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the crowd’s roar was a body in itself, pressing in from all sides, hot and pulsing. light snapped across the stage in frantic colours, catching on sequins, sweat, stray strands of hair. my body moved the way it had been drilled to, muscles firing on memory, not thought. every beat hit sharp, every shape carved into the air, and the cheers rose like a tide with every chorus.
for those minutes, i was perfect. or at least, i looked it.
i counted off moves in my head, the rhythm sliding beneath my skin, but it never touched me. the sound inside me was hollow. when the stage lights finally cut out, it felt like stepping into a vacuum. the silence after applause was always heavier than the noise during it.
backstage smelled of hairspray and overheated plastic from light rigs. the makeup mirror glared back, harsh and unflattering, showing the sweat streaking my jaw, the dullness in my eyes. staff moved around me, brushing past, their chatter bouncing without landing.
ningning laughed somewhere down the hall, voice clear even through the chaos. it cut sharp, the way bells ring in winter air. i turned toward the sound but didn’t move. the muscles in my face twitched like they might remember how to smile, but nothing came.
by the time we were bundled into the van, i’d already shrunk into the corner seat, earphones in without music playing. the city outside blurred past, neon bleeding into rain-streaked glass. ningning slumped beside me, still humming, tapping out rhythms against her thigh. her energy lingered in the air between us. i watched her reflection in the window - soft grin, messy hair, eyelids heavy with exhaustion - and wondered how she carried it so easily.
when she fell asleep, leaning slightly against me, i sat frozen. my body wanted to lean back, to accept the weight, but something in my chest locked me upright. i stayed there, rigid, counting the lines of streetlights passing until the ride ended.
the hotel room was sterile, white sheets pulled too tight, and the air conditioner buzzing faintly. i lay on the bed, phone face down beside me, and stared at the ceiling until morning. my chest felt like it had caved in, the weight pressing harder in silence than it ever did on stage.
morning blurred into practice without really being morning. the hours folded in on themselves: rehearse, hydrate, smile, fix hair, start again. my reflection followed me everywhere, stitched into the glass of studios and the glare of mirrored walls. each one threw my body back at me with ruthless honesty - posture slumped, eyes flat, mouth never quite keeping up with the corners it was told to lift.
i let muscle memory do most of the work. count to eight, repeat, sweat dripping down the line of my spine, palms raw from clapping hits too sharp. the beat rattled inside my skull, but it didn’t settle in my chest.
at breaks, ningning would slide bottles of water toward me, cracking open her own with her teeth. sometimes she nudged packets of crackers across the floor, grinning like she hadn’t been caught, though everyone saw. i’d take the bottle, let it sweat in my hands, and leave the food untouched. she never said anything. she didn’t have to - the quiet waiting in her eyes was worse than words.
nights were longer than days. hotel sheets smelled like bleach, pillows too stiff to sink into. i lay in the dark with my phone screen burning against my face, scrolling through comments until they blurred into static. praise slid off, never sticking; the sharp ones cut deeper, carving grooves that stayed. my fingers hovered sometimes, typing out replies that I never sent, half-apologies to people I’d never meet.
when the silence got too loud, i opened my notebook. the one buried at the bottom of my bag, pages warped from sweat and cheap ink. most entries were fragments, words scattered across paper like broken glass: empty. weight. gone. tired. my pen scratched harder than it needed to, as if pressing deeper could make the words feel truer.
in the corner of one page, i scrawled it out fully for the first time: i’ll be gone. the letters looked foreign, written by a hand that wasn’t mine. i folded the paper, then folded it again, until it was small enough to hide beneath the program from the last tour.
the next day bled into another, rehearsal bleeding into recording, recording into sleep I didn’t remember falling into. ningning’s voice carried me through the noise more often than I’d admit - humming, joking under her breath, filling the blank space when everyone else went quiet. it annoyed me sometimes, the way she refused to shut up. but when she wasn’t there, the silence was unbearable.
the practice room smelled like instant noodles and dust back then. the mirrors were cleaner, though, polished until they looked like doors into another life.
