Hey everyone i found this by using wayback archive. https://web.archive.org/web/20171202061724/http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/11915 73/3/gold-dust-twice-namo-saida-squintfor2yeon-squintforchaeyu It could be that there are some mistakes and some ́f ́s missing. I couldnt directly copy the text so i had to write some stuff over so thats why. Written by Stormageddon101 Total word count: 85396 Part 1:26497 Part 2:40594 Part zero:18191 Part one “Know me? No, you don’t even know me. You’re so sweet to try, A girl like you is just irresistible.” Whistle For The Choir – The Fratellis. Jeongyeon nurses her drink slowly, weaving in and out of the drunken masses that have overtaken the Im household, following her usual routine. There’s something about being in this house that still sends an uncomfortable shiver down her spine, but she’s the soccer team’s Vice Captain, and in lieu of their actual leader, (Momo never shows at parties), it’s her responsibility to keep an eye on the girls – making sure they stay within their limits, and that they don’t embarrass themselves or their team. Giving poor Kim Dahyun, their left midfielder (who is currently on the receiving end of a flirt storm at the hands of the infamous Minatozaki Sana) a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, Jeongyeon decides it’s about time to get some air, forgetting that the back patio will most likely be occupied by BamBam and his mob of potheads. Figuring she could do with a bit of a stress-reliever herself, Jeongyeon dumps her cup into the hands of a passing partygoer, heading in the direction of the back door. However, a hand wraps around her forearm from behind, tugging insistently, stopping Jeongyeon in her tracks. It’s Jackson. “We’ve got a situation.” Jackson utters, hushed yet urgent. Jeongyeon brushes his hand off, getting all too used to this repetitive cycle, ́Tell Nayeon to sort herself out this time, its not my problem anymore. The blonde boy latches onto her arm again this time when she moves to walk away, “It’s really bad this time, Jeong – she won’t listen to us!” Jeongyeon scoffs, but doesn’t resist this time, “What makes you think she listens to me?” “Please,” Jackson says, beginning to lead her back through the house, towards the grand staircase, “just give it a try. I’m all out of options.” Jeongyeon doesn’t respond then, already resigned to the situation, brow furrowing as Jisoo and Jennie pass them on the stairs, the two cheerleaders clapping their hands noisily, shouting, “PARTY’S OVER, EVERYONE OUT!” The news is met with groans from the rowdy guests, and Jeongyeon watches the two in action for a moment before returning her focus to Jackson, “How many people have seen her?” Jackson points to a bathroom at the end of the hallway as they ascend the final few steps, “Just Jennie and Jisoo, they didn’t know what to do so they called me and Mark. He’s still in there with her now; God alone knows if he’s still alive. I told the girls to get rid of the guests, couldn’t have any of the squad seeing her like this.” Jeongyeon sighs, messing a hand through her short hair, “You did the right thing,” they approach the bathroom, from within which she can hear Nayeon’s voice snapping away, presumably at poor Mark, “this has to ing stop.” She barges into the bathroom, Jackson keeping well back. Mark has his back to her, facing Nayeon, his arms out in front of himself like he’s simultaneously trying to placate her and protect himself. “Nayeon, it’s okay, they’re all leaving,” he takes a step forward, reaching a hand out to her, but Nayeon shoves him back harshly. “Don’t ing touch me!” Nayeon goes to shove him again, but Jeongyeon gently pulls Mark aside, taking his place. “Nayeon, chill,” Jeongyeon utters, keeping her distance as Mark scurries to Jackson’s side, and she takes a good look at the dark haired girl – the tremor to her hands, her dilated pupils, “, how high are you?” “I’m fine,” Nayeon sighs then, appearing to calm slightly, turning her gaze on the two boys, “I’d be better if they got out.” Jeongyeon glances over her shoulder, “Get her a drink – water, preferably, not alcohol.” Jackson and Mark rush from the room quickly, leaving the pair alone. She watches then as Nayeon flops down, sitting with her back against the bathtub. “You’re a mess.” Jeongyeon says through gritted teeth, any pretences of handling Nayeon delicately now long since gone. Nayeon’s lips spread into a smile, sadistic almost, as she slurs, “What’s new?” “Is this some kind of a joke to you?” Jeongyeon grinds out, clenching her fists at her side, sick of having to watch the girl she used to care so much for hit that self-destruct button over and over and over. Nayeon doesn’t answer verbally, only pins Jeongyeon down with a fiery gaze, and it says enough. Jeongyeon kneels then, sighing as she does so, “I don’t get you, Nayeon, I don’t get this. I don’t know what the hell screwed you up so bad, but this is