we've said it for God knows how many times that we love you and care about you? That you deserve everything we gave you right now?" She raises her tone ever-so slightly, still kind and empathetic, but it makes your heart jump. "Would we be having this conversation right now if we were impatient with you?"

"No, Yujin—" you say, panicked because this is exactly what you've been expecting. You've been waiting for the moment the pot finally boils over. But she doesn't move. Doesn't do anything. Just asks.

"Then why are you so adamant that we hate you? Give us a reasonable answer. Right now."

Your eyes widen. You wanna yell. Lash out. Finally make them see first hand that they've chosen wrong. 

But like everything else, it comes out delicate and small: "Because I simply can't, okay? I can't trust a single thing you say."

The world stops. Yujin blinks slowly. So do the rest. Go on. Explain.

"And it's not because I hate you or anything like that—I really love each and every one of you—it's just been tiring, you know. I've been through so much in one day that I can't understand myself or anything anymore. You've been so kind to me, like I said. A little too much that I sometimes wonder if I'm actually talking to the real you. And some part of me believes in the back of my mind that you're being performative. That you'll get in that van and regret doing all this. Or maybe you've been talking about me behind my back."

Their verdict doesn't come for a while. And when it does, it's hysterical.

Yujin shakes her head softly. She lets out a small laugh that's unnerving. "I really appreciate how honest you've been about everything."

There's no judgment in her tone; just an air of freshness that's meant to be light. Instead, you're left puzzled. 

"Most fans would have told us they're fine and go their way," she continues, and her trademark smile is gradually returning. "So believe me when I say your honesty has been so refreshing to hear."

"You're–you're not mad?"

"Why would we be? You've given us no reason to." 

"But—everything else—"

"Nothing in your argument holds up, okay?" Yujin places a hand on your shoulder, leans in close so you stare directly into her eyes. "We saw you crying. We realized we missed you. Then you poured out your heart for us. Do you think we'd regret doing this, after hearing everything you had to say?"

"I—" you say, but the words die on your tongue. Except one. "Maybe—"

"You wouldn't believe how many rules we've broken just for you," she interrupts, smiling from ear to ear remembering. "Delayed our schedules. Fought against staff. Went out in public without said staff and risked ourselves being swarmed—"

"Don't forget kissing a fan," Rei chimes from behind, much to everyone's laughter, Yujin included. "Especially kissing a fan."

"Yes, kissing a fan too," Yujin repeats, chuckling mid-sentence. "but the point I'm trying to make here is: we've done so much to show you we love you. And we'd do it again and again if it means you really, truly believe us."

"But—your schedules—the company—won't they—"

"They won't," Gaeul interjects. "They won't punish us. Severely, that is."

"They know the faces that run the place," says Wonyoung, confident yet classy. "They know what's gonna happen if they provoke us."

"We'll get written-up at best. Maybe a small fine," Liz adds. "Definitely a huge talking. But that's nothing compared to losing you."

"It's all worth it," Leeseo says simply. "You're worth it."

Yujin pulls away, but you refuse to let go of her hand. She lets it stay, halfway facing you as they continue the walk. "You understand now? No matter how much you wanna argue, we'll always say the same thing."

"And what if I still don't believe?" you ask, because you're that obstinate.

"Then we'll keep reminding you," she says, equally as stubborn. "until you truly believe us."

And for the first time in what seemed to be forever, your heart thumps. Just a fraction, but it feels like the light has finally shone on you.

So you continue walking. Still stretching out the moments as far as you can go. The girls have retreated to their usual positions, but it's much lighter now. More serene.

"I really have to say sorry," you start again, and everyone's hardwired to face you the moment that specific word is spoken, because they're expecting another reason for you to put yourself down, another battle to be fought. "for testing your patience. I mean, you've said it yourself: you delayed your schedules just for me, and if I wasn't so cynical, you'd be on that plane now. Or at least on your way to the airport."

The girls can only smile and sigh. "We've been through this," Leeseo says softly, holding your hand a little bit tighter. "You don't have to apologize for anything."

