Archive of Our Own ^beta

Soyeon sat alone in one of the practice rooms at Cube Entertainment, the cool, polished floor beneath her legs a stark contrast to the heat she felt rising in her chest. She had just finished a grueling session of choreography, and the echoes of the music still reverberated in her mind. The other trainees had left, their laughter and chatter fading down the hallway, but Soyeon remained behind, not ready to face the world just yet.

The mirrors that lined the walls reflected her small frame, hunched over with exhaustion. She reached up to wipe the sweat from her brow, a slight tremor in her hand, quickly turning away. There were times she found something about her reflection unsettling—it was a nagging discomfort that she couldn’t quite place.

Maybe it was the pressure of being perfect in every way pushing down on her shoulders. To be a leader, to be talented, to be strong. To be beautiful . Her abilities, her appearance, had always been highly scrutinized. The more she did, the more she was criticized. It all felt so heavy. It all felt impossible.

She gathered the courage to glance back into the mirror, her brow furrowing as she studied her own features. The softness of her cheeks, the long hair that framed her face, the way she moved—it all felt off, as if she was wearing someone else’s skin. As if this was someone else she was seeing. She couldn’t explain it, not to herself, not to anyone.

The door to the practice room creaked open, and Soyeon quickly straightened up, trying to push her thoughts aside. Miyeon had returned, a bottle of water in hand, her usual gentle smile lighting up her face as she approached Soyeon.

“Still here?” Miyeon asked, her voice warm and soothing. 

“Yeah,” Soyeon replied, forcing a smile. “Just practicing a bit more.”

“You’ve been working really hard lately. We all have.” Miyeon tilted her head slightly, her eyes filled with concern. “But don’t push yourself too much, okay? You’re our leader, but you can still lean on us.”

Soyeon nodded, her throat tightening at the word ‘leader.’ She wasn’t sure why, but it felt like an added weight, another layer of expectations she couldn’t fully grasp.

As Miyeon continued to talk about their upcoming evaluations and the pressure they all felt, Soyeon found herself drifting in and out of the conversation. Her mind kept circling back to the uneasy feelings of anxiety that had been growing inside her for weeks, months, maybe even years.

It was Miyeon’s voice that snapped her back to reality. “Are you okay, Soyeon? You seem a bit… Distant.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Soyeon quickly replied, forcing another smile. “Just tired, I guess.”

Miyeon gave her a knowing look but didn’t press further. “We should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day.”

As Miyeon stood up and offered her hand, Soyeon hesitated for a moment before taking it. The warmth of Miyeon’s hand in hers was comforting, but it also made her chest ache with something she couldn’t name.

Together, they left the practice room, the bright lights of the hallway a sharp contrast to the dim, reflective space they’d just left. The walk back to the dorm was quiet, save for the soft sound of their footsteps. The other members were already inside, their voices muffled through the walls.

As soon as Soyeon stepped into her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes. The silence was deafening, the solitude both a relief and a burden.

She crossed the small room to the mirror above her dresser and stared at her reflection again, this time with a more critical eye. Her thoughts raced, overlapping and clashing with one another. Sometimes she wished she could just disappear—fade into the background and escape the confusion swirling in her mind. She wished she could be someone else entirely. 

She sat down on her bed, her hands clenching into fists as she tried to suppress the thoughts that had been creeping up on her more and more lately. It felt like she was being pulled in two different directions, like she was being split in half, and it terrified her.

What if this is just how I am?

Soyeon shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. She couldn’t think about this now. There were too many people depending on her, too many dreams she had to fulfill. Whatever this was, she would just have to ignore it, bury it deep down where it couldn’t reach her.

The days following (G)I-DLE’s debut were a whirlwind. Soyeon barely had time to breathe as they moved from one schedule to the next, interviews, performances, and fan meetings all blurring together. “LATATA” was everywhere, the catchy hook stuck in the heads of fans and casual listeners alike. Soyeon should have been elated, proud of the success that came from months of hard work. But as she stared at herself in the mirror backstage, waiting for yet another stage, all she could feel was a strange hollowness.

The strange sense of unease hadn’t been constant. It came and went in waves, but never really left her. It was always there, lurking in the back of her mind, creeping up on her during quiet moments when she was alone. The feeling that something was off, that she wasn’t who she was supposed to be, gnawed at her constantly.

Her mind wandered to similar moments from the past, times when she’d felt this strange disconnect from herself. She remembered being a little girl and feeling out of place when her friends talked about boys and makeup, how she had always preferred climbing trees and playing sports. Back then, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal, just a quirk of her personality. But now, it felt like something more, something that was growing stronger and harder to ignore.

She adjusted her makeup, her fingers trembling slightly as she applied a bit more concealer under her eyes, comments she’d seen online echoing in her mind, cutting deeper than she’d expected.

“She doesn’t look like a typical idol.”

“She isn’t very pretty.”

“Why does she dress so boyish?”

Soyeon frowned at her reflection, trying to see what they saw, features that were uniquely hers but not traditionally considered beautiful in the world she inhabited. She’d always been confident in her abilities, in her talent, but when it came to her appearance, that confidence wavered.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and Soyeon quickly composed herself. The door creaked open, and Yuqi peeked in, her bright smile lighting up the room.

“Soyeon-ah, are you ready? We’re on in ten minutes!” Yuqi’s voice was filled with excitement, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Soyeon’s chest.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Soyeon replied, forcing a smile as she turned to face her.

Yuqi bounced into the room, her energy contagious. “Can you believe how well everything’s going? Everyone’s talking about us! You must be so proud.”

Soyeon nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “Yeah, it’s… it’s amazing.”

Yuqi must’ve noticed the hesitation in her voice, must’ve seen the falter in her smile, her head tilted to the side like a curious puppy dog. 

“Are you okay, unnie? You seem a bit… Off.”

Soyeon waved her hand dismissively, trying to brush off the concern. “I’m fine, just a little tired, that’s all. We’ve been working nonstop, you know?”

Yuqi nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I get it. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay? We need you.”

We need you. The words echoed in Soyeon’s mind as Yuqi left the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more. The weight of responsibility pressed down on her, suffocating in its intensity. Everyone needed her to be strong, to be the leader, to be the face of the group. 

The performance went off without a hitch, the cheers of the crowd ringing in Soyeon’s ears as they left the stage. The adrenaline of the moment usually gave her a high, a sense of fulfillment that nothing else could match. But as she stood in the dressing room, peeling off her glittery stage outfit and wiping away her makeup, she couldn’t deny the relief she felt once it was off of her body.

Instead, she pulled on a loose-fitting hoodie and a pair of baggy jeans, clothes that felt like a refuge from the tight, dazzling costumes she wore on stage. The moment the fabric touched her skin, she let out a breath of relief, the tension easing just a little.

Soyeon, what’s wrong with you? She berated herself as she tugged the hoodie over her head. 

It went deeper than clothing. It was the way she felt when she wore these clothes, the way they seemed to shield her from the expectations that came with being a female idol. When she dressed like this, she felt more… herself. She tried to push the thought away.

Soyeon sat down on the edge of the dressing room bench, her hands clenched into fists. The confusion was back, stronger than ever, gnawing at her insides. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something—anything—to make it stop. But she couldn’t. She had to be strong, for the group, for the fans, for everyone but herself.

You can’t let anyone see this, she told herself sternly. You can’t let them know.

As the days turned into weeks and the buzz around their debut continued to grow, Soyeon tried to focus on the positives. She threw herself into work, writing new songs, planning for their next comeback, and guiding the members through their increasingly packed schedules. There were moments when she felt okay, when the whirlwind of activity kept her too busy to dwell on the unease simmering beneath the surface.

But then there were other times, late at night when she was alone in her room, when the doubts would creep in again. She’d stare at her reflection in the mirror, wondering why she couldn’t just be content with who she was, but who was that, really?

