Chapter Text
The whole month flew by.
She lowers the volume of her iPad, she scanned the doorway. Absentmindedly staring and trying so hard to register what kind of noise she’s hearing from outside of the hallways.
Footsteps? Okay, beeping? Nope. That was someone else’s door.
Maybe doing nothing and staying in with her dogs is the best way to rest during her free time. It is. She’s resting, sleeping. But how unfair was it for Momo to keep jerking and jolting to each passing noise outside her door?
Involuntarily waking up from a dissociative sleep. Each footstep outside the halls, each beeping of door locks… Momo’s drawn into a clutch to her chest. The sound in her ear muffling her heartbeat just for that empty noise outside her door. Only to suffer in a now familiar feeling of heaviness while she always anticipated her door to click open.
So, maybe staying indoors on her own isn’t the best way to recuperate. Not when she thinks Nayeon is dropping by every single time there’s passing laughter outside her doors,
Or when it’s past midnight and there are running promos from the restaurant nearby her place,
Or when she thinks of saying yes to Sana’s invitation.
Momo thinks, Nayeon might.
And so she stayed still, unmoving, doing nothing. Just in case.
That and well, as she told Sana and Jihyo, she wanted some rest.
It was supposed to be her downtime, but Momo feels even more horrible when she’s just inside her house, lounging and lazing around. Sana tells her to maximize this free time smartly, because the second half of the year doesn’t look all too ideal for them, especially for the three of them.
And she’s right.
The problem is, Momo feels like doing nothing. That’s not so bad, right?
Unintentionally falling into the same pattern of simply resting during these past few weeks. Sana would chide her, urging Momo to go out. A huge part of Momo simply feels physically exhausted, and that’s not something new. If it’s not work or for their favorite people in the world, she’d rather stay home with her dogs and sleep.
So doing nothing felt justified. She’s resting, taking a break, prioritizing her sleep hours. She would simply bribe Sana for saying no again. Okay, maybe Momo had been saying no to her twin flame for four months now.
Covering her bases, Momo’s brain quickly picked up on looking up gift items that would get Sana off her back. Scrolling through her phone on the right side of her large bed, Momo ticks and swipes for the most random items that she knew Sana would use.
It’s not like she can randomly purchase luxury accessories for Sana, not with their ongoing ambassadorships. Besides, Sana’s a simple girl. She finds happiness in the smallest of things,
“Oh, ooh. This looks nice.” Hearing her own vocal expressions, Momo froze. It had been days since she spoke out loud. She blinked at her dogs and proceeded to vocalize noises. “Just checking.”
The way Boo and Dobby stared at Momo instantly pricked at her heart. Her peach would always squeeze their adorable snouts whenever their dogs would be huffing and staring at Nayeon. Marvelling at Dobby’s pink nose, while she joked about something else entirely right after. Reminds me of you.
How unfair.
Every single time.
With almost every single detail.
Wasn’t she just browsing through online shops? Such an unwarranted thought-jumping back to the person who made her cry.
Momo slaps her cheeks to focus.
Nayeon’s cheeks are—
Enough. Enough!
Going back to functional accessories and items Momo was certain that Sana would appreciate and actually use, Momo checked out two face rollers. Thinking with certainty that Sana would whine about her puffy face when they start working on their second album.
Before her thoughts jumped to their upcoming pre-production for their sub-unit album, Momo stared at the email confirmation of her order. Her vision zeroed in on the quantity of face rollers she checked out, “Just in case.”
Just in case you complain about getting puffy cheeks, especially during your comeback week.
It’s not that Nayeon doesn’t own one, as far as Momo knows, Nayeon does. The thing is, though, Momo isn’t sure now. After all, it has been four months since they talked. Really talked.
Momo rolls off her bed, her over-the-top bed. She stared at the messy, crumpled side where she nestled in for the whole week leaving the other side untouched.
Her chest heaved, staring at the side which Nayeon had always preferred. Nothing else to do but reach out to the soft empty fabric and to the stupid plushie her peach left behind, “Yeah, I know how it feels, Kkaengi.”
It has been four months, and Momo’s still here. Doing nothing but talking to a stuffed toy.
At least, she stopped feeling spiteful already. That’s progress.
Three months ago, Momo was rather feeling spiteful. If holding back the little trinkets and packages of vitamins and organic tea she bought for Nayeon in Thailand counted as pettiness, then let her be petty.
That time, there was no room to process. Cut her some slack, she already struggles to process the simplest things what more when her feelings were magnified in her head. All she can register is how much cinching in her chest she cried the whole time they were apart.