"But—"

"No more buts. No more apologies, alright?" Gaeul looks over her shoulder, over you. Her glare is sharp but with kind intent. "You're our Dive. We love you. You deserve everything. Point blank. Period."

That stops you cold. Firm, final. You can only bow your head, but Gaeul reaches her hand out for you to hold. So you do. She caresses over it gently, softly, reassuring you this is all out of genuine love.

"If we were actually tired or impatient, we would have just bowed, apologized quickly, and gotten in the van back in the parking lot," Wonyoung adds, just to reaffirm everything. "Not spend important time with you. So please—at least give yourself this. Just this one good thing, if you can't accept anything else."

You finally concede. Even though you look the other way, you're still walking with them, letting them hold your hand, and you're not brushing anyone away. 

"Besides, this is actually nice," Rei says, looking up at the night sky. "It's a good change of pace from our usual schedule."

You don't consider asking, but Yujin explains nevertheless: "Most nights, we just fly in the day before the show. Then on the day of the show itself, its rehearsal, soundcheck, stage, send-off, then hotel. Sometimes we just skip the hotel and go straight to the airport. Like we were supposed to tonight. It's all streamlined and micromanaged." 

"Yeah. We're so tired and constantly moving that we can barely talk to each other," Gaeul adds. "We post pics, send a few messages on Berriz, maybe scroll Twitter a bit till we pass out on the plane."

"Your energy is what keeps us going, and I mean literally," Yujin speaks again. "After the show, we just—crash. It's hard to go from people cheering for you to—dead silence."

You feel the same way: how two hours can pass by in a flash, expending all your passion and energy after months of waiting and preparing, and then it just—ends.

"Plus, this was the perfect excuse for ice cream," Leeseo suddenly says, tilting her gaze over to you. "I've been craving for some the whole day."

Ain't no fucking way, you're saying to yourself. "You weren't."

"Of course I was," she answers cheerfully. "Staff told me it would affect my voice. Seriously. Even just one cone, they said no. So thank you."

You look at Leeseo in utter disbelief. "You used my emotional breakdown for ice cream." Not a question, but an observation.

"Yep. But we made a friend out of it. It's a win-win," she says, and everyone laughs.

"I told you I wasn't joking," Rei quips.

The air between you feels lighter now. They're chuckling, and you're grinning, just a bit. Leeseo points it out, and you're averting your face while they huddle around you, warm as ever. All is right in the world.

"Let's talk about other things that aren't about crying," Liz suggests. "Where did you come from to see us?"

The change in atmosphere and tone catches you off-guard, but you answer comfortably. "From the countryside. Drove four hours just to be here."

"One way?" She looks surprised.

"Yeah. I mean, I've got a hotel to return to after" —your words die thinking about it— "you know—"

"I get it. It's been a long day. For you probably."

"No shit," you reply, casual, like you're conversing with friends, uncaring about the fact you just swore in their presence. "I've been up since 6 AM because that's how excited I was. And also because of all the driving, obviously. But that's nothing to some of the people I've met there."

They remain silent. They know what you mean: people who've flown out from other countries, from the corners of the region, when driving is simply implausible, and your dedication feels like a stroll compared to theirs. Some fansites could be included too, given how they're willing to go this far.

"You have no idea how we reacted when the announcement dropped," you continue. "It felt like salvation. Like our prayers were finally being answered because you actually included us in your world tour."

"I saw it on Twitter," Rei says. "The fanbases were cheering for you. Even those from countries that weren't included—they were celebrating."

"It meant I didn't have to fly out to see you, and I was already considering it. But you came to us."

"We heard of how quickly it sold out too," Yujin notes. "Faster than Taipei, Macau, and Seoul. I'm surprised they didn't announce a second show here. You guys were so loud."

"I heard your ment," you answer. "about there not being a day two. I would have gone too. Maybe all three days."

"Then we would definitely have seen you," Leeseo says. "But—we did. Just a bit later than you wanted."

And somehow, it lands like a joke now. Not something you'd pine over. She's smiling, and you're smiling, and everything feels right.

"So—why didn't you?" Gaeul's turn to ask. "You said you considered flying out. What happened?"