It was during one of these nights, after another exhausting day of schedules and interviews, that Soyeon found herself scrolling through her phone, mindlessly looking at photos of herself and the other members. She paused on a picture from one of their recent performances, the five of them posing together on stage, smiles wide and eyes bright.

But her eyes were drawn to herself, to the way she stood slightly apart from the others, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She remembered that day, remembered the praise they had received for their performance, but all she could think about was how uncomfortable she had felt in her stage outfit—how the tight dress and high heels had made her feel like she was playing a role rather than being herself.

Her thumb hovered over the photo, and she suddenly felt a surge of anger—anger at herself for not finding herself beautiful, for not being able to just be happy. There were some days that she felt at peace, comfortable in her own skin, and even proud of the way she looked on stage. The sleek outfits, the glittering makeup, the way she carried herself— But today was not one of those days. She felt a deep sense of frustration at the world she lived in, a world that demanded so much from her, that forced her to fit into a mold that didn’t quite seem to fit.

Soyeon tossed her phone aside and stood up, pacing the length of her small room. She could feel the anger boiling over, threatening to spill out. But there was no one to talk to, no one who would understand. The other members, as close as they were, wouldn’t get it. How could they? They didn’t feel like this. They didn’t have to deal with this constant push and pull inside them.

She stopped in front of her closet, staring at the rows of clothes hanging there. The dresses, the skirts, the blouses—they all felt foreign to her, like costumes she had to wear to play a part. She hesitated for a moment before reaching for a simple t-shirt and a pair of jeans, pulling them on quickly as if trying to outrun the discomfort she felt.

As she stood in front of the mirror, she felt a small sense of relief. The clothes didn’t change anything, didn’t solve the confusion inside her, but they made her feel a little more at ease, a little more like she could breathe.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, the members gathered in the dorm, a rare moment of downtime. Soojin and Shuhua were on the couch, giggling over a video on the younger’s phone, while Miyeon and Minnie were sat on the floor, Yuqi sprawled out with her head resting on Minnie’s lap as they chatted about their upcoming performance.

Soyeon leaned against the kitchen counter, a glass of water in her hand as she observed them. The sight filled her with a sense of contentment, a warmth spreading through her chest as she watched her members—her friends—relaxing together. These were the moments she cherished.

Miyeon glanced up and caught Soyeon’s eye, her smile softening. “Soyeon, come sit with us. You’re always standing over there like you’re too cool to hang out.”

Soyeon grinned and shook her head, pushing off the counter to join them. 

Minnie patted the space beside her, and Soyeon slipped in between her and Miyeon. The laughter, the easy banter, the warmth of the group— She was grateful she was in one of her windows where she felt right. Soyeon’s heart swelled with happiness, the doubts and insecurities that sometimes plagued her pushed to the back of her mind.

But as the days passed and their schedules intensified, those familiar feelings began to creep back in. It often started subtly—a twinge of discomfort as she looked at herself in the mirror, a fleeting sense of disconnect when she put on her stage outfits. Soyeon would try to ignore it, pushing the thoughts aside as she focused on the tasks at hand. But the feelings were persistent, growing stronger with each passing day.

One afternoon, while the other members were out for a photoshoot, Soyeon found herself alone in the dorm. She stood in front of her closet, her eyes scanning the rows of clothes hanging neatly in front of her. Dresses, skirts, blouses—each one carefully chosen, pretty, and looked good on her… Sometimes .

Her hand hesitated over a simple loose t-shirt and a pair of jeans, her mind battling with itself as she pulled them on, her movements quick and almost frantic. As she looked at herself in the mirror, a small wave of calm washed over her. The clothes didn’t change anything—didn’t solve the confusion that gnawed at her—but they made her feel a little more like herself.

The days, weeks, months passed by in blurs. She was the main writer and producer for their group, a role that was as thrilling as it was exhausting. She wrote between interviews, practices, performances, and well into the nights.

The others had made her promise to take the day off, as they had all miraculously managed to have no other schedules. She found them gathered in the kitchen for breakfast, the smell of coffee and toast filling the air. Miyeon had begged to go shopping, so Soyeon had chosen something pretty for the day—a flowy blouse and a fitted skirt—and as she looked at herself in the mirror before joining the others, she actually felt the corners of her glossed lips curve into a smile

“Unnie, you look so pretty today!” Yuqi exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration.

Soyeon smiled, a genuine one this time, as she glanced down at her outfit. “Thanks, Woogs.”

And in that moment, she did feel pretty, in a way that made her heart flutter with a sense of pride. For a few days, she embraced that feeling, finding comfort in the clothes and in who she saw in the mirror. The compliments from the other members, the way the fans praised her look—all of it boosted her confidence, making her feel like she was finally right.

But it never lasted.

As their comeback drew closer, the pressure mounted, and with it, the familiar sense of unease. Soyeon started to notice that the stretch of time when she felt comfortable in her own skin was coming to an end, discomfort rising steadily. She found herself once again drawn to tomboyish clothes, finding relief in the way they made her feel.

One evening, after another long day of rehearsals, Soyeon sat alone in her room, her mind racing. The comments she’d seen online, the ones that praised her for her talent but criticized her for not fitting the “ideal” image of a female idol, echoed in her head.

“She’s so talented, but she’s not really that pretty.”

“Why does she dress like a boy sometimes?”

Soyeon squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the voices. But they wouldn’t go away. They never did. The anger, the frustration, the confusion—it all built up inside her until she felt like she was going to explode. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something—anything—to release the pressure.

But she couldn’t. She had to be strong. She had to keep going, keep pretending that everything was fine, even when it wasn’t.

Time blurred together as the group’s schedules intensified. I Am, Hann, I Made, Uh Oh, Dumdi Dumdi, and I Burn had all been massive successes, each single and EP challenging her to top the last one, and now they were preparing for I Trust. 

There were days when everything seemed to fall into place. Soyeon would wake up, look at herself in the mirror, and feel a sense of pride. She’d carefully style her hair, apply her makeup, and slip into the outfits designed for their concept. The look was fierce, bold, and feminine, and for those stretches of time, she reveled in it. She felt powerful, in control, like she was exactly who she was meant to be.

She wished she could always feel this way.

One afternoon, as the group gathered in the practice room, Soyeon found herself lingering near the back, her energy drained before they’d even started. The others were chatting excitedly about the new choreography, their enthusiasm palpable. Yuqi, in particular, was bouncing around the room, her smile infectious as ever as she playfully nudged Soyeon.

“Unnie, are you ready to kill it today?” Yuqi’s voice was bright, her eyes sparkling with the same excitement that had always drawn Soyeon to her. She appreciated the warmth, the easy camaraderie that came with being around Yuqi. It made the difficult days a little more bearable.

Soyeon forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

But even as the words left her lips, she could feel the doubt creeping in, the discomfort settling in her chest like a heavy weight. As they started practicing, the familiar rhythm of the song and the sharp movements of the choreography only served to intensify the feelings she was trying so hard to ignore.

Each time she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her reflection felt like a stranger’s. The long hair framing her face, the delicate features accentuated by the makeup, the feminine clothes that clung to her figure—it all felt wrong, like she was wearing someone else’s skin.

Later that evening, the members gathered in the dorm for dinner. The conversation was light, filled with laughter, but Soyeon barely touched her food, her appetite gone. Yuqi noticed, nudging her gently with her elbow.

“Hey, you’ve barely eaten. Are you feeling okay?”

Soyeon forced herself to take a bite, chewing mechanically as she nodded. “I’m fine, just tired.”

Miyeon glanced over, concern etched on her face. “You’ve been pushing yourself really hard, Soyeon. Maybe you should take a break tomorrow, rest up a bit.”