not the answer.” The narrowed gaze holds, until a small, ironic smirk breaks out, “Maybe it was you.” Jeongyeon swallows thickly; she and Nayeon haven’t really had a proper conversation in the past year, not one that wasn’t her trying to get the cheer captain to sober up and having it thrown back in her face, and so they haven’t ever really spoken about what they were – almost were – and honestly, from the amount of heartache it caused, Jeongyeon would prefer to keep it that way. But Nayeon’s brought it up, testing her, and Jeongyeon’s not one to resist pushing back. “Please,” she scoffs, seeing a glass of water being slid along the tiled floor from the doorway, Jackson hurrying away afterwards, “you never let me get close enough to hurt you, and you were like this long before I showed up.” Nayeon’s always been a complete and utter mystery to Jeongyeon. Has the looks which should carry charm, but instead favours aloofness and snark. Has absolutely everything going for her, but still seems determined to screw it up nonetheless. Never happy, never satisfied, always seemingly fighting some kind of a battle, one she is always, always losing. Jeongyeon had once, stupidly, thought she was strong enough to help Nayeon, to save her. But no amount of love in the world can save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. She receives no response, Nayeon’s attention now captured by some undistinguishable spot on the ceiling, the trembling seemingly having spread to her whole body now. “Open your mouth.” This catches Nayeon’s attention, and she fixes Jeongyeon with a suspicious grimace, “And to think, I thought you and I were past all that.” Jeongyeon clenches her fist harder, so hard her skin is turning white around the knuckles. because restraining her temper is so damn difficult when it comes to Nayeon, (she’d try and smack some sense into the girl if she thought it would ever work.) “I don’t know what dodgy, back-alley pills you took, but they’re seriously fucking you up right now.” Jeongyeon reaches out but Nayeon pushes her hand away, “Let them,” her lips purse, “I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.” The irony doesn’t escape Jeongyeon, “Yeah, because you’re making that so clear right now.” “Just go away, Jeongyeon,” Nayeon knocks her head back against the tub, her lids closing to cover her eyes, “I don’t need you.” Pushing the glass to Nayeon’s side, Jeongyeon stands, “You’re right. I can’t help you. You are not my problem and I’m over getting involved in this ,” she rubs her eyes before pressing the heels of her palms into her brow, “I’m so ing tired of this,” she exhales then, exhausted and beyond done, “sober up, see a shrink, pet a puppy, I don’t care anymore – just do something before you die miserable, alone, and a lot sooner than you think.” She marches out of the room then, not even bothering to look back, sidestepping Mark and Jackson on her way. “Jeong–” “Leave her,” she calls out to the two boys as she reaches the staircase, “she’s someone else’s problem now.” She’s still in the bathroom when she wakes; back sore, neck aching from what she discovers to be an expensive throw cushion which has been stuffed between her head and the side of the bathtub – someone’s hasty attempt at trying to make her comfortable, presumably. Her eyes are sore, so much so that even having them open brings tears to the brim, let alone the bright stream of the sun blindingly bursting through the window panes. Her body is weighed down with exhaustion, and her head so numb it feels as though it does not even belong to her body – though this is far from a unique feeling for Im Nayeon. She grabs at the cushion and tosses it away carelessly, (it lands in the basin, knocking her toothbrush and a few bottles of lotion down into the bowl), relishing almost in the way her neck puts up a strained resistance as she stretches it. Once she’s managed to blink the unwarranted tears from her eyes, a few glimmers catch her attention – like sparkling diamonds scattered across the tiled floor. It’s a smashed glass, shards lying amongst a pool of water – a soggy pink scrap of paper similarly swims amid the liquid, a scrappy ‘get well soon’ note signed by J&M , (Jackson and Mark, Nayeon figures with a roll of her eyes). She grabs the waterlogged message and squishes it down in her palm until it is an indistinguishable pile of mush. Nayeon so hates false concern. She throws the balled up paper and it somewhat suitably lands on the toilet – the lid rather than the bowl, but it’s better than nothing. She feels her fingers twitch then, seeking out something, and Nayeon simply lets her head loll to the side, watching as her fingers saunter seemingly of their own accord towards the broken glass. There’s a hesitation, feeling a few shards out, before her thumb and forefinger press around a piece at random, lifting it away from the others and into her grasp. She attempts to inspect the shard before her