"You did, obviously," you chuckle, barely sidestepping past a particularly large fallen branch, "but I have flown out before. For another group. I would have waited for the encore if I chose to fly out. But its—a lot. Travel, accommodation, food, merch—"

"That's fair."

"And there's more," you continue, "I wanted it to be special, you know? I wanted to be at the front, and I got it. So you could see me. But—"

"We also happened," Gaeul finishes your sentence. "We're still regretting it. We'll never stop admonishing ourselves for this."

"I know, and you don't have to. You don't owe me anything," you say, and the memory still lingers in the back of your mind. They notice the subtle shift on your lips: the pain and the despair. "but at the time, it seemed like a complete—rejection. Like you wanted nothing to do with me. After all the years I've supported you. I just wanted some acknowledgment, and" —you take a breath— "it felt like I was unworthy of you."

The walk stops abruptly again. Rei and Liz's hands are suddenly on your shoulders. You're not crying—not yet at least—but your breaths are shaky, and you're trying to fight it off.

"So yeah. Big deal you finally came for us, especially for me, personally." You're looking into Yujin and Gaeul's eyes. "When you went on your first world tour, and we weren't included, I was hurt. So much so that I actively distanced myself from you: your music, your faces, anything that had to do with you, I wanted no part of for a while." 

Their gazes tilt down a little. Their lips twitch. Leeseo holds your hand a bit tighter.

"So why did you come back?" Wonyoung asks, tiny and disarming. 

"I—I knew I couldn't be angry forever. You were still the same group I loved so dearly, and I couldn't blame anyone but myself. I knew we didn't have the streams or the demand for you to come. Hell, when the concert movie was released in theaters, guess what: it didn't even screen anywhere too. I had to watch it off a camrip from some website. It's like you were actively trying to avoid us. None of this is your fault, obviously, but it doesn't change the fact that it hurts. And when it hurts, what do you care about more: the mind, or the heart?"

No one dares to speak. Other than Wonyoung, no one dares to look at you either. They simply listen.

"We hardly get any foreign artists, let alone K-pop shows, and the rare times they happen, they either cancel or are unknowns, usually both. So color me surprised when you, of all groups, with your popularity, decided to book a show here. It's a big deal for the entire country."

They exchange looks. Ones of dawned understanding. And they don't argue, not at all; they let you keep talking.

"But more than that, this was my chance. I thought I could be front row, wave my sign, scream and shout and finally, something would answer. That I wasn't yelling into an empty, uncaring void."

A pause. A sniffle. 

"We didn't," Liz mutters airily.

"You didn't," you say, sounding small now. "And when it happened, it felt" —you sigh, search for the words— "specific. Like you knew I was there and wanted to single me out. And I know that's not rational. I know you can't see everyone. Not if you had all the time in the world. But in the moment, it felt like complete rejection. Like you were disgusted I was there. That you wanted no part of me."

"We don't." Yujin holds your wrist, her glance tilting at the others, a unified front: "We couldn't hate you; we hardly know you. You couldn't give us a reason to hate you, and you haven't."

"And we would never," Wonyoung adds, leaning close. "We're not the type to single out people and humiliate them. We'd know."

"We don't always show it well," Gaeul continues. "But we get tired. Overwhelmed. Sometimes, it feels like we're going through the motions, and to an extent, that's true. There's only so many faces we can recognize before everyone becomes a blur. But that doesn't mean we love you any less."

"Every wave, every heart, every gesture we make—that's for you," Liz states. "Even if we're not looking directly at you or your camera, it carries all our love for you. We want you to feel that, even if it seems impossible."

"Our speeches might feel rehearsed and tired sometimes, but that doesn't mean it isn't genuine," Wonyoung speaks again. "We want to see our Dives everywhere. Your cheers, your energy, your excitement—it's why we perform. To give that love back, even just a fraction, is our highest honor. So whenever we say 'We love you,' or 'You're the best,' we truly mean it." 