_
we were younger, skin still soft from sleep instead of hardened by schedules, nerves tight but hopeful. nights stretched long with no one watching, only the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor.
ningning had been the loud one, always. laughing at her own jokes, singing lines she wasn’t assigned just to see if she could. she pulled me along by sheer gravity, convincing me to stay another hour when my legs already burned, convincing me to share snacks i pretended i didn’t want.
once, we’d sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, sweat dripping down our chins, the clock past midnight. my stomach hurt from laughing at something stupid she’d said - some horrible imitation of the vocal coach - and she’d grinned so wide her gums showed.
“you can’t leave me behind,” she’d said then, with the tone only kids could manage. “we’re going to debut together. promise.”
i’d promised, voice breaking with exhaustion but certain in a way i hadn’t been about anything else.
the memory replayed sometimes, late at night when the present felt too sharp. it clung to the edges of my thoughts even now, the sound of her laugh echoing against the empty practice room, the faint sting of promise in the air.
the contrast hurts.
because now, years later, i can barely look her in the eye. her laughter still carried, still rang bright even when her throat was raw, but it no longer pulled me the way it used to. i stood beside her in photos, on stages, in crowded greenrooms, but felt miles away.
she hadn’t noticed, not really. or maybe she had, and just didn’t want to say it.
i kept moving on autopilot, arms and legs carving out routines drilled a hundred times, pretending the promise hadn’t started to feel like a weight around my neck.
morning came again, but the schedule didn’t change. cameras, interviews, rehearsals, rehearsals, rehearsals. each movement was memorised, drilled, repeated until my body moved without asking for permission from my mind. and yet, the hollowness inside me grew, coiling tighter with every perfectly executed step.
somewhere between the backstage lights and the murmur of staff voices, a cake appeared. gifted by fans for the music show win, it sat on the table like a fragile thing, frosting gleaming under the harsh overhead lights. pastel decorations, candles flickering. everyone smiled, applauded, cheered. ningning nudged it with her fingers, leaning close and murmuring a joke that made her laugh lightly.
i stayed still. watched the knife glint in the harsh stage light, slicing the cake with precision. the metal shimmered like glass, cold and unyielding. my chest hollowed further, a quiet rhythm I couldn’t shake.
in that moment, i imagined it differently. the knife cutting into me instead of sponge - smooth and metallic. the imagined warmth and flash of dark red gleaming in my mind, sharp and precise. my stomach tightened, fingers clenching in my lap, trying to hold myself down while the hall erupted in cheer.
the blade slid through the cake again, frosting smearing on the table. cameras flashed. ningning’s laughter echoed close and distant, tethering me to the present i couldn’t feel. the metallic edge was gone, but the rhythm stayed - cold, unrelenting, echoing in the hollow space where i hid the parts of myself that no one ever saw.
i smiled, lips tight, because that was what was required. applause demanded it. cameras demanded it. and for a few seconds, I existed - perfect on the outside, fractured inside, anchored only by the weight of the knife that never touched me.
the door clicked shut behind the others, leaving me alone in the hotel room. the smell of bleach lingered in the air, faint but sharp, cutting through the leftover perfume from our arrival. lights buzzed faintly overhead, white and harsh, washing the room in sterility.
i didn’t move immediately. sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up, the paper from earlier - folded, creased - pressed between my palms. my fingers traced the ridges in the paper as if memorizing the texture could anchor me to something real. but the hollowness inside my chest only widened, a cavern stretching open with every heartbeat.
the glow from the city outside slanted through the blinds, slicing across the carpet in stripes. the hum of traffic below felt distant, indifferent. my stomach churned, muscles tight and coiled, and every breath tasted metallic, faint and strange, like the echo of something i couldn’t name.
i rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, counting the buzzing of the light until it nearly became music - a rhythm that matched the hollow pulse in my chest. every rehearsal, every stage, every forced smile folded into the silence like a layer of dust. the applause, the cameras, ningning’s giggle - all distant, all unreachable.
the paper was still in my lap. the words stared back: i’ll be gone. i folded it once more, carefully, as if the motion could erase their meaning. my thumb brushed the crease, imagining the cold metallic edge of a knife sliding across the letters. sharp. smooth. the thought pressed against the back of my skull, insistent, persistent, like a hammer that couldn’t be stopped.
