𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ─────⋆⋅★𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝟏𝟕. 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧

"You're early." Kai grinned, dropping his bag onto the floor, eyes wide with surprise as he watched Suki stretch. 

She was working through potential choreography for the new setlist, her movements deliberate, precise, like a woman on a mission. "You're supposed to be hungover from your party last night."

Suki shot him a sideways glance, pulling her ponytail tighter with a sharp tug. 

There was something different about her today—a calm, controlled fire simmering just beneath the surface. "Yeah, well, I'm not messing around this time, Kai. I'm out for blood."

Kai raised an eyebrow, pretending to clutch his chest. "Jesus, you're scaring me. Even me."

"Good," Suki grinned, standing up and shaking out her arms, the faux fur coat lying forgotten on a chair nearby. "Maybe that way I can scare off the fuckboys too."

Kai's expression softened with a knowing look. "So... you're ready?"

She paused, staring at her reflection in the mirror. It was like she was looking for something in herself she hadn't fully found yet. But she would. She was getting closer. 

"I'm back on the road in less than a week, so yeah, it's time to get serious." Her voice dropped, quieter but more resolute. "I'm done playing small."

She took a deep breath, like she was steeling herself, and added, "I'm even trying to quit smoking, so excuse me if I get snappy."

"Noted." Kai nodded, already making his way to the speaker, plugging in his phone to cue up the track. "And vocal training? Endurance?"

"Two months now. Ever since I got back from tour." Her eyes stayed locked on the mirror, her gaze razor-sharp. She didn't recognize the girl who had once tried so hard to please everyone, the one who let herself be diminished. She wasn't that girl anymore.

"Okay, Miss Monroe," Kai said, watching as she shrugged on the faux fur coat, slipping her sunglasses down onto her nose. Her posture changed, shoulders back, chin high, like she was putting on armor. "Let's go."

The music hit, and Suki was gone. Or maybe, for the first time, she was finally here.

Her movements started slow, calculated—a strut, her hips rolling as if she had all the time in the world. Each step was deliberate, like she was walking onto a runway, commanding every inch of space. She snapped her wrist, slicing through the air with purpose. She was channeling the bad girl energy, the femme fatale she had been too afraid to embody before.

"Can't just let your guard down and fall for someone anymore,
That's what stupid girls do,
Yeah, I've been a stupid girl...
Fuck looking for love,
I'ma stay doing what us bitches do best."

With each line, Suki danced like she was stripping away layers of herself—layers of who she'd been told to be. The innocent girl. The muse. The one men adored but never really saw. Each movement was a statement, a reclamation. Every sharp flick of her wrist, every stomp of her foot was an exorcism. The rage simmered through her body, but so did the power.

This wasn't about heartbreak anymore. This wasn't about Drew Starkey or Shawn Mendes or any of the men who had failed her. This was about Suki—about her shedding the version of herself that was designed to be palatable, accessible. The version that had allowed others to define her.

Kai watched in awe as she moved across the studio, the force of her presence undeniable. "Yes, that's it!" he yelled over the pounding beat. "Rihanna energy! You're untouchable, Suki. Own it. You're a queen. And no one—no one—is going to put you in a box ever again."