"But you didn't see me," you finally say, tilting your eyes to the pavement, and even you feel exhausted bringing it up; you can only imagine what's going through their heads hearing you make the same tired argument for the umpteenth time. "I saw it with my own two eyes. You looked right through me. You can say all these beautiful things, but it doesn't change the fact that you ignored me. And—"

"We know," Yujin interrupts. It's heavy and regretful, but to the point. "We're not making any excuses. But we want you to understand that it wasn't personal. It's never personal."

The answer comes naturally before you can even think. "It felt personal."

"And that's on us," she replies, tilting your chin so you can meet her eyes. "You felt hurt. You were hurt," she immediately corrects. "That's normal. We didn't mean to. But we're so, so sorry."

No matter how many times you try to patch it, your heart keeps leaking; there's too many holes—some worse than others—to be fixed with band-aid solutions. In other words, you're crying again. Even when you want it to stop, even when you think you've emptied yourself out, the tears continue gushing down.

"All I wanted was to thank you," you mutter silently, wiping your eyes, unable to glance at them. It feels like you're back at square one. "That's it. I didn't even want a heart or some stupid fanservice anymore. Just a glance or some kind of recognition. For your music, for your content—for being you. You got me through times where I didn't think" —your voice gradually fades, hesitating as to whether or not you should tell them, but you do anyway— "I'd make it. And I thought if you saw me, I could finally say how much you mean to my life. But you didn't. And when you left, I—I thought that was it. If not tonight, I would never be able to—"

Leeseo pulls you into a deep hug. She wraps her arms around your waist from behind, pressing her head against your back. Even though you're trembling, words failing, and you're the tears and pain wash over you, she holds you through it all. 

"You're saying it now," she whispers on your shirt, gently tugging you a little tighter. "and we're listening."

She barely finishes her sentence when the others join in on the hug. God, you want it to stop. You're tired of falling apart like this, yet your heart is built on a foundation of sand and glass. But you let them carry you for a while, because you need saving now, even though you don't outright say it.

Rei's the first to pull away. Even here, they move in perfect sync. "Earlier tonight, I remember you told us something. About you not enjoying us on stage because you were too focused on getting our attention."

Almost immediately, your heart sinks. She'd only been noting—rather modestly, you might add—and yet you know what's coming. 

"Yeah," is the only thing you say, and it sounds like an admission of guilt.

"I don't think you're supposed to do that."

Simple and straightforward, yet it hits the point home like a shot to the gut. You can only avert your gaze in shame.

"We work so hard on our performances so you can enjoy them," says Liz, holding your hand. "Above anything else, we want you to have fun. To leave feeling like the time, effort, and money you spent with us was worthwhile. Interactions are nice, but they're not the main point."

"And you said it yourself: you could have joined a fansign or a fancall if you really wanted to talk to us," adds Gaeul. Each word is one piece of self-incrimination after another, made even worse by the fact they're using your own admission against you as evidence. 

"We just want you to be happy," Yujin says, right to the point. "to be here. With us. Even if it isn't—directly communicated."

"I was happy," you state. It sounds like a confession. You're glancing up at the sky, at the full moon partially blocked by clouds. "At the beginning, I really was. Seeing you in person for the first time—that was everything. It didn't feel real until you were actually there. And honest to God, the concert was everything I could have ever wanted and more. But as the show was winding down and you were scattering around during the encore—"

"We know." Yujin cuts you off. "But you were having the time of your life," she remarks.

"Until I wasn't," you admit, because you're as easy to fold as any common lawn chair. 

"Until you got in your head," she gently corrects. "You told us you became desperate and jealous. That you dwelt on what wasn't there instead of what you had."

"That's—yeah—" You wince. "Yeah. That's fair. And that's entirely on me. I should have been grateful to even be there in the first place."

"Right," Leeseo says. "And even if we don't see you exactly, the fact you gave your time and effort to be here means more to us than you already know."

Not exactly words of comfort, but you'll take it.

"There's always a next time," Wonyoung adds. "If you want there to be. You can always do better. And so will we."

"It's a learning lesson for all of us," Gaeul immediately follows. "So that makes us even."

