rosé imagines

unrequited love, pt. 4

The following days were a blur of relentless schedules and carefully constructed indifference. You threw yourself into practice with a fervor bordering on obsession, pushing your body to the brink of exhaustion in a desperate bid to purge Rosé's presence from your mind. Each time you caught even the faintest glimpse of her, your heart would clench painfully, but you refused to let it show, schooling your features into an impassive mask.

Your group members watched your transformation with growing concern, exchanging worried glances and hushed whispers behind your back. But you ignored their attempts to coax you out of your shell, deflecting their probing questions with curt responses and redoubling your efforts in the studio.

It was only a matter of time before the strain began to show, both physically and emotionally. You found yourself snapping at even the slightest provocation, your patience worn razor-thin by the constant battle to maintain your carefully constructed facade. The once-vibrant spark in your eyes had dimmed to a dull, lifeless glaze, and even your dancing, once your greatest joy, began to suffer.

Your manager, sensing the imminent collapse, eventually intervened, pulling you aside one day after a particularly grueling rehearsal.

"Y/N, this has to stop," he said, his brow furrowed with concern. "You're running yourself into the ground, and it's starting to affect your performance. The company is worried about you."

You averted your gaze, your shoulders hunching defensively. "I'm fine. I can handle it."

He sighed heavily. "No, you're not. I've been watching you, and it's clear something is weighing on you. If this continues, I'll have no choice but to pull you from the group's activities until you get it sorted out."

The threat of being sidelined from your group's activities sent a jolt of panic through you, momentarily shattering your facade.

"No, please! I promise I'll do better. Just give me a little more time."

Your manager regarded you with a sympathetic expression. "I understand you're going through something, Y/N, but this isn't sustainable. You need to take a step back and focus on your own well-being for a change. The group needs you at your best, and right now, you're running yourself ragged."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised a hand to silence you.

"I'm giving you the rest of the week off. No practice, no schedules. I want you to rest and take care of yourself. And if you're not in a better place by the time we resume activities, I'll have no choice but to bench you until you are."

Panic and dread welled up within you, but you recognized the firm resolution in his gaze. Knowing there was no room for argument, you reluctantly nodded your acquiescence, your shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Okay," you murmured, fingers curling into trembling fists at your sides.

Your manager offered you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "It's for your own good, Y/N. Take this time to sort yourself out. We're all here for you if you need us."

With that, he turned and left, leaving you alone in the empty practice room, the weight of his words settling heavily upon your soul. The prospect of being sidelined from your group's activities and of being forced to confront the emotions you had so desperately tried to bury filled you with a sense of dread and resignation.

But deep down, a part of you knew that your manager was right. The pace you had been maintaining was unsustainable, and the cracks in your carefully crafted facade were beginning to show. If you didn't take this opportunity to address the turmoil within, it would only continue to spiral out of control, threatening to unravel everything you had worked so hard to achieve.