aching eyes, but her vision’s a little blurred and so she gives up, sighing when she feels a sharp prick and red blood appears in her sight. She flicks the glass away and jams her finger into , disgusted by the bitter iron taste as she clumsily stumbles to her feet. Like a million bricks pressing down on her shoulders at once, Nayeon’s body urges to fall back to the floor, but she somehow manages to resist, blearily making her way over to the basin, avoiding the glass on the ground as an absent afterthought. Cursing her post-drug-fuelled brain for being even more of a mess than usual, Nayeon uses her free hand to scoop the throw cushion and the various objects out of the basin (and onto the floor) before running the tap, removing her wounded finger from to under the steady stream of water. Whilst the water acts as a natural resistant to the flow of blood, she blindly opens the cabinet before her, looking inside then to rummage around for some kind of aid. She finds a Mr Bump plaster which is at least ten years old, but doesn’t bother searching for any other alternative, taking it into her grasp and shutting the cabinet. She freezes when she sees her reflection. Somehow, despite a night spent mixing alcohol and various substances, (she can’t remember if it was of Jaebum’s ‘dose modified’ brand or from Rosé’s ‘don’t- ask-how-I-got-them-but-they’re- technically -legal’ variety, or perhaps even a potentially dangerous mix of both); Nayeon still appears vaguely collected in appearance. Pale, doll-like skin, matched with rosy red lips - Snow White, she thinks Jeongyeon might once have called her. She ́s never been unhappy with how she looks at first glance, even at a second. It’s when she meets her own eyes in the mirror that she feels sick to her stomach. It was perhaps some ironic, twisted trick of fate that decided to leave Nayeon as equally beautiful on the outside as she is screwed up on the inside. Shaking off what feels like a ridiculously melodramatic narrative for a Sunday morning, she places the plaster between her teeth, taking the wrapping off with only mild difficulty before she switches off the water, shakes her finger dry, and then secures the wound within Mr Bump’s safe hands. Vaguely, in the near-distance, she hears the hustle and bustle of working people, her housekeeper barking orders to the other maids. Nayeon takes a look around the room – if her own bathroom is this bad, she daren’t imagine what the rest of the house is like. Throwing a party always seems like a great idea in the rare, frustrating moments when her isolated brain screams out for some kind of meaningful interaction. But Nayeon’s never been the best at thinking , always remembering too late that she doesn’t care for any of these people, most of them don’t care for her, and there’s a damn good reason why she doesn’t want them near her, in her house. For a few fleeting moments, when the mansion is jam-packed with bodies, Nayeon forgets what occurred there, forgets what being alone there does to her head, but then having her world swarmed with people all too soon feels like having her soul invaded. That’s when she’d turned to Jaebum ... or Rosé ... Crap, perhaps it was Jinyoung this time? (No, surely he’s a little too squeaky clean for that.) Her thoughts are interrupted by a gentle knock at the already open door. She sees a hand, whichever maid it belongs to deciding to hide out of sight, allowing Nayeon to maintain some semblance of privacy. “Ms Im, your driver is ready to leave when you are. The kitchen staff has prepared you a breakfast for the road.” Nayeon sighs, taking another fleeting glance at her reflection, smoothing her hair down out of habit more than anything. She doesn’t look her best, but the hospital is one of the few places where people have seen her look worse, so she decides to forgo improving her appearance. (Nayeon, even on her worst day – which today is far from – can still miraculously look better than most people on their good days.) “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” “Do you know why I’ve called you here, Nayeon?” She lets out a sigh that isn’t intended to be subtle in the least bit, “You want to try out for the cheer team? Sorry, Sir, but try-outs finished a few months ago.” Principal Park Jin Young, affectionately known as JYP by his students, lets out a hearty laugh as he reclines in his chair, “You just crushed an old man’s dreams, Miss Nayeon,” he shakes his head then, resting his linked hands over his midriff, “I merely wanted to have a catch up, to see how you’re getting on with everything.” Nayeon crosses one leg over another, afraid to get comfortable in one of JYP’s office chairs, positioned opposite the man sat behind the desk. She keeps quiet for the moment – such meetings with the Principal are unfortunately not uncommon, and by now Nayeon’s taken to testing his patience, purely for some semblance of entertainment. The silence is maintained for a