It’s not like Momo purposely hurt Nayeon, she simply wanted to distract herself. Besides, wasn’t it Nayeon who always encouraged her to make friends outside of the group?
So, Momo thought, why not? Why the fuck not.
Thanks to Jeongyeon, their whole group chat was teasing her about finally finally going out on her own. She huffed at her phone, rolled her eyes, thinking that she’d give it a couple of days and her members will automatically find a different topic to laugh about.
But it has already been a week, and Jeongyeon was still at “You should definitely invite her to Nissan, Momo-ya.”
Funnily enough, the members who would actually add fuel to the teasing didn’t. Momo was anticipating Sana’s typing bubble, but it never came. Everyone else simply left Jeongyeon on read,
One, however, came through, directed to Jeongyeon, “Why don’t you try inviting IU too?”
It was odd for Mina to interact with them online, but her dancing partner did.
And almost everyone jumped out to fire at Jeongyeon. Jihyo was now making everyone witness how she committed to seeing IU for their next comeback. “Let’s make it happen, everyone!”
She laughed along with the chat, but only until the dots appeared. Momo remembered anticipating for Nayeon to be online, and the moment Nayeon started typing, Momo braced herself.
Every nerve in her body tensed as though those dots were aimed directly at her yet again cinching chest.
Braced herself before sending and sharing a selfie of her and Jongseo to the whole group chat. “Maybe not at Nissan. Maybe during our sixth world tour?”
She hit send before she could think better of it. Maybe a part of her wanted to be in the subject of conversation. Wanted Nayeon to notice that she did try to make friends outside of the group.
Yet, the way Nayeon’s typing bubble stopped also made Momo’s heart stop.
You did not make her proud Momo, you made a statement that you are going out of your way to try and smile without her. Even for her own standards, that was pretty quick thinking.
Panicking already, thinking if Nayeon was mad. Worrying if she had actually struck a chord. Oh, Hirai Momo, whatever made you think that you have an audacious bone in your ribcage.
For the record, Momo has made a friend in Jongseo. Sure, Jongseo’s her favorite actress. Sure, Momo admires her, finds her pretty, talented, cool, sexy. And well, it’s not Momo’s fault she’s one of Jongseo’s favorite idols, right? It’s not Momo’s fault she likes it when Jongseo makes talking easy. It wasn’t awkward too, hanging out, just the two of them… It felt nice.
Comforting and—
—with Jongseo, she actually forgot to think of Nayeon. Her chest loosened up a little bit each time.
“I wish I could be friends with my celebrity crush too,” The oh so anticipated reply from Sana made Momo want to be eaten by the ground alive.
Nayeon’s not stupid, Momo’s sure of that. It now looked like Momo had teamed up with Sana to gather a reaction from her. Time for damage control. “She’s not my celebrity crush,”
Her phone suddenly buzzed,
Okay, maybe that made it worse.
Nayeon was calling,
Real worse.
Momo remembered panicking even more, her fingers cold against the answer button. But staring at Nayeon’s Japanese nickname pricked at her heart.
Nikibi with a blue heart.
Momo had no choice, it wasn’t like she has not been waiting for her phone to ring with Nayeon’s name on the caller ID for over a month now.
“What are you doing?” Her peach’s voice was low and cold. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”
Was she?
“No. I’m not.” Not really. Her chest tightened. So fragile, so abruptly. Her eyes stung, she struggled to gasp for air.
Nayeon scoffed, “Are you sure about that, baby?”
“You don’t get to do this, Nayeon.” Something just snapped. You don’t get to call me baby like this. “You don’t get to leave me and get upset with how I’m… How I’m trying to hold it together.”
She didn’t want to breakdown in front of Nayeon, well, on the phone with her peach. Momo desperately wanted not to show Nayeon how devastated she had been for the past month.
Perhaps, Nayeon realized it just as quickly as well. Accusing Momo of poking for her attention when she was just as cruel. She was silent for a moment on the other end of the line. They both were. Yet none of them wanted to hang up.
“I’m sorry,” Im Nayeon finally broke the silence, and the tears finally fell. Hearing the voice that had always tucked her into sleep hurt more than she could ever process. Momo tried to stop sobbing. But everything spilled out anyways, ugly and heavy. The sound broke out of her chest like the lost little girl she was, and she pressed her palm over her mouth, horrified that Nayeon could hear.
“Momo, I don’t want to hear you cry.”