“I don’t have time to rest,” Soyeon replied, her tone sharper than she intended. She softened when she saw the worried looks from the others. “I’m okay, really. Just… a lot on my mind.”

Yuqi gave her a gentle smile, her hand brushing against Soyeon’s arm. “We’re here if you need anything, unnie. You know that, right?”

Soyeon nodded, grateful for the support but unable to shake the turmoil churning inside her. As the evening wore on and they all drifted off to their rooms, Soyeon found herself alone, her thoughts spiraling out of control.

She couldn’t escape the feeling of being trapped, suffocated by the expectations that came with being an idol, a leader, a woman. The constant push and pull between feeling comfortable in her femininity and the gnawing discomfort that followed left her exhausted, confused, and angry.

The breaking point came late that night.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the pair of scissors on her desk, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps. The anger, the frustration, the confusion—it all came to a head, boiling over in a way she couldn’t control. Without thinking, she grabbed a fistful of her hair and brought the scissors to it, the sharp blades slicing through the strands with a sickening sound.

The first cut was jagged, uneven, but Soyeon didn’t stop. She kept cutting, tears streaming down her face as chunks of long hair fell to the floor around her. By the time she was done, her hair was short, barely brushing her shoulders in a haphazard bob, the ends uneven and rough.

Soyeon dropped the scissors, her breath hitching as she looked at herself in the mirror. Horror and relief crashed over her in waves, the conflicting emotions overwhelming her. The short hair felt… right, in a way that frightened her. It was as if she had finally done something to reclaim a part of herself she had lost along the way.

But at the same time, the sight of her reflection, the raw emotion etched on her face, was too much to bear. She buried her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body as the reality of what she had done sank in.

The next morning, Soyeon could hear the others one by one emerging from their rooms, starting their day. Soyeon hadn’t slept at all, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the mess of hair on the floor, the sight making her stomach churn.

She didn’t know how she was going to face the others, didn’t know how she was going to explain what she had done. But more than that, she didn’t know how to explain it to herself.

When she’d finally gathered enough courage to step out of her room, Minnie was the first to notice Soyeon’s new haircut, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Soyeon, your hair… What did you—”

Soyeon forced a smile, shrugging as if it was no big deal. “I just wanted a change.”

The other members exchanged glances, sensing that something was off but unsure of what to say. Minnie looked like she wanted to ask more, her concern evident in her eyes, but she held back, respecting Soyeon’s boundaries.

“Looks good,” Miyeon finally said, breaking the silence. “You always know how to rock any look.”

Soyeon nodded, forcing down the lump in her throat as she took a seat at the table. The relief she had felt the night before was now overshadowed by a crushing sense of guilt and fear. The short hair didn’t solve anything—it was just another attempt to find some semblance of control in a situation that felt increasingly out of her grasp.

But she couldn’t let the others see that. She couldn’t let them know how much she was struggling, how close she was to breaking. They put so much faith in her as their leader, she didn’t want them to worry. So, she bottled it up, just like she always did, and forced herself to go on as if everything was fine.

Even when it wasn’t.

The success of I Trust was overwhelming. They were everywhere . The world had taken notice and with each performance, Soyeon felt both pride and a growing weight on her shoulders.

Her hair had grown out, now grazing just past her shoulders. On days when she felt in tune with the way she looked, she appreciated the way it framed her face, the way it made her feel beautiful and feminine. The comments online, the love that fans had for her songs, made her confidence soar. These days, she felt like she could conquer the world. 

Then the scandal happened.

When the news broke that Soojin was leaving, it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under Soyeon. Soojin had been her confidant, her closest friend in the group, and now she was gone, unable to stay in the group, unable to maintain contact.

Soyeon felt like she was falling apart. The world around her continued to spin, but she was standing still, stuck in a place of anger, sadness, and a deep, gnawing sense of loss.

The other members tried to comfort her, but they didn’t understand. They couldn’t. Yuqi was the only one who seemed to see through the facade Soyeon put up, but even she didn’t push too hard, respecting Soyeon’s need for space. But it was that space, that isolation, that made everything worse.

Soyeon’s frustration began to manifest in her work. She started writing furiously, pouring all her anger and confusion into her lyrics. That’s how Tomboy was born.

The original version of Tomboy was raw, unapologetic, and intense. It was a declaration of rebellion, a middle finger to the expectations that had been placed on her, on all of them.

The lyrics were sharp, biting, almost violent in their refusal to conform.

Soyeon didn’t know where it was coming from. She had been so consumed by anger that she hadn’t even realized how personal the song had become. It was as if all the feelings she had been bottling up for years had finally found an outlet. She had finally found the words to express them.

But when she presented the song to their team, their reaction was immediate.

“This is too much,” they had said. “It’s too aggressive. We need you to tone it down.”

Soyeon’s heart sank. She hated the idea of diluting what felt like the most honest piece of music she had ever created. But she had no choice. She had to compromise.

She spent hours in the studio, reworking the lyrics, softening the edges, making the song more palatable to the masses. The final version of Tomboy still carried the message she wanted to convey, but it was a far cry from the raw emotion she had originally put into it.

"This is my attitude / You get the song, right? / Neither man nor woman”

When she played the demo for the other members, they all listened intently, nodding along to the beat. Yuqi, who had been sitting next to her, looked over and gave her a small, encouraging smile.

“This is amazing, Soyeon,” Yuqi said when the song had finished. “I can feel your heart in it.”

Soyeon nodded, her throat tight with emotion. She wanted to believe that, but all she could think about was how much she had held back, how much of herself she had hidden away.

As the weeks passed and the release date for Tomboy drew closer, Soyeon’s emotions spiraled out of control. The loss of Soojin, the pressure of their impending comeback, and the unresolved confusion about her own identity weighed heavily on her. She could feel herself slipping further into a place of darkness and anger.

Yuqi was her anchor during those times, always there with a joke, a smile, or a shoulder to lean on. Their bond had deepened, and though Soyeon tried to push her away at times, afraid of getting too close, she couldn’t deny the comfort Yuqi’s presence brought.

One night, as they were sitting in the practice room after a long day, Soyeon broke the silence.

“Do you ever feel like… like you’re not who everyone thinks you are?” she asked quietly, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Yuqi looked at her, silent for once, surprised by the vulnerability in her voice. She paused before answering, her tone gentle. “Sometimes. But isn’t that normal? We all have parts of ourselves that we don’t show everyone.”

Soyeon nodded, swallowing hard. “What if those parts are the real you, and what everyone else sees is just a… a lie?”

“Soyeon-ah, you’re not a lie,” Yuqi frowned, “You’re… you. And that’s more than enough.”

Soyeon didn’t respond, her thoughts too tangled to untangle. She wanted to believe Yuqi, wanted to trust in the bond they had, but the doubt and self-loathing were too strong.

The release of Tomboy was a success. The fans loved it, the critics praised it, and once again, (G)I-DLE was at the top of the charts. But for Soyeon, the victory felt hollow.

She sat in the studio, listened to the final version over and over, trying to convince herself that it was good enough. But every time she heard the toned-down lyrics, every time she remembered what the song had been before it was sanitized, a part of her died a little inside.

She couldn’t escape the feeling that she had betrayed herself, that she had let down the part of her that had been screaming to be heard, to be acknowledged, for years. And now, that part of her was buried even deeper, buried under layers of expectations and compromises.

As Soyeon stared at the screen, the lights in the room dimmed and the silence pressing in on her, she felt a tear slip down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away, letting it fall as she stared at the screen in front of her, the words of Tomboy still glaring back at her.

Yuqi texted her a little while later. Her presence, even all the way in China, bringing a warmth that Soyeon desperately needed. 