few prolonged moments, and JYP only smiles warmly in response. He wheels his chair closer to the desk, rummaging around in a drawer for a couple of seconds before producing two bottles, one yellow and the other brown. “Want a milkshake? I have banana or chocolate flavour.” He offers, holding the two bottles out for Nayeon to make her choice. She pauses, before waving her hand slightly, refusing the offer. JYP merely lets out a hum, turning the bottles to himself, “I think I’m going to have banana,” he muses after some deliberation, placing the brown bottle back into his drawer, “I’ll have the other as a treat after the staff meeting tonight.” He jabs a straw through the foil top of the banana bottle, and takes a long sip before returning his attention to Nayeon, kicking his feet up onto the desk as he asks, “I know you’d prefer not to be here, but it’s my duty to keep an eye on my students, even the ones who like to think they’re not vulnerable,” he takes another slurp whilst Nayeon’s features tighten into a mask of indifference, “I know you dislike talking about your ‘situation’, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I were to sit by and let potentially let you suffer in silence.” Nayeon’s response is abrupt and mechanical, “I’m fine, Sir.” JYP is unfazed, unsurprised by her answer as he swishes the milkshake around his bottle a couple of times, “And your father, how’s he?” Instinctively, her fingers wrap tightly around the arms of the chair, squeezing harshly, the wooden edges digging into her palms, “As can be expected.” The Principal nods, his eyes testing as he then asks, “And your mother?” Nayeon grits her teeth, anger suddenly trashing at her insides like a whip, “I don’t think this is any of your business, Sir .” JYP watches her for a quiet moment, before he acknowledhes the words with a nod, pushing back from the desk and standing, keeping his milkshake in hand, ́You ́re right ́, his deep voice utters softly, ́I shouldnt have asked ́. Whilst Nayeon’s temper hastily recoils in on itself, ashamed for unfurling so easily, she figures she can hardly blame JYP for pushing her – it is exactly what she had intended to do to him. “I want a simple answer, Nayeon, if you could,” JYP requests gently, walking steadily around the desk until he is stood before her, resting his lower back against the edge of the desk, one hand holding the milkshake bottle, the other twirling the straw around it, “since the last time we spoke ... is the way you’re feeling better or worse?” Nayeon shifts in place, uncomfortable, taking an unintended moment of self-reflection for which she resents JYP for entirely. For some reason, perhaps because she figures it cannot make much difference, she admits, “I keep expecting things to get better,” there’s some ambiguity to her answer, though she knows it’s not enough, “but I suppose that’s my own fault for setting myself up for such disappointment.” JYP gazes at her sympathetically, (something she abhors), in the way that only he can, being the single person in the universe who has read her file, who has some, distant understanding of why she is the way she is, and yet simultaneously doesn’t understand her at all. No one does, she favours it like this. She’s like an impressionist painting. Fragments of a person pieced together into something people call beauty. She’s universally adored, and prefers to keep it that way – it’s better to be loved from afar than to let people see her up close, to let them realise that she’s not art, she’s a distorted mess. “Sometimes,” he says after a minute, placing his near-fluorescent milkshake aside, “things can feel a little better, at least, if we have someone to talk to.” JYP reaches into his trouser pocket, before producing a small, rectangular piece of card, one he keeps to himself for the moment, “Occasionally, what we need is for someone else to reach into our heads, to take the mess and sort through it until we ourselves can see what needs to be fixed.” Nayeon seizes up as he reaches out his hand then, offering the card for her to take, “This is an old student of mine, she’s very good – she’s helped a few people I can name. I think you might benefit from arranging a meeting.” She doesn’t take the card, just glares him down, “I don’t need anyone to talk to.” JYP’s smile doesn’t waver as he slides the card in between her clenched fingers, though his voice turns more serious, stern even in contrast, “Nayeon, if you don’t call her, I’ll be forced to take matters into my own hands. There’s only so much I can do when you won’t help yourself until you leave me no choice. You can call her of your own admission, or, I can recommend for mandatory admittance.” He stands, “It’s your choice.” Nayeon seethes, the foreign object between her fingertips feeling somewhat like a death sentence. She’d always seen Park Jin Young as a fairly harmless man, but perhaps other people are not what they seem either. He’s never been so