The highs were dizzying. Paris, London, L.A., Tokyo, each city folding into the next, each crowd screaming louder than the last. They collected memories the way others collected souvenirs. A stolen kiss in a dressing room before call time. Shared fries on the floor of a hotel room when the minibar was empty. Midnight walks through foreign streets, faces hidden, hands linked tight in pockets.
And then there was Coachella. April 2023.
The desert air was thick with dust and music, the stage heat almost unbearable, but they'd made it. BLACKPINK. The headliners. The roar of the crowd stretched like it would never end.
Backstage, Jennie's eyes found Y/N's through the chaos. She looked undone in a way the world would never see, sweat running, makeup smudged, hair falling free. She grabbed Y/N's wrist, pulled her close until the noise dulled, and whispered, breathless and trembling.
"I'm so glad you're here with me."
Y/N squeezed her hand, holding on like it was the only thing keeping them both grounded. And maybe it was.
Through scandals and rumors, the endless noise of cameras, the cruel sting of speculation, Jennie always came back to Y/N. No matter what the world said, no matter how loud it got, she found her way back. Y/N was the anchor, the place where her panic softened, where she could finally breathe.
It was love, undeniable, though they still didn't name it. They didn't need to. It lived in the way Jennie's voice steadied only when Y/N was near. In the way Y/N's chest ached every time she caught Jennie looking at her like she was the only thing real in a world built on illusion.
Together, they made the impossible life feel almost ordinary.
Together, it felt unbreakable.
For a while.
The roar of the stadium still lived in Y/N's bones hours after the lights went out. The sound of fifty thousand voices had cracked against the Seoul night, crying, singing, sobbing as if the air itself had been split open. Fireworks rained overhead, smoke thick in her throat. The girls had taken their bow hand in hand, mascara streaked, voices breaking, a final image seared into everyone's memory.
The encore was over.
The Born Pink tour was over.
It should have felt like triumph. Instead, it felt like goodbye.
Y/N kept her professional mask in place backstage, headset clipped at her hip, tablet clutched tight. Staff scrambled to dismantle the stage, balloons deflated in forgotten corners, champagne corks rolled under dressing room benches. The afterparty had already started somewhere across the city, executives gathering, drinks pouring. The energy was wild, unsteady, the kind of electricity that came when no one wanted to admit an era had ended.
But Jennie didn't go. And neither did Y/N.
Her apartment was a different world. Quiet. Low lamps casting soft gold over the furniture. The faint scent of takeaway food lingered from the bags abandoned on the table. Jennie had scrubbed half her makeup away, eyeliner smudged under her lashes, lipstick gone. She wore an oversized tee, damp hair pulled into a messy knot.
They curled up on the couch like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jennie's head fit against Y/N's chest, her hand fisted loosely in the fabric of her hoodie. The TV flickered soundlessly in the background.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Jennie's breathing was uneven, hitching every so often, her shoulders rising and falling against Y/N's body. Y/N stroked a thumb absently over the ridge of her shoulder, grounding them both.
When Jennie finally spoke, her voice was so soft Y/N almost missed it.
"I don't know what comes next."
Y/N tilted her head down. Jennie's face was hidden, pressed into her shirt, but she could hear the shake in her words.
"Nini—"
"I'm scared." Her grip tightened, a small, desperate clutch. "Everyone thinks I'm strong, but I'm—" She stopped, the word lodged in her throat. Then, in a broken whisper. "I'm terrified. What if this is the peak? What if it all disappears? What if I fail?"
Y/N's chest squeezed. She slid her hand down to catch Jennie's fingers, lacing them together.
"You're not going to disappear," she murmured. "You're Jennie Kim. You've built something no one can erase."
Jennie gave a small, humorless laugh. "That's what scares me. That it'll never stop. That I'll never stop being watched, torn apart, loved and hated at the same time. That I won't survive it."
Her voice cracked, the words spilling faster, like they'd been caged for too long. "Next year, it's going to be brutal. Everyone's watching. Everyone expects more. The spotlight's only getting brighter, and I—" She broke off, shoulders trembling.
Y/N shifted, pressing a kiss into the crown of her head. "You don't have to face it alone. Whatever happens, we'll face it together."
The silence after that was fragile, like glass. Jennie's breath stuttered, her fingers clutching tighter. And then, muffled against Y/N's chest, came the words that undid her completely.
"I love you."
Not loud. Not grand. Just a whisper, like the admission itself hurt. Like the truth was too heavy to carry any other way.
Y/N froze, tears stinging behind her eyes. She'd known. She'd always felt it in the way Jennie's hand lingered, in the way her gaze burned. But hearing it, raw, trembling, was different.
She kissed Jennie's temple, whispering back, steady and certain. "I love you too, baby."
Jennie exhaled, shaking, like the words had carved something out of her. She didn't say anything more, didn't explain the fear clawing at her chest. She just held tighter, burying herself in Y/N as if she could hide from the future.
And Y/N let her. Because for tonight, this was enough.
They drifted to sleep tangled together, hearts raw, promises unspoken but heavy in the air. Hopeful. Fragile. Doomed.