You're still lingering on Wonyoung's words. "If there is a next time," you mutter out, and they see the way you deeply think about it, that you're clearly doubting.

"There will be," Wonyoung reassures, delivered with that trademark confidence that feels like a guarantee. "We'll make sure of it."

"We should keep moving," Yujin suddenly states, staring ahead to the vans parked at the gate's borders. Still a good distance away from where you're standing, but a looming presence nonetheless. Everyone's attention is drawn toward them—except yours. "Manager's gonna be so pissed."

Her gaze then briefly lands on you. "Not your fault, of course." 

She makes it abundantly clear, but you're you. You don't think that. It's clearly your doing.

They start walking again. No longer a closed bubble, but as a coordinated unit straight ahead. You'll let them leave without you. Still under the belief that you wasted so much of their time, even with all the reassurances they've given. 

Except they don't; Rei grabs your hand with that cheeky grin and pulls you in tow with the rest, until you follow in step naturally. There's no rush, no urgency in their stride, like they're oh-so obviously aware of how you don't want them to go. The glances whenever they over their shoulder don't make it any less subtle.

You're more than content to watch. Soak in every little action, every little thing they do. It isn't the most exciting of things: just six stars without the pressure of cameras or spotlights. Not their typical idol selves, but the actual humans behind the facade. This is the girl group you sometimes call home. 

And you can't help but want to enshrine it.

"Can I—" you start, almost mute, as if you're asking for too much. That this feels too authentic to be caught on camera.

Yujin turns around. "What is it?"

You deny it at first. "No—it's nothing," but she sees the phone in your hand. Immediately understands. "I'm good—"

"Candids," she remarks casually. "You want to take candids of us?"

"N-no—" you choke on your own words. She smiles, that gummy puppy-eyed grin that's charming. 

"Go ahead," she says kindly, gesturing to the others to watch for your camera. 

Forget that there's hardly any decent lighting around (unlike at the bench) or that the photos themselves come out as mostly blurs and silhouettes; it still looks natural, and that's how it should be. Sometimes their faces aren't even present in the frame, whether by design or accident, but they're polaroid worthy regardless.

You catch them in their most open form: Yujin staring up at the sky, Gaeul glancing back with her side profile in view, Rei doing that brainrot gesture, Wonyoung flipping her hair, Liz looking down at the ground, and Leeseo smiling shyly with her finger pointed at you.

"Tell us your name," Wonyoung then asks, and your face burns up at the thought. Doesn't matter you never said it once up until now; this suddenly feels too intrusive. Or that they'll probably forget you after this.

They look amused. You say it anyway like the foldable lawn chair you are.

"Record this," she then instructs, pointing your phone toward her like the star that she is, and you start. You catch the little smirk on her lips. You hear your name spoken in her saccharine tone, and your brain just glitches.

"Thank you for coming today. I hope you can look back on tonight with fond memories. We see you. We love you."

The other five girls jump into frame, waving, smiling, echoing the same thing: "We love you, Dive. I-ting!"

Your face cracks. Just a little. 

You've been trying to avoid it the entire walk, but before you know it, it's already over.

On the other side of the gate, the vans are waiting. Engines idle, windows all tinted pitch-black, and their manager and bodyguard waiting almost impatiently. It's nothing personal, but the guard glares at you like you're the reason he's getting his pay docked when they return to Korea—which you most likely are. Meanwhile, the manager subtly points at his watch, telling you everything you need to know.

The girls turn around to face you one last time. This is it.

Yujin holds both your hands with hers, leaning her face forward. "This isn't goodbye."

Open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Her choice of words is very specific, you realize. Like she's studied your mind and how it works.

"We will see you again," Wonyoung encourages. 

Glancing at her, you say, doubtful, "You don't know that."

"We'll make sure," she replies, insistent and resolute but gentle. "One way or another, we're gonna find you."

"But—the company—the tours—there's no guarantee—"

"We don't break our promises." Rei steps forward, firm in her stance. "Even if you're all the way at the back, or even if it's not here in your country—we will find you. That's a promise."

