The Born Pink tour was finally real, lights, fans, the deafening roar of a stadium that felt like it could split the earth in two. The first show ended in a blur of adrenaline and exhaustion, the kind that left everyone vibrating, half-laughing, half-crying. Staff scrambled with headsets, the girls clung to each other in sweaty hugs, champagne already being uncorked somewhere down the hall.
But Jennie didn't follow the noise. She found Y/N instead.
A gentle tug on her sleeve. A flick of her head toward a darkened corner just out of sight. No words. She didn't need them. Y/N followed without hesitation, her pulse still hammering from the concert, hammering harder now, for reasons that had nothing to do with music.
The shadows felt calmer, a pocket of quiet carved out in the frenzy. Jennie pressed back against the wall, her chest rising and falling too fast, cheeks flushed pink from the stage lights and effort. Damp strands of hair clung to her temples, and her mic pack hung awkwardly at her hip like she'd forgotten to take it off.
Her hands trembled, just slightly. Y/N noticed.
Jennie leaned close, so close that Y/N could feel the heat rolling off her, could smell the faint mix of sweat and stage perfume clinging to her skin. Close enough that the chaos outside, the cheers still echoing, the crew still shouting, dulled into a faraway hum.
Her eyes found Y/N's in the dim. No idol mask, no flawless façade. Just Jennie. Soft, raw, alive.
"I'm glad that I get to see the world with you." she whispered, her voice barely threading through the noise. Too soft, too private, like it was meant only for Y/N's ears.
Y/N's breath caught, her heart squeezing.
Jennie's gaze didn't waver. Her words spilled again, rougher this time, trembling at the edges. "I couldn't do it without you."
That was it. No confessions. No declarations. But the meaning bled between every syllable. I need you. I choose you. You're the one who makes this bearable.
And Y/N felt it all.
It burned in her chest, heavy and bright, a secret vow woven wordlessly between them. She wanted to say it back, wanted to echo it, to tell her me too, always. But the words lodged in her throat. So instead, she let her hand brush Jennie's, just the faintest touch, enough to steady the tremble.
Jennie's lips parted, a sharp inhale, like the touch alone unraveled something inside her. She didn't move away. She leaned into it, shoulders easing for the first time all night.
Neither of them said I love you.
They didn't have to.
It pulsed in the silence, in the heat of their closeness, in the way Y/N felt it settle deep inside her like an unspoken promise. Even through the ups, even through the downs, they were still here. Still together.
Invisible, unbreakable.
Next months blurred.
Planes, arenas, hotel rooms, life lived in motion, yet somehow it felt steady because they had each other. Nights ended the same way more often than not. Y/N slipping into Jennie's room when the corridors fell quiet, their laughter hushed against pillows as they watched old dramas on Jennie's laptop, subtitles crooked on the screen. In the mornings, Y/N always left before the first knock on the door. No one ever asked where she slept. No one ever guessed.
On stage, Jennie shone with a brilliance that felt untouchable, and yet Y/N could see every crack. The clenched jaw before a live broadcast, the way her shoulders tightened when certain headlines trended online. She learned to read Jennie's storms like weather, to see them forming, to step in before they broke. A touch to her hand. A steady, low voice in her ear. A rhythm of breathing only they shared.
It worked every time. It had to.