forthright, invasive even, and it makes Nayeon wonder who blabbed, (Yu Jeongyeon, probably, that .) She watches as JYP takes the office phone from its cradle, and holds it between them. “You, or me, Nayeon?” Feeling angry, spiteful tears stinging the back of her eyes, Nayeon snatches the phone from his grip in a last ditch attempt to have some kind of pride. She lifts the card, typing the phone number she sees, her stomach twisting as she reads: Doctor Gong Seungyeon, Psychological Therapist. She settles into the stiff hospital chair despondently. She’s far too used to the shape to find it uncomfortable anymore, and she uses the front of her boot to drag the nearest other chair closer, resting her feet upon it. Nayeon leans her head against the back of the seat, plugging her earphones in to drown out the repetitive bleeps of the medical machinery, closing her eyes as she prepares to take some rest. The occupier of the bed is asleep this time, which Nayeon figures is her fault for coming at an irregular stint, not keeping to her schedule. It doesn’t make much of a difference overall. She’s content (if she can even call it that) to sleep too, in what she has quickly decided is her favourite of the two hospitals she now has to frequent. This one is mundane, ordinary, and familiar. The other holds unfavourable connotations. The first time she’d seen the words ‘psychiatric hospital’ written across the entrance of the other white building, she’d been so close to telling her driver to turn around and hurtle the vehicle in the opposite direction. It’s far more clinical in a sense, suffocating almost in the way it makes her feel permanently admitted even though she’s only there for an hour a week, in some tiny office painted in a ‘friendly’ dull yellow, (what involuntarily she learned to be Seungyeon’s favourite colour). Seungyeon too is ́friendly ́ enough - doesnt force Nayeon to talk out-rightly, usually tricking Nayeon into sharing details via what is presented as unrelated small talk, With Nayeon only realising she ́s shared too much once it is too late. Seungyeon is good at her job, Nayeon admits resentfully. She stills maintains, to herself and to Seungyeon equally, that she is only there because she suspects that Park Jin Young isn’t a liar, and figures it’s better to attend out of a sense of ‘free will’. She’s met with Seungyeon a number of times now, they haven’t encroached upon dangerous territory, and it stills feels, safely, as though Seungyeon is far from being inside Nayeon’s head. No one has ever gotten close, and she doubts, despite her skills, that Seungyeon will be able to either. Going to school, talking to Seungyeon, is like pretending to be someone else, anyone else. Nayeon does a terribly good impression of a stranger. There’s a slight chill in the air, and Nayeon wraps her jacket around herself more closely. She doesn’t know how long she’s going to have to keep up this whole charade, of attending her sessions with Seungyeon as though she believes it’s going to help her get better. Especially now with Seungyeon suggesting she attends group sessions. Therapy’s a load of crap, Nayeon has always believed. People aren’t machines, you can’t just press ‘reset’ and have them working again good as new. That’s not how life works. It can’t be. She almost begins to fall asleep until she feels a gentle tap at her forearm, and a quiet murmur obscured behind the blare of music in her eardrums. Nayeon opens her eyes, pulling the earphones away, observing the nurse who stands beside her chair. “Hi, ” the nurse greets fondly, “I’m going to be waking him up soon so I can feed him.” Nayeon clears the sleep from and sits up properly, removing her feet from the opposite chair, no longer unnerved by the now familiar sets of tubes in the nurse’s hands. “I’ll get out of your way then.” She says, standing. The nurse sets her tray at the end of the bed, “You don’t have to. I’m sure he’d like to see you.” Nayeon only hesitates for a second before shaking her head, stuing her hands into her pockets, “I’ll be back on Sunday anyway.” The nurse only sighs in acceptance, but when Nayeon begins to walk away, she steps in her direction once more, concern upon her lips as she asks, “Are you getting enough sleep at the moment, Nayeon?” Nayeon doesn’t answer, side-stepping the nurse and leaving the room. She feels like she’s being watched even if the other attendees don’t really pay her much attention. Similarly, none of the strangers significantly pique Nayeon’s interest either. The only two worthy of any intrigue are the two sat opposite, slightly to the le. One is obnoxiously tall, the other terribly tiny in comparison. The smaller of the two girls appears pleasant at least, talking to the taller girl animatedly. The taller girl, with the long hair and the Bambi-like eyes, doesn’t talk once, doesn’t even move her lips, sometimes nodding along to what is being said to her, other times answering only in blinks. The room is adequately sized – not necessarily spacious but accommodates the circle of chairs centred within it enough for one to not feel entirely claustrophobic. Nayeon realises aer a minute that the ‘watched’ feeling is coming from Seungyeon, who is seated a quarter of a way around the circle to her right, pinning Nayeon with her gaze almost as though that’ll be enough to keep her there when Nayeon clearly would rather be sprinting from the room at full speed. Luckily, there’s a clock on the wall opposite to distract Nayeon, something she can turn her attention to if the hour doesn’t feel like it is passing fast enough. 