"And how will I know—"

"Because you're the kind of fan that never gives up," Gaeul quickly interjects before you finish. "The kind that still believes and keeps going after everything. You let us comfort you when you could have walked away. That speaks volumes about the kind of person you are."

"We won't forget you," Liz chimes in. "You trusted us. Gave us a chance to make things right, even when we didn't deserve it. That kind of grace can't be forgotten easily."

"We promise we won't forget you," Leeseo reiterates. "We can't ever forget a person like you."

Yujin and Wonyoung are nodding. Wonyoung takes your hand and holds it, intertwining your pinky fingers together. "We will see you again. We swear."

You can only smile and shake your head, barely stifling a laugh. It isn't pleasant, even though it looks and sounds convincing, like you're finally starting to believe, when in reality, this feels more like a eulogy. A final farewell.

And now it's your turn to say yours.

After taking a deep breath and letting your nerves breathe, you face them, one by one, and speak:

"Yujin. You're the best leader anyone could ask for. You've had to bear so much, but you still carry your spark, especially when you perform. I can tell how much you love performing on stage. Thank you."

Her eyes glisten.

"Gaeul. I'm glad people are starting to notice you now. You were always the most underrated one in my eyes. People don't understand what you bring to this team. It may have taken this long for you to get that shine, but you deserve it so, so much. Thank you."

She smiles. Looks away. Cheeks puffed.

"Rei. Your energy is so infectious. Your smile, your chaos, your silliness—even when I was falling apart, you managed to make me laugh. And you held my hand when I wanted you to leave me back there—twice. You make everyone feel included. So thank you."

Her grin wavers. She quickly averts her gaze, but a tear is falling.

"Wonyoung. I don't even know where to begin. Everything you do is iconic. But how you keep yourself composed and calm, even with all the needless hate for every thing you do, is what stands out to me. I wish I could be as great as you one day. Thank you."

She puts her hands together. Mouths something quietly: "You already are."

"Liz. You're gorgeous. Always have been. The people who think you're a visual hole are blind and stupid. They don't even realize that you're actually hilarious and charming. And don't even get me started on your voice. That same voice kept me afloat during some sleepless nights. Thank you."

She's crying openly, poorly concealing her face behind the sleeve of her shirt.

"Leeseo. You've grown up so fast. So much so that even I feel old, even though we're not that far off. But you're still brimming with that same joy and light from day one. You remind me that I'm also growing with you guys, but it doesn't mean I always have to be serious. Thank you."

Her lips tremble. 

"I want to believe so bad. Trust me, I really do, and I hope it happens. I want to be there for every tour, every milestone, every anniversary, every comeback until you decide to call it quits," you say through a shaky voice, and you're trying to fight off the tears because you're so fucking done with crying and you want them to see your smile even in these dying moments,through gritted teeth and deep breaths: "But if I don't, and this is the only time I will ever see you, then I just want you to know how truly important you are to me. You helped me through some of the darkest parts of my life, when I was lost and hopeless and I thought there was nothing left." 

You pause, cry a little, but ultimately keep going: "You gave me something to hold onto. You made me want to live."

You watch their faces shatter in real time. Tears streaming everywhere, unable to gaze at you, their heads bowed in deep reverence. Even both Gaeul and Wonyoung can barely keep themselves together, and they rarely show any emotion. The fact you're the only one managing to maintain some semblance of steadiness in the end, somehow, is a miracle in and of itself.

"So thank you. Thank you for sharing your talents, your personalities—your everything. Not just for me, but for every person that proudly calls themselves a Dive. And I'm sorry—for pushing you away too. For being so annoying and parasocial and cynical about whether your love is real or not. I don't deserve the kindness you gave me, not after everything I did—but thank you, thank you, thank you. For finding me when I was broken. For mending my heart. For giving me a second chance. For making all this" —you're gesturing with your hands, pertaining to the years of devotion, hope, and belief— "worth it in the end. You really are my everything. And I will miss you so much."

They pull you in for another hug. Now they're the ones crying into your warmth. All six members. You let them. It's the least you can do. 

"You're not a bad fan," Yujin mumbles into your shoulder, crying freely. "You never were."