i pressed the paper into my chest and let my hands slide down my sides, trembling slightly. the sheets were stiff under me, the pillow firm. my body was alive, tight and fragile, but it felt wrong, alien - something borrowed, something borrowed that didn’t belong to me anymore.
outside the door, voices carried faintly down the hall. staff calling names and of course, ningning laughing somewhere i couldn’t reach. i imagined her standing by the bed, fingers brushing my shoulder, leaning closer, her warmth anchoring me without needing words. but she wasn’t here. i was still alone.
time bled into itself. i rolled over, hugged my knees, stared at the ceiling. the hollow pulse in my chest matched the city rhythm outside. the metallic edge of thought still lingered - cold, precise, impossible - and yet, buried somewhere deep, beneath the tension, there was a tiny, quiet restraint. i didn’t throw the paper away. didn’t act on it. didn’t move from the bed. but for the first time in hours, my body waited, rather than surrendered.
morning light spilled through the blinds, casting stripes across the carpet. i sat on the edge of the bed, legs curled up, tracing the crease in my notebook without opening it.
ningning appeared at the doorway with her breakfast plate, hair tied back loosely. she set her tray down on the nightstand and glanced at me, her brow just slightly furrowed.
“you’re not eating,” she said, almost casual, almost teasing, but with the tiniest edge of concern. “why not?”
i shrugged, looking away, letting my fingers play with the blanket.
“come on,” she said, nudging the tray lightly toward me. “even just a bite. you don’t have to finish it.”
i picked up a piece of toast, more out of habit than hunger, and chewed quietly. ningning hummed as she ate her own breakfast, the sound soft and familiar. she didn’t push. she just leaned against the doorframe for a moment before heading out, leaving me to follow when i was ready.
the rehearsal room smelled of sweat and floor polish, bright with mirrors reflecting every move. i counted silently in my head, letting muscle memory carry me through the routine, arms swinging, legs stepping in perfect rhythm. the music filled the room, loud and precise, masking the hollow pulse inside me.
ningning leaned against the wall nearby, adjusting her ponytail. she tapped her fingers lightly to the beat, eyes flicking to me every few moments.
“you good?” she asked casually, a small smile tugging at her lips. “you’ve been spacing out a bit during practice.”
i shook my head quickly, forcing a grin. “yeah, i’m fine. just… tired, i guess.”
she raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “tired, huh? you sure? you didn’t eat much this morning either.”
i shrugged again, letting the rhythm of the music drown out the words. she hummed softly, almost to herself, and started the next set of moves.
throughout the practice, she stayed close enough that I could feel her presence but far enough not to interfere. sometimes she would nudge my shoulder lightly or whisper, “watch your arms on that spin,” or, “you’ve got this.” small, ordinary things. nothing dramatic. just enough to remind me someone noticed.
during a break, she plopped down next to me on the floor, stretching her legs. “seriously, you should eat something before we start again,” she said, nudging my arm lightly with hers. “don’t make me force-feed you.”
i managed a small laugh, shaking my head. “i’ll be fine.”
she smirked, letting it drop. “you always say that,” she muttered, picking at a piece of fruit from her snack bag. “but I’ll keep an eye on you anyway.”
and she did. not in a dramatic, shouting way - just quietly, naturally, with her usual hum of energy in the room. even when i felt hollow, the simple presence of someone who noticed without judgment settled a fraction of the tension inside me. i didn’t relax completely. i couldn’t. but for a moment, the room didn’t feel quite so heavy.
by late afternoon, the rehearsal room had turned into a blur of lights and sound. music thumped through the floor, bounced off mirrors, clashed with the tap of sneakers and the shouted instructions of staff. i moved through it all on autopilot, counting steps and beats, but each sound layered on top of the last until nothing felt separate.
ningning clapped her hands to the rhythm beside me, eyes bright. “focus!” she called, laughing at her own energy. i forced a small smile, nodded, but the noise carved lines across my temples.
the bright lights above were harsh, blinding in patches, reflecting off sweat on the floor, the sequins on our outfits, the polished mirrors until it all spun. my arms felt heavy, too precise, too fast. every clap of hands, every shout, every mirrored reflection hit me like a wave. my chest tightened; the pulse in my ears throbbed metallic, ringing against the rhythm of the music.