“Go home, unnie,” The text read, bringing a small smile to Soyeon’s face. Distance didn’t matter, Yuqi knew her so well, of course she knew she would still be at the studio.

Soyeon nodded to herself and let Yuqi know that she would. She was grateful for the one constant in her life that hadn’t changed, even as everything else felt like it was slipping away. She wasn’t ready to confront the truth of what she was feeling, wasn’t ready to face the parts of herself that she had kept hidden for so long.

But with Yuqi and the others by her side, maybe—just maybe—she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Months passed, and the sharp pain of Soojin’s departure dulled into a constant ache. It was always there, a quiet reminder of what had been lost, but it no longer consumed Soyeon’s every waking thought. Life moved on, and soon enough, (G)I-DLE was back together, working on their next album.

Soyeon’s hair had grown out again, cascading down her back in soft, blonde waves. It was a length that she knew suited the feminine image the industry loved to see, but there were days when the weight of it felt like a burden. The concept for the new album, I Love, was rooted in old Hollywood glamour, a celebration of femininity with a twist. The title track, Nxde, was Soyeon’s latest brainchild—a provocative anthem that stripped away the layers of objectification, challenging the very standards that she herself struggled to meet.

As she sat in the studio, fine-tuning the lyrics for Nxde, Soyeon felt a simmering anger bubble up inside her. The song was meant to be empowering, a reclamation of autonomy over one’s body and image. But the irony wasn’t lost on her. Here she was, penning lyrics about rejecting society’s expectations, while she herself was still trapped in a cycle of conformity.

She thought back to the countless times her appearance had been criticized—too harsh, too boyish, too this, too that. It was as if no matter what she did, she could never measure up to the impossible standards placed on her. And the worst part? She had internalized it, forcing herself to adhere to these standards even when they felt like a straightjacket around her true self.

But what was her true self? That question still haunted her, lurking in the shadows of her mind, too frightening to confront directly. The feelings that had surfaced before I Trust had never really gone away; she had just gotten better at pushing them down. But they were still there, festering beneath the surface, and sometimes—like now—they threatened to overwhelm her.

The other members were supportive as always, though they didn’t know the full extent of Soyeon’s turmoil. Miyeon, Minnie, Shuhua, and Yuqi each brought their own energy to the project, helping to shape the vision Soyeon had in mind.

Yuqi had become Soyeon’s rock, though Soyeon was careful not to reveal too much. There was something about Yuqi’s presence that made her feel lighter, that made the chaos in her mind a little easier to manage. 

Yuqi had always been affectionate, often seeking out Soyeon’s company, draping herself over Soyeon’s shoulders, or leaning in close when they talked. But lately, those small touches sent a jolt of electricity through Soyeon’s body, leaving her heart racing and her thoughts in disarray. She didn’t know if Yuqi felt the same, and the fear of rejection—or worse, of ruining their friendship—kept her from saying anything.

One afternoon, during a break in rehearsals, Soyeon found herself sitting with Yuqi in the practice room. The other members had gone off to get food, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet space. Yuqi was lying on the floor, her head resting on Soyeon’s lap, scrolling through her phone with a lazy smile.

“Unnie,” Yuqi said suddenly, looking up at Soyeon with those bright, inquisitive eyes. “What’s been on your mind lately? You’ve seemed… distant.”

Soyeon hesitated, her fingers gently brushing through Yuqi’s hair. It was a simple question, but the answer was anything but simple. How could she explain the tangled mess of emotions she was dealing with? The anger, the confusion, the fear—it all felt too big to put into words.

“I’ve just been thinking about the album,” Soyeon finally said, her voice careful. “There’s a lot riding on it, you know?”

Yuqi nodded, her gaze softening. “Yeah, but you always handle pressure well. This feels like… More.”

Soyeon swallowed, her chest tightening. “I guess I’m just frustrated. I’m writing a song about rejecting other people’s expectations, but I’m still struggling with my own.”

Yuqi shifted slightly, her expression thoughtful. She knew, they all knew , how Soyeon had always struggled with her confidence in herself. “You mean the stuff people say about the way you look?”

“Yeah… Among other things.” Soyeon sighed, her hand stilling in Yuqi’s hair. “I hate that I care so much. I hate that I feel like I have to change myself just to fit into this mold that doesn’t even make sense to me.”

Yuqi reached up, taking Soyeon’s hand in hers. “You’re perfect just the way you are, unnie. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot.”

The sincerity in Yuqi’s voice made Soyeon’s heart clench. She wanted to believe those words, wanted to hold on to them like a lifeline. But the doubts still lingered, gnawing at her from the inside.

The success of Nxde had given Soyeon a fleeting sense of satisfaction. The song resonated with so many people, and for a moment, it seemed like she had won a small victory in her ongoing battle with society’s expectations. But the reality was more complicated. The feelings that had always lingered beneath the surface—those unsettling doubts that who she was on the outside didn’t match who she was on the inside—never truly went away.

Work on their next album, I Feel , began almost immediately after Nxde had run its course. This time, the concept was a little lighter, a little brighter, with a focus on body positivity and self-love, and she hoped that maybe she could believe it too. Soyeon poured herself into the project, channeling her frustrations and fears into the music. The standout track, Queencard , became a cry for confidence and embracing one’s unique beauty. It was, without a doubt, their biggest hit yet—topping charts, winning awards, and solidifying (G)I-DLE’s place as one of the top girl groups.

But with each new success, Soyeon’s internal struggle only intensified.

She stood in front of the mirror one afternoon, scrutinizing her reflection. The makeup was flawless, as always. Her skin was smooth and glowing, her lips painted a soft pink, her eyes accentuated with dark eyeliner. She looked beautiful—by all conventional standards.

And yet, she hated it.

Soyeon leaned closer to the mirror, her fingers brushing against the sleek line of her jaw.

Queencard was a message she wanted to believe in, one she knew was important to share with the world. But every time she looked at herself, every time she saw the delicate features, the short, dainty body, she felt like a fraud. How could she preach self-love and acceptance when she couldn’t even embrace her own appearance?

The irony was suffocating.

Her eyes drifted to the makeup table, where a collection of products lay scattered—foundations, lipsticks, brushes. They felt like chains. Each layer of makeup only added to the weight she carried, the pressure to fit into a mold that wasn’t truly hers.

Why can’t I just be taller? Soyeon thought, a pang of envy surging through her. Why can’t I be stronger? Why can’t I…

She didn’t finish the thought. The words stuck in her throat, too painful to voice, even in the privacy of her own mind.

In the months that followed, Soyeon found herself increasingly drawn to exercise. It started as a way to cope with the stress of their grueling schedule, but it quickly became something more. She liked the way she felt after a workout—stronger, more in control. There was something liberating about pushing her body to its limits, about sweating through the discomfort and emerging on the other side, exhausted but more confident.

One day, after an intense session at the gym, Soyeon caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was wearing a loose t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her face was flushed, free of makeup, and she was drenched in sweat. For a moment, she didn’t recognize herself.

She almost looked… Boyish. Masculine.

The realization hit her like a shockwave, and she froze, staring at her reflection. The usual discomfort, the gnawing dissatisfaction, wasn’t there. Instead, there was a strange, unfamiliar sense of peace—a feeling that something was beginning to click into place.

This… this feels right, she thought, her heart pounding in her chest. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was fighting against herself. She felt… Comfortable.

But as quickly as the feeling came, she pushed it away, burying it beneath the layers of denial that had become second nature to her. No, she told herself, her jaw tightening. I can’t… I shouldn’t…

She turned away from the mirror, grabbing her towel and wiping the sweat from her face. There was no time for this kind of self-indulgence. She had a job to do, an image to maintain. Whatever it was that she felt—whatever this strange, unsettling comfort was—it had no place in her life.

Not now. Not ever.