I’ll call you pimple then if you really think it’s that cute in Japanese. Momo could remember it oh so well that day when Nayeon’s adorably yapping at her about how nikibi sounded cute.
The voice that never made sense to her. Too loud, sharp, insistent, impossible to ignore. And yet… soft, too. Soothing in ways she couldn’t explain. Especially whenever Nayeon sings. Annoying and endearing, in the same breath. How could it be both? She didn’t know. She probably never would.
But hearing it now. Faltering, breaking across the line, it struck her. A sudden longing, a sudden regret? For all the times she had tuned it out, let her mind wander when Nayeon was right there beside her, talking, laughing, filling the room with that voice. She hadn’t realized then how much it meant. How much she’d miss it.
Because that sound, it wasn’t just a voice. Not for all the times she got back, opened the door and Nayeon’s singing voice from the shower is what welcomed her home. It was the closest thing she had to a safe space,
Maybe that was why the tears kept coming, maybe that was why she murmured, “Unnie, wait.”
That moment, Momo was not asking much. She just wanted to cry. To Nayeon.
And her safe space let her. As she has always have.
On her own bed, clutching on to Nayeon’s rabbit. The tears were ugly, uglier. It felt like exhaustion, betrayal, longing. The more Momo cried, the tighter she pressed Kkaengie to her chest. It still smelled like Nayeon’s drool by the way,
No one said anything. Not a word about how difficult it is to justify, crying to the person that broke your heart. As if her heartbreak had muscle memory, trained to collapse in the only arms that had ever caught her. Silently asking her to hold you while you break apart.
“I would be requesting a different flight and separate suite for Paris,” Momo wasn’t imagining it, Nayeon’s voice squabbled a little bit. “I think it would be for the best.”
Nayeon’s crying too. Momo knew yet there was no room for her to think what this moment meant for them now. No space to hope.
It was somehow humiliating. Them crying together like all the times they sent each other their crying selfies.
Another moment of heartbreaking silence followed, Momo remembered wondering why there was no urge in her to tell Nayeon her feelings. I missed you.
Or just anything to break this painful space of being there for each other as they mourned for what they have lost. Something to tear through the ache of this silence. Sitting in the same grief but on opposite sides of it.
Good luck on your Paris Fashion Week.
I’m excited to listen to your album .
“Okay,” Momo squeaked, feeling the heavy ring on her finger, “That’s for the best.”
Three months ago, Momo mistook survival for spite. Because honestly, there’s no way she can hate Nayeon. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like chopping off dancing from her identity. She could never bring herself to hate Nayeon, not that she won’t. She’s simply unable to.
The moment she stopped feeling spiteful and petty was the time when Momo felt like she’d rather be alone. Jongseo’s invitations went unanswered, they stopped hanging out with each other altogether, and excuses piled whenever Sana and Jihyo tried to drag her out of her house.
And the time apart during their latest comeback helped more than Momo expected. Nayeon’s presence was halved during their promotions for One Spark. A ghost flickering in rehearsals and promotions, which almost pulled Momo back to an urge. What can I get you to make you feel cheerful? And without Nayeon’s laughter bouncing against hers, even their Human Theater Idol felt skewed. With only Jihyo and Tzuyu competing, it was too quiet. Too incomplete. A little too empty without the annoying laughter Momo’s used to.
So, on certain nights, Momo found herself lingering in the halls of their company like a schoolgirl loitering, hoping to catch a glimpse of her crush recording in the studio, yet she never let herself knock on the door. Just a glimpse of Nayeon is actually enough,
But not enough to spark a proper appetite for her. Momo found herself fasting even more. She told herself that she needed to look great for her Fashion Week. She needed to look tighter. And that justified the nights she spent lying on the floor of her living room. The carpet gave her serious rashes and allergies, but hey, she didn’t think about food or how hungry she was.
All to serve justice on her Parisian appearance.
Seeing how great Mina looked at hers, Momo was ultimately glad that she’s gotten an opportunity to do something on her own too. Something for Twice, something for her younger self who spent days doodling clothes and watching runway shows in grainy Japanese television coverage, and something for herself now.
So, on the morning of their ambassador brand appearance in Paris, Momo was acutely aware that her cinching chest faded into the background at least a little bit.
It was March 5th. And after three months, she finally felt a little bit like herself.
She remembered staring at herself on French marbled mirror, fresh from a much needed shower bath. The last time she would be alone for the rest of the day. She might not have had in her to dance inside an unfamiliar hotel shower but she looked at herself, towel-clad, and thought not eating properly had some perks. Because her shoulder blades haven’t been this defined since what? 2019?