i stopped mid-step for a fraction of a second, head tilting slightly to block out the visual clutter. ningning noticed immediately, hovering closer. “hey… everything ok?” she asked softly, nudging my shoulder. her voice cut through the chaos like a thin line, but even that felt too bright, too close.
i blinked rapidly, trying to focus, and felt a hot spike of dizziness as the room’s sounds collided with themselves. my stomach twisted, muscles tensing against the overstimulation. the metallic hum of the lights above and the constant thud of bass in my chest were all i could feel. i pressed my palms to my eyes, counting to eight, inhaling and exhaling like i had been trained to, letting the rhythm try to ground me.
ningning’s hand rested lightly on my arm. “take a breath. it’s okay,” she murmured. the warmth of her touch grounded me slightly, but the pounding of sound, the spinning reflections, the flash of stage lights - everything pressed in at once.
i shook my head, stepping back just a little, trying to create space. my heart raced. the music didn’t stop. staff shouted adjustments. ningning clapped to bring me back, gently, laughing to keep it light. “you’ve got this,” she said, voice careful now.
i forced a smile, body trembling subtly as the room’s energy continued to crash over me. every beat, every reflection, every shout - it was all too much. i kept moving, kept stepping, kept clapping. muscle memory carried me forward, but my mind floated somewhere distant, hovering over the pulse that had begun to live under my skin.
when the break finally came, i sank onto the floor, breathing hard, chest tight, hands pressed to my knees. ningning sat beside me, offering a water bottle, the softest smile. she didn’t push, didn’t say too much, just hummed lightly as i drank, letting the room settle slowly around us.
even in her calm presence, the rhythm in my body remained erratic, the pulse of sound and light lingering in my veins. it would take hours, maybe, to untangle, but for now, i could only stay low, letting the overstimulation roll through me until it ebbed enough to breathe again.
the ride back to the hotel was quieter this time. the city lights smeared across the van window, red and yellow streaks dissolving into gray. i kept my earphones in, not playing anything - just the weight of isolation against the hum of traffic. my hands rested in my lap, fingers tapping lightly against the fabric of my jeans, trying to match a rhythm i couldn’t hear.
ningning leaned across the aisle toward me, voice soft, careful. “what happened today?”
I shrugged, staring out the window. “nothing.”
she didn’t push, just hummed for a while, letting her presence fill the space beside me. after a few minutes, she reached over and nudged my shoulder lightly. “your hands are shaking.”
i looked down, catching the subtle tremor i hadn’t noticed myself. my stomach tightened. “it’s nothing,” i said, trying to sound casual.
“it doesn’t look like nothing,” she said, voice low, gentle. “you’ve been quiet all day. more than usual.”
i didn’t answer. my chest felt tight, the residual thrum of rehearsal pounding in my ears, an echo under my skin.
when we arrived, i moved slowly through the hotel lobby, letting ningning take the lead. in the elevator, her hand brushed mine, just enough to ground me without asking. “you’re not gonna collapse, are you?” she teased lightly, trying to keep the mood normal.
“i don’t think so,” i muttered, voice flat.
she smiled faintly, but her eyes stayed sharp, searching. “promise me you’ll at least try to eat something later,” she said.
i nodded, not trusting my voice for more. the room door clicked shut behind us.
inside, i collapsed onto the bed, curling into myself. the lights were too bright, the air conditioner buzzed in my ears, and the city outside hummed relentlessly. she sat on the edge of the bed beside me, placing a bottle of water gently on the nightstand.
“do you wanna talk about it?” she asked, voice low, careful.
i shook my head, keeping my eyes fixed on the ceiling. “i just… need a minute.”
“okay,” she said. her hand hovered, then rested lightly on my shoulder. “i’ll stay. you don’t have to do anything.”
the room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air, my irregular breaths, and her steady presence. minutes passed. I could feel the tension in my body loosening fractionally, though the hollow pulse inside me remained.
finally, i shifted slightly, murmuring, “thanks… for staying.”