5:04.The session is running late, Nayeon concludes as she chances a glance at Seungyeon who is seated patiently, not even watching the clock nor the watch on her wrist. Another minute or two pass, and then the door creaks open and it serves as a reminder of how badly Nayeon wants to leave. Footsteps follow, and then a sospoken albeit vaguely husky voice apologetically utters, “Sorry I’m late.” Nayeon doesn’t bother glancing up at the new arrival, just keeps her head down, studying her nails with faux-interest, preparing to count the seconds until the hour is over. Seungyeon speaks then, slight amusement to her tone as she replies, “As expected, ” and then, “take a seat, Momo.” Nayeon’s head snaps up so fast she swears she almost gives herself whiplash. Momo is an uncommon name; Nayeon knows of only one, thinking there is probably only one Momo in the entire locality. Nonetheless, in the second it takes her gaze to fall upon the person in question, she hopes and prays that it isn’t who she thinks it is. But, Nayeon has come to realise, screwing her over seems to be what makes the world turn around. She locks eyes with Hirai Momo and a million curse words fly across her mind in a flurry of anger and panic. Momo tilts her head slightly as she approaches the circle of seats, perhaps trying to place Nayeon, perhaps just intrigued by a new member of the group. Momo’s brow furrows, like she’s taking a moment to try and figure Nayeon out. Maybe, just maybe, Momo doesn’t recognise her. It wouldn’t be a complete shock, (if perhaps a slight blow to an already unbearably fragile ego). They’ve attended the same school for however many years, and yet, their paths have yet to cross significantly. Well, Momo is the soccer team captain and Nayeon’s squad are duty bound to cheer at their games, but there’s always been at least a whole grassy pitch between herself and Momo. Funnily enough, despite being the soccer captain, a position which would give anyone else near unequivocal popularity, the only thing that people seem to actually know about Hirai Momo is that she likes to keep to herself. The only people she socialises with are the soccer team and, according to Jeongyeon, even that is strictly limited to within practice hours. None of them consider her their friend – not from a lack of trying – and the reverse appears to be true also. (For the first time, Nayeon realises that she and Momo seem to have something in common). For a brief, fleeting moment, Nayeon really does hope that Momo doesn’t recognise her. But then she remembers that she’s Im Nayeon – Everyone recognises her. Momo shoots her a small, brief nod of acknowledgement as she takes her seat in the circle, opposite Nayeon. She doesn’t return it, quickly redirecting her line of sight in fact – the brief interaction having triggered her fight or flight instincts, and flight is looking like a really good option right now. The session gets underway almost like some kind of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, but luckily, Nayeon isn’t asked to awkwardly introduce herself. Seungyeon mentions her addition ohandedly, and the group seems to simply accept her presence with the odd shrug or tense smile – perhaps they’re used to people coming and going. She zones out when the people start talking – their personal narratives are exceptionally mundane and far from thrilling, so much so that Nayeon’s convinced that if she isn’t crazy already, then she soon will be. Momo’s presence, and the younger girl’s gaze consistently finding Nayeon every couple of minutes isn’t helping. Nayeon finally decides to start listening when she catches Seungyeon’s eye, the counsellor shooting her a look as if to say ‘pay attention, you’re here for a reason’. It is the turn of the small girl now. She’s sitting up in her seat excitedly, her feet swinging in the air as she begins to speak. “Well, I have some good news, ” her voice is calm, tentative almost in comparison to the wiggle of her feet – perhaps trying to contain her excitement, perhaps conflicted between two warring emotions, (Nayeon doesn’t particularly know or care), “I’m allowed to go home soon.” The news is met with a small round of applause, (she notices the tall girl finally cracking a smile), and she remembers fleetingly that this is a psychiatric hospital, and