The dynamic between Soyeon and Yuqi had continued to evolve, their friendship deepening with every passing day. Yuqi was always there, a constant presence by Soyeon’s side, her laughter and warmth a welcome relief from the turmoil that brewed inside Soyeon. But there was something more now, something unspoken that lingered between them like a secret neither was ready to share.

One evening, after a long day of rehearsals, Yuqi and Soyeon sat together in the dorm’s living room, the other members having already gone to bed. The TV was on, but neither of them was paying much attention to it. Soyeon was lost in thought, her mind still replaying the moment in the gym, the brief glimpse of herself that had felt so… right.

“Hey,” Yuqi’s voice broke through her thoughts, a finger jabbing her in her side. Soyeon turned to see Yuqi watching her with a curious expression. “You’ve been really quiet lately. Is everything okay?”

Soyeon forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, I’m just… Tired. It’s been a lot lately.”

Yuqi tilted her head, looking much like the puppy dog they’d nicknamed her. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

“I know,” Soyeon replied, her heart aching at the sincerity in Yuqi’s voice. She wanted to confide in her, to share the confusing mess of emotions that had been building inside her. But how could she explain something she didn’t fully understand herself?

Yuqi reached out, placing a hand on Soyeon’s arm. “I’m serious, Soyeon. You don’t have to go through stuff alone. I’m here.”

There was a moment of silence, and Soyeon felt a lump form in her throat. She looked down at Yuqi’s hand, the warmth of her touch a comfort she didn’t know she needed.

Does she feel the same? Soyeon wondered, the question hanging in the air between them. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask. The fear of what that answer might be—whether it was yes or no—was paralyzing.

Instead, she simply nodded again, a soft “Thank you, Yuqi.” slipping from her lips.

Queencard was released to massive acclaim, becoming their most successful song yet. It was everywhere—on the radio, on social media, winning award after award. The message of self-love and confidence resonated with millions, and once again, Soyeon found herself at the center of the spotlight.

But the more praise the song received, the more Soyeon’s own internal dissonance grew. She would stand on stage, singing the lyrics she had written, urging others to look in the mirror and love what they saw. And yet, every time she looked in her own mirror, she saw only the flaws, the things she wished she could change.

Late at night, when the dorm was quiet and the lights were dim, Soyeon would stand in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection with a critical eye. She hated the way her makeup accentuated her features, making her look even more delicate and feminine. She hated her short stature, her dainty frame that never felt strong enough, tall enough, right enough.

Why can’t I look the way I feel? she thought, her fingers brushing against the curve of her cheek. 

Exercise became more than just a hobby—it became an obsession. She spent hours at the gym, pushing her body harder and harder, chasing a version of herself that felt more authentic, more real. 

But as soon as she left the gym, as soon as she had to step back into the role of Soyeon, leader of (G)I-DLE, the mask came back on, and the discomfort returned with a vengeance.

And through it all, there was Yuqi.

Yuqi, who always seemed to be there when Soyeon needed her most, who understood her in ways no one else did. There were moments—brief, fleeting moments—when Soyeon felt something shift between them, when Yuqi’s gaze lingered a little too long, when her touch felt a little too intimate. But just as quickly as those moments came, Soyeon would pull back, retreating into the safety of denial.

I can’t, she would tell herself, over and over again. I can’t do this. I can’t be this.

But the truth was, she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it all bottled up.

The announcement of (G)I-DLE’s first English album, Heat, had stirred excitement within the group. It was a significant milestone—an opportunity to reach a broader audience. But for Soyeon, the process was strangely different this time.

For the first time, she wasn’t the primary songwriter. She wasn’t a songwriter at all.

The company had decided that collaborating with international producers and songwriters would bring a fresh perspective to their music, something that could resonate more strongly with Western listeners. Soyeon, known for her creative control over (G)I-DLE’s sound, reluctantly agreed to step back. It wasn’t easy—letting go of that creative freedom—but part of her was also relieved. It meant more time away from the pressure of writing, more time to focus on herself.

And more time to dwell.

The extra time on her hands brought Soyeon back to the gym, a place that had become her sanctuary. She’d even picked up boxing as a hobby. The grueling workouts were a way to clear her mind, to channel her frustration into something physical and tangible. She liked the changes she saw in the mirror—her arms, stomach, and legs were more toned, her posture more confident. The added strength gave her a sense of control over her body that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

But the discomfort remained.

Soyeon had cut her hair again, this time into a shorter, edgier wolf cut. The style wasn’t exactly masculine or feminine, and it made her feel a little more at ease in her skin. The sharp lines of the cut contrasted with her soft features, creating a balance that felt more her.

Each time she took a small step toward embracing this other side of herself—whether it was through the style of her hair, her workout routine, or the clothes she chose—it felt like a victory, however small. But Soyeon didn’t let herself dwell on it too much. If she thought about it for too long, the fear and confusion would creep in, and she wasn’t ready to face that yet.

Yuqi had been spending more time with Soyeon lately, a development that both thrilled and terrified her. It had been clear for some time that their bond was different from what she shared with the other members, but neither had dared to make the first move. The fear of ruining what they had—whatever it was—had kept them both cautious, careful.

But with the reduced workload, there were fewer distractions to hide behind. And Yuqi, always bold in her own way, finally decided to take a chance.

One evening, after another long day of rehearsals, Yuqi approached Soyeon as she was getting ready to leave the practice room.

“Hey, Soyeon,” Yuqi began, her tone casual but her eyes betraying her nervousness. “Do you want to grab dinner together? Just the two of us?”

Soyeon blinked, caught off guard by the request. They had eaten together countless times before, but this felt different—there was a weight to Yuqi’s words that wasn’t usually there.

“Sure,” Soyeon replied, her heart skipping a beat. She tried to ignore the sudden rush of anxiety in her chest. “Where do you want to go?”

“There’s a new place that opened up nearby,” Yuqi suggested, her smile widening. “I’ve heard good things. Let’s check it out?”

Soyeon nodded, forcing a smile in return. “Sounds good.”

The restaurant was cozy, with dim lighting and a warm atmosphere that made it easy to relax. They ordered their food and settled into a comfortable rhythm of conversation, discussing everything from the album preparations to their favorite movies. Soyeon didn’t think there could possibly be an hour's worth of things to say about Transformers, but apparently, there was. She didn’t mind, though. The way Yuqi beamed when she spoke about it was all that mattered

“So, how are you really doing?” Yuqi asked after a lull in the conversation, her tone gentle but probing.

Soyeon hesitated, unsure of how to respond. She knew Yuqi had noticed the shifts in her mood, the way she seemed to fluctuate between feeling happy and confident one day, and withdrawn and subdued the next. But she wasn’t sure she could explain it, especially not when she didn’t fully understand it herself.

“I’m… Okay.” Soyeon said slowly, her eyes dropping to her plate. 

Yuqi reached across the table, her hand lightly brushing against Soyeon’s. “You know you don’t have to go through it alone, right?”

The warmth of Yuqi’s touch was both comforting and terrifying. Soyeon wanted to lean into it, to let herself be vulnerable, but something inside her resisted. She had spent so long burying her feelings, hiding them even from herself, that the idea of opening up felt like stepping into the unknown.

“I know,” Soyeon murmured, forcing herself to meet Yuqi’s gaze. “Thank you, Yuqi.”

Yuqi’s smile was soft, understanding. “Anytime, jagi.”

Their dates became a regular thing, a small slice of normalcy in their hectic lives. And for a while, things were good—better than they had been in a long time. Soyeon found herself smiling more, laughing more, feeling a sense of peace that had been elusive for so long.

But the more time they spent together, the more Yuqi began to notice the patterns in Soyeon’s behavior. She saw how Soyeon would go through stretches of time where she was happy and confident, embracing her feminine side with ease. But then there were other times—equally long stretches—where Soyeon would withdraw, dressing in more tomboyish clothes, her demeanor more subdued.