“you don’t need to thank me,” she replied, brushing her thumb against my shoulder. “i’m not going anywhere.”
for the first time that day, i let my body relax just enough to exist, not perform, not think, not push away. the overstimulation hadn’t fully left me, but the small tether of her presence made the weight a little easier to carry.
the hotel room felt smaller than it should have. lights bounced off the white walls, and the faint hum of the air conditioner mixed with the low chatter from outside. i stayed on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up, fingers tracing the creases in the sheets.
ningning sprawled on the floor, nibbling on an apple. “you know,” she said, tossing a slice up to her mouth, “if we keep practicing that spin the way we did today, someone’s gonna have to roll me out of the studio tomorrow.”
karina, leaning against the desk, raised an eyebrow. “someone’s gonna have to roll you out every day, not just tomorrow,” she teased, smirking.
winter flopped onto the bed next to me, flinging her hair over her shoulder. “honestly, i don’t get why you guys complain so much. we all did the same spins.”
giselle, sitting cross-legged on the floor, laughed, swinging her phone in one hand. “winter, your jumps were basically perfect today. don’t act like you were suffering too.”
i let out a short laugh, glancing at them. “yeah, your legs are basically on fire already.”
ningning grinned, leaning back on her hands. “i don’t even feel it. pain doesn’t exist when you’re this excited.”
karina tilted her head, smirking. “you’ve clearly never done my leg day routine, then.”
ningning nudged me gently with her elbow. “hey, remember that one practice last year? we stayed past midnight because i insisted we redo the chorus, and you actually laughed at my awful vocal impressions.”
i blinked at her, a faint warmth creeping into my chest. “yeah… i remember,” i said softly.
winter rolled her eyes, smirking. “wow, dramatic memory. you two are hopeless.”
giselle laughed. “but it’s cute. honestly, we should all stay like this more. no schedules.”
karina grinned, stretching her arms above her head. “right? anyway, we have practice again tomorrow. sleep early, everyone. got it?”
“ill try,” i murmured.
we talked quietly after that, about nothing important - snacks, a funny video someone had seen, the weather, and a new track we might try. even though i stayed mostly on the edge of the bed, listening, the sound of them talking, teasing, laughing, made the room feel softer, warmer, like something i could exist inside without thinking too much.
the city outside pulsed faintly through the blinds, neon bleeding into rain-streaked glass. i tapped lightly over the blanket, matching a rhythm inside my head, letting their voices, normal and mundane, wrap around the hollowness and hold it just a little.
even after the laughter faded, the room didn’t quiet completely. the hum of the air conditioner, the soft buzz of the city outside, the occasional squeak of a chair or the rustle of clothing - it all pressed in together, layering over itself. my fingers traced the blanket, tapping a rhythm no one else could hear.
giselle leaned back on her hands, yawning. “you know, i still don’t get how anyone can fall asleep in these beds. they’re like boards with sheets.”
winter groaned, stretching. “don’t remind me. my neck already hurts from last night.”
karina laughed, tossing a hair tie across the room. “you’re dramatic. i slept fine.”
ningning rolled her eyes, still nibbling her apple. “yeah, but we all know she just grumbles to herself for hours before falling asleep.”
the conversation swirled around me, voices overlapping in a way that should have been comforting but made my chest thump. each laugh, each teasing remark, each subtle movement - fingers tapping, chairs scraping, the brush of a sleeve - layered onto the pulse already lodged under my skin.
i shifted slightly on the bed, curling in, letting the mattress take some of the weight off my muscles. ningning glanced over, but didn’t comment, just hummed quietly to herself, tapping her foot in rhythm with the hum of the city outside.
the members laughed quietly, voices blending, teasing, playful. i let myself listen, letting their presence anchor me, even if only fractionally. i didn’t speak, didn’t move much, but the rhythm of them, normal and ordinary, slowed the metallic pulse inside me - enough that i could breathe without it twisting into sharp edges.
still, the hollow rhythm lingered beneath, a constant thrum i couldn’t shake. my mind drifted to the folded paper tucked in my notebook, to the words i had written and pressed into the folds: i’ll be gone. i didn’t reach for it, didn’t think about acting, but the memory of it vibrated faintly under my ribs, like the echo of a drumbeat just out of reach.