"You gave us a second chance," Rei adds. "You could have walked away. You could have hated us after what we did. But you chose to stay. We should be the ones thanking you."

"We don't deserve a fan like you," says Leeseo, her lips curled into a frown, her tears landing on your shirt.

"I don't deserve a group like you," you counter, falling into their embrace, but you're smiling. Genuinely.

"Please keep going," Wonyoung murmurs into your shoulder. "If not for us, then for yourself. For your loved ones. For the many memories you have yet to make." 

"Please stay," Liz echoes. "We still have to meet again, remember?"

"We'll move heaven and earth to find you again," Gaeul says. "Just promise you'll keep going, okay?"

"I'll try," you say, and it feels like you're finally standing on your own two feet. "For you. I'll try."

Their held breaths are released. Relief. Yujin simply puts it best:

"That's all we can ask."

 "Girls. Time," is all the manager has to say, and they draw back from your embrace. Slowly, reluctantly, like now they're the ones refusing to let go. Oh, how the tables turn.

Leeseo tries to keep her fingers close a moment longer, but you gently remind her (and everyone else): "I'll be fine. More than. Because of tonight. Because of you."

She doesn't seem fully convinced, but she smiles anyway. 

One by one, they walk past the gate and climb into the vans. Gaeul first, and she blows a kiss from a distance. Rei second; she tries to make a face, and you laugh, and she's delighted. Liz simply makes a heart with her hands, and you mirror her gesture, switching the dynamic between idol and fan. Leeseo softly nods; she's still sobbing a little, but you reassure her with a smile and she's finally assured and enthusiastically waves goodbye.

That leaves only Yujin and Wonyoung.

Wonyoung gathers her hands together. She closes her eyes. Says a tiny prayer, then afterward, she leans forward to plant a soft peck on your temple. 

"For luck," she says, before quickly pulling back. "We will see you again. Trust."

"You didn't come to our section once," you quietly remark, but it's delivered in friendly jest. "Until the actual end of the concert, actually."

"Sorry." She laughs, light and airy, but sincere. "I'll keep that in mind for next time. When you're there."

"Not just for me," you say. "But for everyone else too."

Wonyoung takes her step back and enters the second van, but not before blowing you one final kiss: "Make sure to eat something. Ice cream isn't enough."

Lastly, Yujin. Both of you briefly stare at each other for a moment, until you blink and break the silence: "You should go. I can take care of myself."

"Again, this isn't goodbye," she reiterates, the same thing she said when you first got here, but you properly believe it now.

"I know."

"Will you be okay?" Her eyes are twinkling with unshed tears. "We can ride you back, just to be sure—"

"I'll be alright," you insist, and you're completely certain. "It's just a block away. You have a flight to catch."

She finally yields first. Nods.

"Be safe going home, okay? Text someone once you're at your hotel."

"Of course."

You can only nod before she walks away and enters the van. Their bodyguard slides the door shut and heads to the passenger seat.

The engines hum. No waves, no gestures, no more assurances—just a reminder that life goes on. That your best days are just someone else's routine. But as the vans begin to move, you see a flash of light from inside one of the windows, hands waving at you, and a phone held up in maximum brightness with a written message:

"We see you now <3"

It's only visible for a moment as the cars drive off. You watch the vans gradually disappear from view, until it becomes a dim blur you can no longer follow.

Time stops for no one. You're on your own again.

When you realize that you're alone, like really, truly alone, the world feels larger. Louder. Like that hour in the park was paradise. And now, it's back to reality.

You're not sure where to start. Where the dream began and when it ended. The last hour still doesn't feel real. Even with all the evidence on that phone, now barely hanging on for dear life (at 5%), you're still trying to convince yourself this all really happened. 

But the tears, the comfort, the catharsis—they were real. 

You're crying again, because your body language has been reduced to this, but it's not out of pain anymore: rather true, genuine joy.

Finally, you turn the other way. Every step feels light. Your phone buzzes. On screen, their lips are on your face. You can't help but smile. 

You can't wait to tell her everything.

(And you'll walk with your head held high, because the best is yet to come.)