“That’s still sexy,” She muttered to her reflection, wiping away the fog.
For a brief moment, she remembered her hot shower-induced sweat trickling down her spine. The sensation made Momo shut her eyes. Her chest cinched, the familiar feeling she had already learned to live with at this point. Her brain knew what was inevitably coming,
The kind of warning she had already learned to recognize, like an alarm bell her body set off before her mind could catch up.
Here it comes, she took a deep breath. The ambush.
You’re prettier like this, Nayeon’s voice was warm, surprisingly not annoying, which made it worse.
Her fingers curled hard around the marble counter. She could hear herself too, her own insecure whisper from those pandemic years when every extra pound felt like failure. Really?
And then the memory struck with cruel precision, the wide grin she knew by heart. You’re sexier like this. I like it. More for me.
Momo remembered stepping out the Parisian pavement with a stitched confidence stemmed from a love she used to know. That was enough for her, carrying the words Nayeon used to tell her. The moment she arrived in the venue, she knew she wasn’t the same girl who needed to ask her peach if she really was still sexy.
The French air was cold but she had seen through harsher cold throughout countless video shoots in Korean winter so, having her bare back for all of the world to see maybe even for the first time was enough for her.
She didn’t need to search for Nayeon in the crowd.
For the first time in three months, she felt like herself again. On her own. This is her.
For so long, Momo had lived as a Koreanized version of herself: idol-polished, softened at the edges, and covered. She had almost forgotten what her own reflection looked like when it wasn’t filtered through someone else’s idea of beauty.
But Onitsuka Tiger didn’t want that, and by extension, Miu Miu. They wanted her sharpness. Her roots. They dressed her in dark hair that framed the angles of her face, let her high cheekbones carry the light, let her eyes remain sharp instead of rounded.
For once, she wasn’t bending into something else. For once, a stage celebrated her for being what she already was, Japanese, and beautiful in a way that felt like hers.
And so, whether or not Nayeon was watching didn’t matter.
She was okay.
And yet quietly,
You can't fix that. I need to fix that. The camera shutters and crowd clamors, unfortunately wasn’t enough to stop her thoughts to going back home, I need to love our…my songs, our dreams…I want me again.
Quietly like a prayer she would never say outloud; Momo could only hope Nayeon was finding her own reflection too.
Four months. The longest four months of her life.
It feels like so much has changed with everything remaining the same.
Fortunately today, Momo has successfully kept Boo and Dobby happy. She didn’t even need to will herself to stand up and take her dogs for a quick walking lap around the area. She was even proud that getting inside her shower didn’t tug at her chest anymore.
Although she knew why she couldn’t really look at her tiled bathroom walls without tearing up. So much memories inside this shower. Just the two of them realizing they much prefer to do it anywhere else just not the bathroom after a multiple times of giving it a try.
Eyes away from the walls then. But then again, there’s no escape is there? A staggering breath pulled Momo’s chest cavity into a cinch. Stepping inside her showers and staring at the hair products that aren’t hers to begin with… Today, she only had glared at the bottles. A quick improvement compared to last week’s oh so dramatic tears under the curtain of her showerhead, grabbing Nayeon’s hair mask, flipping its cap open, and inhaling the scent she used to wake up with on her pillows.
So far, Momo’s doing okay.
The fresh air helped. Walking back to her place, dog poop wrapped inside a plastic bag, Momo’s feeling positive. Maybe she’d even hop back to the company building to dance some routines. Or she should probably text Chaeyoung to go out with her to the hospital this time. Anything can go.
Anything goes.
Just for Momo to stop punishing herself for feeling… worried sick.
Sometimes, she lies on her own bed. Her back feeling a little off. Her whole body is unsure; she’s both busy and available. In her head, there are group schedule to prepare for, but for the whole month of April, there’s not much to be done. Things are all stuck in the planning stage. It’s like she isn’t needed that much. A week ago, she was trying to stretch out her torso lazily, trying to reach the ceiling with her feet, and ended up breaking down right after her memory slapped her with Nayeon’s teasing, Yeah keep them flexible for me.
Sad isn’t the right word. She doesn’t feel sad.
The elevator ride to her floor, however, proved her wrong. She was miserable.
Not that she’s scared to be alone in an elevator. It wasn’t her fault that the faulty old elevators in the old company building chose her to traumatize. There’s no way Momo would ever forget that time when the elevator stopped mid-flight back when she was still a trainee. She was alone for just a few minutes, but back then, it was a nightmare.