It was subtle, but Yuqi had always been good at reading people, especially Soyeon.

One evening, after another date that ended with them walking back to the dorm together, Yuqi pulled Minnie and Miyeon aside for a private conversation. They gathered in Minnie’s room, the others knowing it was serious when the younger closed the door to keep their voices from carrying.

“I’m worried about Soyeon,” Yuqi admitted, her expression serious. “Have you guys noticed anything… off with her lately?”

Minnie frowned, glancing at Miyeon. “Off how?”

Yuqi hesitated, unsure of how to put her observations into words. “I don’t know… it’s like she’s not herself sometimes. Like, one minute she’s totally fine, and the next she’s really distant. I don’t think she’s telling us everything.”

Miyeon’s brow furrowed in concern. “Do you think she’s okay?”

“I don’t know,” Yuqi admitted, frustration creeping into her voice. “I want to help her, but she won’t let me in.”

Unbeknownst to them, Soyeon was passing by the room when she overheard snippets of their conversation. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. They were talking about her—dissecting her behavior, her moods, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Panic set in.

They’re noticing. Soyeon thought, her mind racing. I have to keep it together. I can’t let them see…

She backed away from the door, retreating to her own room, where she shut the door behind her and leaned against it, trying to steady her breathing.

I can’t do this, she told herself, her hands trembling. I can’t let them see how messed up I am.

But deep down, she knew that she couldn’t keep running from it forever.

Promotions for Heat ended on a high note. The album had been a success, expanding (G)I-DLE's reach. But for Soyeon, the relief of completing the project was short-lived. Almost immediately, she threw herself into preparations for their next album, determined to regain the creative control she had relinquished during Heat .

This time, she was taking full control—every concept, every song, every music video. The title track was something she had been working on in secret for months, a song called Super Lady. It was an alluring, hyper-feminine anthem, dripping with confidence and power, a tribute to the very essence of womanhood.

It was everything she thought she should be.

And yet, it was nothing like her.

Soyeon pushed herself harder than ever before, pouring every ounce of her energy into crafting the perfect image, the perfect sound. She meticulously directed the music video, ensuring every shot exuded a sense of strength and femininity. The other members were in awe of her dedication, praising her vision and the powerful message of the song.

But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, Soyeon couldn’t shake the growing sense of unease that gnawed at her. She wanted to love Super Lady—to embrace it fully and believe in its message—but deep down, she knew she was clinging to something that wasn’t truly her. Not all the time, anyway.

As the album began to take shape, Soyeon found herself wearing thin. The facade she had maintained for years was beginning to crumble under the weight of her own expectations. The long hours, the pressure to be perfect, the constant battle between her public image and private self—it was all becoming too much.

Yuqi, ever perceptive, was the first to notice. She had always been attuned to Soyeon’s moods, but now there was something different—an edge to her exhaustion that hadn’t been there before. She could see the strain in Soyeon’s eyes, the way she carried herself, the forced smiles that never quite reached her eyes.

Even Minnie and Miyeon began to pick up on it. Soyeon had always been the driving force behind (G)I-DLE’s music, but now it seemed like she was driving herself into the ground. Concerned, the three of them quietly took on some of the songwriting and production work, hoping to lighten her load without making it too obvious.

But Soyeon noticed. She noticed everything.

They’re trying to help, she thought, a pang of guilt twisting in her chest. But I don’t need help. I need to keep going. I need to prove…

Prove what? That she could do it all on her own? That she wasn’t falling apart? That there was nothing wrong with her?

The denial and suppression became her constant companions. She buried herself deeper in her work, ignoring the growing anxiety that churned inside her. The only moments of peace she found were late at night, when she was alone in her room, free to dress and behave like herself. She would pull on a baggy hoodie and sweatpants and just be . No makeup, no carefully crafted persona, just Soyeon—raw and unfiltered.

But those moments were fleeting, and soon enough, she was back in the studio, putting on the mask once more.

It wasn’t until one night, after an exhausting day of filming the music video for Super Lady, that everything came crashing down.

Soyeon had stayed behind in the practice room, going over the choreography one last time. Her muscles ached, and her mind was foggy with exhaustion, but she pushed through, determined to get it perfect. As she moved through the steps, her reflection in the mirror caught her eye—a vision of confidence, poise, and femininity.

But it didn’t feel like her.

The disconnect hit her like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. The walls of the practice room seemed to close in around her, the pressure mounting until it felt like she might explode.

Before she realized what she was doing, she was on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She wanted to scream, to tear off the costume she was wearing, to run away from everything.

But she couldn’t. She was trapped in her own body, in her own mind.

Yuqi found her like that, huddled on the floor, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Soyeon!” Yuqi’s voice was filled with alarm as she rushed to her side, kneeling beside her and placing a gentle hand on her back. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Soyeon couldn’t speak. The words were trapped in her throat, tangled up with the tears she had been holding back for so long. All she could do was shake her head, her fingers digging into the clothes she wore as if trying to claw her way out.

Yuqi didn’t press her. She simply sat there, rubbing soothing circles on Soyeon’s back, her presence a comforting anchor in the storm of Soyeon’s emotions.

After what felt like an eternity, Soyeon finally managed to find her voice, though it was barely more than a whisper.

“I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she choked out, her voice trembling. “I feel like… like I’m losing myself. I don’t know who I am anymore, Yuqi. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be.”

Yuqi’s heart ached at the raw vulnerability in Soyeon’s voice. She had always admired Soyeon’s strength, her unwavering determination, but now she realized just how much pressure Soyeon had been under, how much she had been holding back.

“Soyeon, you don’t have to be anything other than who you are,” Yuqi said softly, her hand gently cupping Soyeon’s cheek, guiding her to look up. “You don’t have to fit into any mold, or be what everyone else expects you to be. It’s okay to be yourself, whatever that means.”

Soyeon’s eyes brimmed with tears as she met Yuqi’s gaze. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she had been hiding, but the words were too big, too heavy. Yet, for the first time, she found herself inching closer to the truth that had been buried deep within her.

“What if…,” Soyeon hesitated, her voice barely audible. “What if I don’t even know who that is? What if I don’t want to be what everyone thinks I am?”

Yuqi’s gaze softened, her hand still resting on Soyeon’s cheek, her thumb tracing gentle circles. “Then you don’t have to be. You can be whoever you want to be, Soyeon. There’s no rule that says you have to fit into any box.”

Soyeon swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. The words she had been avoiding for so long were on the tip of her tongue, terrifying and liberating all at once.

“Yuqi, I…” Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to continue. “Sometimes… I don’t feel like… Like I’m the person everyone sees. Sometimes, I don’t feel like… a woman. I don’t feel like anything. Sometimes, I feel… I don’t know… Like I’m something else, somewhere in between, and I don’t know what to do.”

Yuqi’s heart squeezed at Soyeon’s confession, the weight of her words heavy with years of repression and confusion. She had always sensed there was something Soyeon was holding back, something deeper than the stress of their work. Now, she understood.

“It’s okay to feel that way,” Yuqi said softly, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s okay to not have all the answers right now. But you don’t have to go through this alone, Soyeon. I’m here for you, we all are, no matter what.”

Soyeon’s tears flowed freely now, her defenses crumbling under the warmth and understanding in Yuqi’s eyes. “I’m so scared, Yuqi,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m scared of what it means… of what I might lose if I let myself be… whoever this is.”

Yuqi pulled Soyeon into a tight embrace, holding her as if she could shield her from all the fear and uncertainty. “You won’t lose me,” she whispered into Soyeon’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere. And the others won’t either. We love you for who you are, Soyeon—every part of you, even the parts you’re still figuring out.”