the evening stretched on. we moved to trivial competitions - who could toss the pillow the furthest, who could mimic the other’s dance move perfectly - and i watched, letting myself be part of the noise, letting the chaos blur around me. ningning kept her eyes flicking to me occasionally, small check-ins, subtle gestures, not hovering, not pressing - just noticing.
somewhere in the laughter, in the tossing of pillows and the clatter of snack wrappers, the pulse inside me began to settle. not completely, not enough to forget, but enough to let me exist in the room without collapsing under it. i could feel their warmth, their ordinary energy.
after what felt like an eternity, the members went back into their rooms to get some well deserved sleep. apart from ningning. she stayed like always. she was wandering through my bag and found that crumpled piece of paper im always seen with.
ningning unfolded the first note carefully, then the new additions. her eyes widened, and her hand pressed lightly against my arm. “w-whats this?” she said, voice trembling, barely above a whisper.
i didn’t move. didn’t speak. her warmth pressed close, but i stayed rigid, letting the pulse take up all the space i could feel.
she sank down beside me, tugging me gently toward her, arms wrapping around my shoulders like she was trying to anchor me in place. “please… don’t leave me like this,” she whispered, voice breaking. “you’re not leaving.”
her grip was insistent, her body trembling slightly, and for the first time, i noticed the small shake in her hands, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. she held me closer, almost fiercely, as if her presence alone could stop the edge thudding inside me.
i stayed still, letting her words and warmth press against the hollow pulse in my chest. the rhythm remained, sharp and precise, but beneath it, her presence was a tether i couldn’t entirely resist. i didn’t speak. i didn’t move. i just let her hold me.
minutes passed. the city outside droned on, distant and indifferent. but inside the hotel room, wrapped in ningning’s arms, there was a fragile pause in the spinning, a quiet that didn’t erase the pulse but slowed its rhythm, if only slightly.
for the first time in hours, i let myself exist without pretending, without hiding entirely. her worry, raw and unfiltered, pressed against the hollow inside me, and i realised she wouldn’t let me go - not tonight, not ever.
her arms tightened around me, pulling me closer until the warmth pressed into my shoulders and chest. a soft shudder ran through her, small and uneven, and a single tear slid down her cheek, warm and wet against my skin. another followed, tracing a path over my arm.
her breath hitched, shallow and fast. the quiet sobs spilled from her chest in shaky bursts, muffled against my shoulder. i stayed still, rigid, feeling the metallic pulse in my ribs flare and twist under her presence, sharp and unyielding.
she pressed her forehead to mine, trembling, letting her hair brush against my face. the salty warmth of her tears seeped into the fabric of my shirt. her small, quivering hands gripped my arms, holding on with a desperation that was almost tangible.
the quiet of the room wrapped around us, broken only by her soft, broken breaths and the faint hum of the city outside. the lights overhead flickered subtly, casting long, slanted stripes across the carpet. shadows pooled around us, pressing in, but her warmth held against it, tethering me to the moment.
i could feel the tension in her body, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the faint trembling in her shoulders. each sob pressed against the hollow rhythm in my own chest, colliding with the metallic pulse that had been my constant companion. i didn’t dare speak. didn’t move. just let the weight of her worry press into me.
her tears kept falling, dampening the blanket beneath us. she leaned into me, a small shiver running down her spine, and let her grip tighten. my fingers dug lightly into the fabric, nails pressing into the weave, grounding myself while the hollow pulse swirled beneath it. her sobs softened, small hiccups now, but she stayed pressed against me, refusing to let go, refusing to let me disappear.
i traced a small line along the blanket with my fingers, then shifted just enough to let her weight anchor me. the room seemed smaller, warmer, less overwhelming. she didn’t speak. i didn’t respond. there was no need. the fragile tether between us was enough - a quiet insistence that i was not alone, that i was still here.
for the first time in hours, maybe days, i felt a subtle exhale pass through me, a fraction of the tension loosening in my chest. the hollow metallic rhythm remained, yes, but it no longer ruled me entirely.
i pressed my head lightly against her shoulder, letting myself exist in that fragile calm. and for now, that was enough. the room, the lights, the pulse inside me - it all slowed, just slightly, bending around the warmth that refused to let me go.
and i stayed.