A year has passed, but the ache still lingers, a quiet reminder woven into Bada's routines. She's moved on in some ways, poured herself into new projects, tried to rebuild, and watched her team soar to new heights. But every once in a while, in those quiet moments, she finds herself wondering about Y/N.

Her fans—no, her newer fans—have changed, it seems. Recently, she's noticed the messages they leave for her. "Hope you're happy," they say, but some go further, pieces of encouragement mixed with hints of regret. "We shouldn't have invaded her life," one message reads, and another, "Bada, we're sorry. We just want to see you both happy again." It's not lost on her that these messages seem to understand something that was only clear in hindsight: the way love can be fragile, how easily it can be shattered when too many hands reach out to hold it.

There's even a little hashtag floating around: #ReuniteBadaY/N, fans speculating that maybe, maybe they can find their way back to each other.

But she hasn't reached out, and neither has Y/N, and Bada knows that maybe, in some ways, it's better this way. And yet, as she heads back to her apartment after a late-night rehearsal, her fingers hover over her phone. Just to see if Y/N's number is still there. Just to see if it would feel right to type out a simple message. Just to see if the door to something she thought she'd closed might, one day, open again.

Bada puts her phone away, the silence a little warmer this time, her heart still uncertain but, maybe, just a little more hopeful.

a/n I know the ending was really rushed. tbh by the end of this I was really unmotivated but I saw how some of you are still reading it so I still wanted to give it some sort of conflict and an ending. it's probably not the ending you wanted or the story you imagined when starting it so I apologise. thank you for anyone who's still reading, I really appreciate you. have a good day/night! 💞