some of these patients must be full-time. “That’s great, Chaeyoung, ” Seungyeon says proudly, “and how are you feeling about that?” “I guess ... I’m excited and a little nervous. It’s been a while since-” Nayeon stops listening again at this point. It’s not her fault, her mind wanders, and she has little control over it. Unfortunately, her thoughts are preoccupied by Momo, and that alone is agitating. Momo’s a loner, sure, but she’s also, totally inadvertently, high ranking amongst the school’s social hierarchy, and thus with the utterance of a few words, Momo has the potential to bring Nayeon’s world crashing down around her. I f people find out Nayeon’s a mess, if she’s in a place like this, then that’s her done for. That power is held solely in Momo’s hands and, with absolutely no idea who the girl is in all reality, Momo’s a wildcard. She promptly starts paying attention again when the girl’s name is brought up. If she’s going to need to know how to handle this ‘Momo situation’ , she’s going to need all the context she can get. “So, Momo – anything to share today?” Seungyeon asks fondly, folding her hands over her lap as she shifts to view the blonde. There’s a small pause, in which Momo glances over to Nayeon for a split-second, before she meets Seungyeon’s gaze with a charm-filled smile, “No. Not today, ” she does, however, look to Chaeyoung at that point, “but I am really happy for you, Chaeng.” For a brief moment, Nayeon thinks about what Jeongyeon told her, and then wonders whether these are Momo’s friends. Momo doesn’t speak again for the rest of the session, and with Nayeon giving a solid ‘pass’ on her turn, the hour is up and it’s time to go. Before Nayeon can strategize any kind of game plan involving cornering or threatening Momo, Seungyeon calls for her attention, and it’s with a sigh that Nayeon watches Momo leave the room faster than anybody. “Good job today.” Seungyeon tells Nayeon as she starts stacking away some of the chairs. Nayeon raises an eyebrow, “But I didn’t do anything.” Seungyeon only shrugs, ́You came, and you stayed. Id say thats rather impressive actually. ́ Uncomfortable with the undeserved praise, Nayeon hitches her bag up on her shoulder, “Whatever. Just don’t expect me to do this whole ‘sharing is caring’ bull.” Seungyeon replies with an appeasing hum, as though she’s accepting Nayeon’s stance but thoroughly doesn’t believe it, and so Nayeon makes sure to roll her eyes where Seungyeon can see her before making an exit. Some of the group members, including Chaeyoung and the tall girl with the unpronounceable name, make their way up the stairs with some nurses. Nayeon walks alone through the corridors and out to the front doors. The meeting room had been a little stuffy so the fresh air makes a nice change, and so Nayeon embraces it as she texts her driver, requesting to be picked up as she leans back against the wall of the hospital. There’s a brick pillar ahead of her, blocking her from being seen by any random civilians who pass. It’s only when she slips her phone into her pocket that she notices the figure stood before her, back resting against the pillar. Momo. The blonde is watching Nayeon with an unreadable expression, not making a move to speak or to initiate conversation – the only thing she does, when their eyes meet, is slowly place a stick of gum into . Nayeon feels her temper beginning to bubble up – wondering if Momo is trying to play with her in some kind of way. It doesn’t take long for her to snap, “What do you want?” Momo only blinks, and it fuels Nayeon’s sudden anger, “taking a good look before you go tell the world I’m some kind of a fuck up?” There’s silence for a moment, before Momo’s brow furrows confusedly, and she asks, “Why would I do that?” Nayeon falters. It only now occurs to her that she and Momo are in the same position. She has just as much ability to destroy Momo as Momo has to destroy her – that is, if Momo even cares about her reputation at all. Momo doesn’t press the matter, doesn’t even really seem to blame Nayeon for her outburst, just lets her think things over for a few minutes, and then, “There’s this theory that you can identify most of a person’s characteristics within the first five seconds of meeting them.” Nayeon leaps back into defensive mode, but this time, limits herself to sarcasm, “Fascinating. And?” Momo shrugs, kicking one leg up behind her to lean against the pillar, “What do your instincts tell you about me?” Nayeon doesn’t hesitate, glancing down at the ball tucked under Momo’s arm for only a millisecond before replying, “You like soccer.” Momo smiles then, letting out an amused albeit brief laugh, “Funny, ” she leans down, tucking the ball away into the refines of her bag, before she straightens up once more, “do you want to know what my instincts told me about you?” Showing a mask of indifference is Nayeon’s form of polite self-restraint. She could easily tell Momo to off and leave her alone,