Now, she could only stare at her own reflection. Her eyes aren’t looking as sharp but she unconsciously licked her lips and angled her face, tipping her cap for a better visual. She fished her phone, an instinct. A habit. But she stopped herself,
But wait, she’s just taking a selfie. No big deal.
It’s not like she thought about calling Nayeon to help her ride out the elevator trauma.
She pockets her phone, and something inside her is surprised. She didn’t feel sad or annoyed at how she ended up thinking of Nayeon’s voice, keeping her company through countless elevator rides. Momo never really asked it word-by-word, never really asked Nayeon to keep her company during elevator rides. It simply became their thing.
An unsaid thing. Amongst many.
Momo steps out of the elevator, scoffs at the closing doors. You were really just talking too much like always.
Her dogs scrambled in inside her place and onto the threshold. Now, looking at the mess she’s yet to organize and put away, Momo wishes she could multiply herself. One to clean up, another to sleep, and so she could focus on cooking the meals she’s preparing.
And one that wouldn’t be too confused to cry about missing Nayeon, that would be a good idea too. In truth, this was the only way she knew how not to bleed in front of Nayeon.
By evening, Momo finally lifts herself from the carpet and heads to the kitchen. She sets music playing low, not for cheer but for rhythm, the way she does when dancing. Cooking is the only other thing that quiets her mind: no tangled thoughts, just fluid motions and the sharp clarity of timing and proper measurement.
At this point, dancing and cooking are the only things that provide her brain a quiet break.
She lays out the containers first, just like she did last week. Twenty-one of them, washed and stacked neatly, their lids lined like little soldiers on the counter. “One week’s worth,” she whispers, though there’s no one to hear it.
Her fridge is already crowded with trays and tubs. Most hold meals she’s portioned carefully. Rice cooled before sealing, soup skimmed for oil, chicken carved into even slices. She has no appetite for most of them herself. But the ritual is steadying, almost sacred.
Cooking has become her unspoken compromise with grief. She feeds the silence, fills containers, tucks them away. Each meal is another way not to bleed in front of Nayeon. Each label she scribbles in marker: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Carefully spelling out each character in Hangul to be safe.
It’s great that she’s finally cooking again. If it was just her, she wouldn’t be cooking. So this is nice. It’s not a chore and even when she had to face her fridge door plastered with so many photos of the two of them, it didn’t really hurt.
Well it did, but not in a way that cinched in Momo’s chest. Just that kind of helpless pain.
See, Momo’s done with being frustrated and spiteful. Right now, she had finally learned to live with it. So it’s not entirely sad. Just in constant brain whopping activity.
“Heh. Just in case.” She chuckled as she chopped some watermelons, “These are awful though.”
But on the inside, her brain slapped her with its here’s-your-Nayeon-related-memory for the day. And it’s Nayeon picking watermelon as her alias during a certain promotional content for her debut solo. Momo could remember how funny and amazing Nayeon was, blending in amongst rookies. In her godly blonde braid on top of everything.
She didn’t breakdown into tears. That’s progress.
See. Learning how to live with the pain. Also, her hands smell horrible with watermelon juices.
Yeah it hurt but, hey, not bad, Momo.
Then there were noises outside the hall.
Instinctively, Momo stopped. Paused and froze.
She dropped everything and slowly approached her doorway, scared to peek through the spyhole. Momo clutched her cinching chest, her throat thickened. She just heard someone knock.
No . Momo steeled herself. She was already doing okay. She was! How unfair. How unfair that one phantom noise could make her spiral. Her heartbeat’s going crazy and the worst thing? She’s waiting for Nayeon again.
No . She stopped in her tracks. That wasn’t from her door. Nope. Go back to cooking Momo, you need to finish twenty-one packs of meals today.
There was another couple of soft knock. And it was certainly her door.
This time, Boo and Dobby beat her to it and rushed to the door.
Momo panicked and thought twenty things all at once. Mostly trying to shield herself and convincing herself that it was someone else by the door.
Until her door lock beeped, the numeric pad beeping with her security code.
All those months of staying in, turning down Sana and moping on the carpet floor. Just in case Nayeon finally decides to come home.
Four months of silence collapse in a single moment when the door swings open.
“Momo.” Nayeon is here, hospital wristband still clinging to her skin, fury and relief blazing in her eyes. Staring at Momo’s dumbfounded frozen face.
“Unnie? What are you doing here? Were you discharged already?”
Four months of distance, overturned by a few seconds when Nayeon crossed the threshold and yelled at her, “You stupid, Momo! SO STUPID!”