Soyeon clung to Yuqi, the relief of finally voicing her deepest fears and desires washing over her like a wave. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel so alone.

When Two was finally released, Soyeon was a bundle of nerves. She had poured so much of herself into it, desperate to prove that she was still in control, still the same Soyeon who had led (G)I-DLE to success time and time again. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

Super Lady was everything she had tried to embody—strong, feminine, powerful—but it didn’t feel like her. No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, the song was a mask, a role she was playing, and it was starting to suffocate her.

But when the first reviews and fan reactions started to come in, something unexpected happened.

The song that resonated the most with listeners wasn’t Super Lady. It was a track called Fate, a quirky, imaginative song that Soyeon had written on a whim. It was meant to sound like an opening of the animes that Soyeon loved so much, playful and whimsical, a complete departure from the polished, hyper-feminine image of Super Lady.

And fans loved it.

The response was overwhelming, with Fate quickly becoming the most popular song on the album. Fans praised its unique sound, its creativity, and most of all, how much it felt like Soyeon .

Soyeon couldn’t believe it. The song she had written almost as an afterthought, the one that felt truest to herself, was the one that resonated the most. It was as if the world was telling her what she had been too afraid to admit to herself.

The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As the days passed and the success of Fate continued to grow, Soyeon felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time—a sense of relief, of freedom. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t trying to be something she wasn’t. She was just Soyeon.

And it was enough.

They hadn’t realized how heavy the burden had been until it was lifted, how exhausting it had been to try and be someone they weren’t. It was liberating, almost exhilarating, to see that the song that resonated with fans the most was the one that felt more like them.

Soyeon had started to experiment more quietly, letting themselves explore a side of them they had buried for years. It was subtle at first—an internal shift, a quiet acknowledgment of something that had always been there but never fully embraced. They allowed themselves to think of themself in different terms, neutral terms, if only in their own mind.

It was terrifying and thrilling all at once, this tentative step toward something more authentic. But it was also comforting, like slipping into a pair of well-worn shoes that had been hidden in the back of a closet for far too long.

Yuqi was there through it all. Despite her own hectic schedule with the release of her solo album, Yuq1, she always made time for Soyeon. She would show up at her apartment late at night after a long day of promotions, a bag of takeout in hand, and plop down on the couch next to them, offering a quiet smile and a warm presence that Soyeon had come to rely on.

With Yuqi, Soyeon felt safe. Safe enough to dress in a way that felt more comfortable, more them. They began to wear looser, more androgynous clothes around her—hoodies, sweatpants, sometimes even button-ups that leaned more masculine. Yuqi never batted an eye, never made them feel like they were doing anything out of the ordinary. She would just smile that easy, reassuring smile of hers, and Soyeon would feel the knots in their chest loosen, even if just for a moment.

Sometimes, when they saw the others, Soyeon would find themselves testing the waters a bit more, being openly themself around the other members. Miyeon, Minnie, and Shuhua noticed but never commented, which was a relief in itself. They seemed to accept it without question, treating Soyeon with the same warmth and camaraderie as always.

Soyeon began to feel lighter, like the weight they had been carrying for years was slowly lifting, bit by bit. They still had a long way to go, still had moments of doubt and fear, but the cracks in their facade were finally starting to heal, replaced by something more real, more honest.

One evening, as the two of them were lounging in the living room, Yuqi scrolling through her phone while Soyeon absentmindedly doodled in a notebook, Yuqi looked up and broke the comfortable silence.

“You know, you seem a lot happier these days,” Yuqi said, her tone casual but her eyes attentive, watching Soyeon’s reaction.

Soyeon paused, their pencil stilling on the page. They looked up at Yuqi, caught off guard by the observation but also grateful for her insight.

“Do I?” Soyeon asked, their voice soft.

Yuqi nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yeah. It’s like you’re more… At ease with yourself. Like you’re not trying so hard to be something you’re not.”

Soyeon didn’t know how to respond at first. The words touched something deep inside them, a validation they hadn’t realized they were longing for. They felt a warmth spread through their chest, a mixture of relief and gratitude.

“I think… I think I’m starting to figure things out,” Soyeon said quietly, their gaze dropping back to their notebook. “It’s still… confusing. And scary. But I don’t feel so lost anymore. At least, not all the time.”

Yuqi reached over and placed her hand gently on Soyeon’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” she said, her voice filled with a quiet certainty. “Take it one step at a time. And remember, I’m here with you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Soyeon squeezed her hand back, feeling a lump rise in their throat. They looked up at Yuqi, meeting her gaze, and in that moment, they felt something shift—a sense of acceptance, not just from Yuqi, but from themselves as well.

“Thank you,” Soyeon whispered, their voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Yuqi’s smile widened, her eyes shining with warmth. “You’d be just fine. But I’m glad I get to be here with you.”

Although from afar, Soyeon had watched as Soojin found her own success, From her first solo album, Agassy, to her first comeback, Rizz. It was a bold, confident project. It showcased her unique style and voice, focusing largely on dance, which had always been Soojin’s first love. Though they hadn’t spoken since her departure from (G)I-DLE, Soyeon couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride when they saw Soojin thriving, embracing her own path.

We’ve both come so far, Soyeon thought one day, as they scrolled through an article praising Soojin’s latest performance. We’re both figuring out who we are, in our own ways.

Soyeon wasn’t sure if they would ever reconnect with Soojin, but they were happy to see her doing well, happy to see her rising up and embracing herself fully.

As Soyeon continued to work on the next album, they found that the pressure they had always placed on themselves was starting to ease. They no longer felt the need to prove anything to anyone, least of all themselves. They were learning to be more gentle with themselves, to take things one step at a time.

The album was shaping up to be something different, something that felt more true to who they were becoming. And for the first time in a long time, Soyeon felt a sense of excitement, of anticipation, rather than dread.

They were finally beginning to let go of the facade, to embrace the person they had always been but had been too afraid to acknowledge. And with Yuqi by their side, they knew they could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

They were no longer running from themselves. They were finally learning to stand still, to look in the mirror and see someone they could accept, someone they could love.

And that, more than anything, made them feel lighter.

The preparations for I Sway began with a sense of freedom that Soyeon had rarely felt before. After the whirlwind that was Two, they had decided to take a step back, to let go of some of the control that they had always clung to so tightly. They would write the title track, of course, but the rest of the album? That was for the others to fill in.

Minnie, Miyeon, and Yuqi had been excited at the prospect, throwing themselves into songwriting with enthusiasm. It was a chance for their voices to shine, to bring their own styles and emotions to the forefront. Soyeon watched them with a quiet sense of pride, grateful that the weight wasn’t all on their shoulders this time.

During the early stages of preparation, the feelings of femininity had returned for Soyeon. She embraced it fully, allowing herself to enjoy the simple pleasures of looking pretty, of feeling feminine. Her hair, now grown long and dyed a vibrant shade of orange, flowed down her back in soft waves. It was a striking color, bold and confident, much like the person she was becoming.

The others didn’t bat an eye at the shift. Shuhua, ever the supportive maknae, would often tell Soyeon how pretty she looked, her compliments always genuine and full of warmth. “You’re like a fairy with that hair,” Shuhua said one day, her eyes sparkling with admiration as she ran her fingers through Soyeon’s vibrant locks.

Yuqi was just as supportive, her own smiles and compliments never far behind. “I love this look on you,” Yuqi said one afternoon, catching Soyeon by the arm as they walked past each other in the hallway. “It suits you so well.”

Even Miyeon and Minnie got in on the fun, dragging Soyeon out for shopping trips whenever they had a free day. The two of them would fawn over Soyeon, pulling out clothes and accessories, eager to see her try on different outfits. They’d laugh and joke, but beneath it all was a genuine affection, a love that made Soyeon feel seen and accepted, no matter how she chose to present herself.

