The moon hung high above Tokyo, casting a pale glow over the city. From the rooftop of their hotel, the lights below flickered like stars, muted by the haze of winter. The city thrived below, full of life, of dreams and ambitions. But up here, it was quiet—an escape from the noise, from the personas they were expected to wear. Momo stood alone, leaning against the cold railing, staring out into the distance with a look that seemed lost somewhere between longing and resignation.
She wrapped her jacket tighter around herself, but it did little to fend off the chill that seeped into her bones. The cold was familiar, a numbing agent she'd grown used to—one that dulled the pain she carried inside. Tonight, though, that pain felt sharper. The rehearsals, the bright lights, and the constant pressure of being an idol had become background noise to the turmoil spinning inside her heart.
She had asked Dahyun to meet her here, needing to talk but not even knowing where to start. As she stood there, waiting, she questioned whether this conversation was even worth having. Could they really face what had been festering between them for so long? Maybe it would be easier to just keep pretending, to let things stay buried beneath their friendship, where they were safer.
But pretending had become exhausting, and Momo was tired. Tired of holding her breath every time their hands brushed, tired of swallowing words she was too afraid to say. She was tired of this ache that lived in her chest, one that she couldn't shake no matter how hard she tried.
The door to the rooftop creaked open, and Momo turned to see Dahyun stepping out into the night. Her breath caught, not because of how beautiful Dahyun looked beneath the moonlight, but because of the familiar comfort that came with just seeing her. Dahyun was like that—a source of light and warmth in a world that often felt too harsh and cold. But tonight, there was something different in her eyes, a heaviness that mirrored Momo's own.
"Hey," Dahyun greeted softly, her voice carrying a gentleness that almost broke Momo right then and there. She crossed the distance between them, her footsteps quiet against the icy concrete. "What's going on? You seemed... off earlier."
"Yeah..." Momo let out a shaky breath, looking away to avoid the concern in Dahyun's eyes. "I've just been thinking a lot."
"About what?" Dahyun asked, her voice hesitant, as if she already knew the answer.
"About us." The words slipped out, fragile and vulnerable, hanging in the air between them like something that could shatter at any moment.
Dahyun's expression softened, but there was a flicker of something—fear, maybe—that passed over her face. "Momo, we don't have to—"
"We do," Momo interrupted, her voice tinged with desperation. "I can't keep ignoring it, Dahyun. I've had enough. I can't keep pretending that what I feel for you is just... friendship."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Dahyun looked away, her fingers gripping the sleeves of her coat as if she could hold onto some semblance of stability. Momo's words had cracked open something they'd both been trying to lock away, something that neither of them were sure how to handle.
"I know," Dahyun finally whispered. "I know it's more than that for both of us. It has been for a long time."
There it was, the truth laid bare, exposed under the harsh light of reality. For so long, they had danced around it—hiding behind playful banter, secret glances, and moments that lingered just a second too long. But now that it was out in the open, there was no going back, no retreating to the safety of denial.
"So what do we do?" Momo asked, her voice trembling. "I don't know how to stop feeling this way, but I also don't know how to keep going like this. I hate it—how close we are, but also how far away you feel sometimes."
