Each word hit like glass shattering inside Y/N's chest. She pressed her palm hard against her eyes, fighting the burn there, her throat aching with the effort not to break too.
"Jennie," she said, fierce despite the lump in her throat. "That's not true. Not a single word of it. You're the hardest working person I've ever seen. You're—" her voice cracked, then steadied, low and urgent, "you're great. You're fire. They don't know you. They don't see you. They never have."
Silence hummed down the line. Jennie's breath hitched, uneven. And Y/N knew, she didn't believe it. Not really. Not yet.
"Where are you?" Y/N asked, already swinging her legs out of bed.
"Dorm," Jennie whispered. "Everyone's asleep."
That was all it took.
Y/N didn't think. She didn't weigh the rules or the risks or the fact that she was still just an assistant. None of it mattered. All that mattered was the hollow, breaking sound of Jennie's voice.
She grabbed the first hoodie within reach, shoved her arms through it, yanked her mask off the nightstand. Keys in hand. Shoes half-laced. Her body moved before her mind could catch up.
The Seoul streets were deserted. She drove too fast, heart in her throat, hands clenching the wheel hard enough to ache. Every red light felt unbearable, every empty crosswalk too long. Her phone buzzed once on the passenger seat. Jennie again, but Y/N couldn't look, couldn't stop.
She whispered to the silence instead, words Jennie couldn't hear. Hold on. Just hold on. I'm coming.
The dorm was silent when Y/N let herself in, the keypad beeping softly under her fingers. Alison had given her the code months ago for practical reasons, pickups, drop-offs, but tonight it felt like trespassing.
The air inside was warm, heavy with the faint smell of detergent and perfume. Doors lined the hall, each one closed. For a moment Y/N thought she might have made a mistake, until she saw it.
Light, spilling dim under one door.
Jennie's.
Her chest tightened. She padded forward on quiet steps, heart hammering. When she eased the door open, the sight inside nearly unraveled her.
Jennie was curled small on the edge of her bed, hair a dark tangle around her face, drowning in an oversized sweatshirt that made her look younger, smaller. Her knees were drawn to her chest, hands clutching the blanket like it was the only thing keeping her tethered.
"Too flat."
Jennie blinked, reset, started again. A harder edge this time, fire lacing the words.
"Punchier, Jennie. It needs more bite."
Her jaw flexed. She nodded once, sharp, and tried again.
Y/N watched from the corner, invisible. She could see it, the shift in Jennie's shoulders, the way her stance tightened with scraping against itself.
"Better," someone said. Not good. Not great. Just better.
That single word snapped something.
The headphones hit the stand with a sharp crack, the sudden sound making even the engineers flinch. Jennie pushed the booth door open, air flooding in around her, muttering something under her breath, too fast to catch, but heavy with fury. Her steps were clipped, precise, like she was holding herself together by force.
The room went still. No one stopped her. No one dared follow.
Except Y/N.
Jennie was already halfway down the corridor, back pressed against the wall, arms crossed so tight it looked like she was holding herself together. Her breaths came shallow, like she couldn't pull enough air into her lungs.
For a moment, Y/N just stood there, a few paces away. She could've left her alone. Maybe she should have. But the sight of her, all edges and cracks where no one else could see, rooted her to the spot. Slowly, Y/N crossed the distance. She didn't say anything, just reached out, fingertips brushing Jennie's wrist. A small touch, steady, an anchor.
"Come with me," she murmured, gentle but sure.
Jennie didn't move at first. Then her hand loosened where it clutched her own arm. Y/N slid her fingers against Jennie's, not a grab, not forceful, just enough to guide. Jennie let it happen. Let herself be led down the hall, their joined hands hidden in the dim light.
Y/N pushed open the nearest empty practice room, the scent of faint wood polish greeting them. The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the hum of the studio. Privacy. Quiet.
Jennie sank onto the floor first, back to the mirror, knees drawn up. Y/N sat beside her, close but not crowding, their hands still tangled.
Jennie hadn't let go.
For a while, neither spoke. The bass from the studio thumped faintly through the walls, a distant heartbeat filling the silence.
Then Jennie broke. Her voice was raw, low, cracking at the edges.
"What if they're right?" Her fingers tightened in Y/N's. "What if I'm not good enough?"
Y/N turned, throat burning, but forced her voice to stay steady.
"They're not right. They don't see you the way I do. You're not some machine, Jennie. You're you. And you're more than enough."
Jennie's eyes flicked up, wet at the corners, searching, like she wanted to believe but couldn't.
"You don't have to carry it all alone," Y/N added softly, squeezing her hand.
Jennie exhaled, a long, trembling sound, and before Y/N could think, she leaned sideways, pressing her forehead to Y/N's shoulder. Her body was taut, resisting comfort even as it sought it out. Y/N didn't move at first, afraid to scare her off. Then, slowly, she tilted closer, resting her cheek against Jennie's hair.
No words. No promises. Just fragile, unspoken trust, hanging between them like glass.
Jennie didn't thank her. Didn't argue. She just stayed.