The album came together smoothly, each member’s contributions blending into a cohesive whole that felt both fresh and true to who they were as a group. I Sway was a celebration of their growth, both as artists and as individuals, and when it was finally released, the success was immediate

But as the promotion cycle for I Sway came to an end and preparations for their tour began, Soyeon felt the familiar shift within them once again. The feelings of femininity began to ebb, replaced by a growing desire for something different, something more in the middle. They felt the need to shed the layers of femininity they had embraced, to step back into a space that felt more neutral, more like the other side of who they were.

Soyeon didn’t fight the change. They had learned by now that these shifts were natural, that they were a part of who they were. And so, with the support of the people they loved, they embraced it fully.

The first thing they did was cut their hair short again, allowing the once vibrant locks to fade into a lighter, peachy shade. The style was simple, a short bob, but with a soft edge that felt right. It was a reflection of where they were now, in this moment—a balance between masculine and feminine, strong yet gentle.

Soyeon found comfort in their new look, and the others were just as accepting as they had been before. Miyeon still invited them out to shop, though the choices were more relaxed, leaning into the androgynous vibe that Soyeon preferred during these times. Shuhua continued to shower them with compliments, her admiration never waning.

Yuqi, in her typical playful manner, began to call them oppa on occasion. The first time it happened, Soyeon felt a flush of warmth spread through them, a shy smile tugging at their lips. “You look so handsome today, oppa,” Yuqi had said one morning, her voice teasing but affectionate. It was a small thing, but the validation made Soyeon’s heart skip a beat, the acknowledgement feeling both thrilling and right.

The moment came when Soyeon knew they couldn’t keep it to themselves any longer. The constant, unwavering support of the others had given them the strength they needed, and it was time to share what they had been grappling with for so long.

One evening, as they sat together, the atmosphere relaxed after a long day of practice, Soyeon took a deep breath. Yuqi was beside them, Minnie and Miyeon opposite to them on Minnie’s old couch with Shuhua perched on the armrest, all of them unwinding with their phones or chatting quietly.

“I need to tell you all something,” Soyeon said, their voice steady but carrying the weight of what they were about to say. The room fell silent as the others turned their attention to them, curiosity and concern in their eyes.

Soyeon looked at each of them in turn, taking in their expressions, the support they knew was there. “I’ve been… Struggling with something for a long time,” they began, their hands fidgeting slightly in their lap. “And I think it’s time I finally say it out loud.”

Yuqi reached out, her hand resting on Soyeon’s knee in a silent show of support. Soyeon glanced at her, drawing strength from the calm encouragement in her gaze.

“I’m… I’m gender fluid,” Soyeon continued, the words feeling both terrifying and liberating as they left their mouth. “There are times when I feel very feminine, and there are times when I don’t, and it’s been really confusing, trying to figure out who I am in all of this.”

There was a terrifying pause as the others processed what Soyeon had said, and for a split second, they wondered if this had been a mistake. Finally, Miyeon spoke, her voice soft but firm. “Soyeon, we love you no matter what. It doesn’t matter how you feel or how you present yourself—we’re here for you, always.”

Minnie nodded in agreement, her expression gentle. “You’ve always supported us, no matter what. We’re here to do the same for you. This doesn’t change how much we love you.”

Shuhua also leaned forward, a wide grin on her face. “You’re still our leader, still our Soyeon!”

Soyeon felt tears prick at the corners of their eyes, overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and acceptance. They had feared this moment for so long, afraid of what it might mean, but now that it was here, all they felt was relief.

Yuqi squeezed their knee again, her smile soft and full of understanding. “You’re so brave, Soyeon. Thank you for telling us. I’m so proud of you.”

Soyeon looked at them all, their heart swelling with gratitude, with love. They had never felt so seen, so understood, as they did in that moment.

“Thank you,” they whispered, their voice thick with emotion. “Thank you all for being here for me.”

As the night wore on, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, but the atmosphere remained warm, comforting. Soyeon felt lighter than they had in years, a sense of peace settling over them that they hadn’t thought possible.

They knew the journey wasn’t over—there would still be challenges, still be moments of doubt and confusion. But they also knew that they weren’t alone, that they had the support of the people they loved most.

And for the first time in a long time, Soyeon felt like they were exactly where they were meant to be.

The scissors felt almost too heavy in Soyeon’s hands, but the weight was comforting, a reminder of the significance of what they were about to do. They stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the light casting a soft glow over their features. They liked their short bob hairstyle, but this time, something inside them pushed for more—more freedom, more authenticity, more them.

They took a deep breath, steadying themselves, and began to cut. Each snip was deliberate, almost meditative, as they watched locks of faded peach fall to the floor. The style they envisioned was a little shorter than before, ever before, cropped more closely to their head, undeniably a little bit boyish. The closer they got to the final look, the lighter they felt, the weight of expectations falling away with each strand.

When they finished, Soyeon set the scissors down and took a step back, examining their reflection. What stared back at them was someone they had been waiting to see for years—someone who felt real, true, and confident. Their hair framed their face in a way that felt just right. It was the most neutral they’d ever looked, and for the first time in a long time, they felt no discomfort, no nagging doubts.

Soyeon took out their phone, hesitating for just a moment before opening Instagram. How long had it been since they’d gone live? Tonight, they weren’t just showing a new hairstyle—they were showing themselves, as they were, without pretense.

The live began, the familiar interface popping up as neverlands quickly joined. Soyeon smiled at the screen, a genuine, unguarded smile, and greeted everyone with a wave.

They leaned closer to the camera, letting the viewers get a better look at the cropped hair. A bare face, no filters—just them, as they were. The comments started flooding in, a mix of reactions as fans processed the change.

“OMG, you look amazing!”
“You look so boyfriend, Soyeon oppa!”
“😍😍😍”

The comments made Soyeon’s heart swell with happiness. They hadn’t been sure how fans would react, but seeing the positive responses, the acceptance of this more neutral side of them, filled them with a warmth that was almost overwhelming.

As they continued to read the comments, sang a few songs, and talked about their songwriting process, a notification popped up that Yuqi had requested to join the live. 

Sure enough, within seconds, Yuqi’s playful face appeared on the screen, her eyes wide with exaggerated surprise. They spent the next few minutes playing with filters, Yuqi’s infectious energy making Soyeon feel even lighter, even more confident and at ease. The fans loved it, their comments flying by way too fast to read, but the tone was overwhelmingly positive.

For a moment, Soyeon let themselves imagine what it might be like to come out publicly—to share this part of themselves with the world. But as quickly as the thought came, they let it go. They weren’t ready for that step yet, and that was okay. They had made peace with who they were, with their fluidity, and that was what mattered most.

As the live began to wind down, Soyeon felt a deep sense of contentment. They had shown the world a piece of their true self tonight, and it had been met with acceptance, with love. That was more than they had ever hoped for.

Yuqi gave a dramatic pout, leaning into the frame, another ridiculous filter making it even more difficult to take the puppy serously. “Are you saying goodbye already? We were just getting started!”

Soyeon chuckled, shaking their head. “You take over then! I’m going to bed.”

“But it’s only ten!”

A laugh escaped their lips before they were saying goodbye. The live ended, the screen fading to black as they set their phone down on the table. For a moment, they just sat there, staring at their reflection again, taking in the person they had become.

The journey wasn’t over—Soyeon knew that. There would still be ups and downs, still moments of doubt and confusion. But for the first time, they felt like they were on the right path, like they were finally allowing themselves to be who they were meant to be.

With Yuqi by their side, and the support of the others, Soyeon knew they could face whatever came next. They didn’t know if they would ever come out to the public, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were happy, that they felt like themselves, and that they were surrounded by people who loved them for exactly who they were.

And that was enough.

Fin.