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The practice room was loud that day.
Music echoed off the walls, laughter overlapping with nervous chatter, excitement buzzing in the air like static. It was KATSEYE’s first year since debut, and everything felt unreal—too bright, too fast, too big.
Sophia stood near the corner, holding a clipboard she barely needed, watching the girls rehearse. She smiled when they nailed a move, clapped when they finished, her eyes always gentle, always warm. Yoonchae noticed her immediately.
She always did.
Sophia didn’t belong to the chaos of debut schedules and flashing cameras. She was calm. Grounded. Like the kind of person who reminded you to breathe when everything felt overwhelming.
When practice ended, the room slowly emptied. Members filtered out one by one, leaving behind half-empty water bottles and the faint hum of exhaustion.
Yoonchae lingered.
She hesitated by the door, fingers curling around the ribbon of something hidden behind her back.
“Sophia,” she called.
Sophia turned, surprised. “Oh—Yoonchip. Aren’t you supposed to be leaving?”
Yoonchae nodded too quickly. “I am. I just—uh—”
She stepped forward and revealed the bouquet.
It was beautiful in a quiet, thoughtful way.
A soft Pink lilies pair with Lilac irises,blue roses and white baby’s breath, light as clouds, tying everything together.
Sophia blinked. “Oh.”
Yoonchae held it out with both hands, suddenly very aware of how fast her heart was beating.
“It’s not… too much, right?” she asked. “I didn’t know what flower you really like, but I thought—since debut is like a birthday, in a way—”
Sophia smiled immediately. It was the kind of smile that made rooms feel warmer.
“It’s lovely,” she said, taking the bouquet carefully. “Thank you.”
Relief washed over Yoonchae so fast it almost made her dizzy. “I just thought it’d be nice,” Yoonchae added quickly. “You’ve been helping us a lot. And you’re always… kind.”
Sophia laughed softly. “That’s sweet of you.”
Sweet.
That was all it was to Sophia.
An innocent gesture.
A thoughtful bouquet from a young idol still learning how the world worked.
Something pure, uncomplicated, and easy to accept.
She didn’t notice how carefully Yoonchae had chosen the flowers.
Didn’t question why Yoonchae avoided her eyes.
Didn’t see how the bunch of flowers trembled slightly in her grip before she let go.
Sophia hugged the bouquet to her chest. “I’ll take good care of them.”
Yoonchae nodded, a little too stiff.
“I knew you would.”
As Sophia turned to leave, she paused. “You really didn’t have to do this, you know.”
Yoonchae watched her walk away, dark hair catching the light, bouquet cradled like it mattered.
“I know,” she whispered to the empty room.
But she had wanted to anyway.
Because some feelings start quietly.
Before meaning.
Before pain.
Before anyone realizes a bouquet was never just a bouquet at all.
---
The dorm was half–packed.
Suitcases lined the hallway, winter coats thrown over chairs, the air buzzing with excitement as KATSEYE prepared for their Christmas break. Laughter echoed from the living room, someone arguing over who forgot their charger, someone else humming off-key.
Sophia stood by the door, clipboard tucked under her arm, doing one last check-in.
“Everyone has their tickets?”
“Yes.”
“Passports?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t lose them.”
“We won’t!”
She smiled, already used to this ritual.
Her birthday was in two days—December 31st—but no one here really notice that as everyone head just full of thought of going home. And she didn’t mind. Birthdays had always been quiet things for her. Something you acknowledge gently, then let pass.
As she turned to leave, someone called her name.
“Sophia.”
Yoonchae stood near the kitchen counter, holding something behind her back.
Again.
Sophia paused, surprised. “You’re not leaving yet?”
“In a bit,” Yoonchae said. “But… before that.”
She stepped forward.
The bouquet was familiar.
Pink lilies.
Lilac irises.
Blue roses.
White baby’s breath.
The same as last year.
Sophia blinked. Then laughed softly.
“You remembered?.”
Yoonchae nodded. “Of course.”
“But my birthday isn’t until the 31st,” Sophia said. “You’ll already be gone.”
“I know,” Yoonchae replied. “So I thought I’d give it to you early.”
She held the bouquet out, steady hands this time. No hesitation.
Sophia took it carefully, fingers brushing the ribbon.
“It’s the same flowers,” she said, more to herself than anything.
“I didn’t want to change them,” Yoonchae answered simply. “They felt… right.”
Sophia looked at her then—really looked.
Same quiet sincerity.
Same careful tone.
Same thoughtfulness she remembered from last year.
“…You’re very consistent,” Sophia said with a small smile. “That’s rare.”
Yoonchae’s lips curved slightly. “Is that good?”
“It is,” Sophia replied. “Very.”
For a moment, the noise around them faded. Suitcases zipped. Laughter echoed. Life moved on.
But something stayed still.
“Thank you,” Sophia said gently. “I’ll put them in water when I get home.”
Yoonchae nodded.
“I hoped you would.”
They stood there a beat too long.
Then one of the members shouted, “YOONCHAE, UBER IN TEN!”
Yoonchae startled. “I— I have to go.”
Sophia stepped aside. “Have a good holiday.”
“You too,” Yoonchae said, then hesitated.
“…Happy early birthday.”
Sophia smiled.
“Thank you.”
Yoonchae turned and left, disappearing into the noise and movement of departure.
Sophia stood there with the bouquet in her arms.
---
Christmas in the Philippines was warm.
Not the quiet, snow-dusted kind people imagined, but bright and alive—houses glowing with lights, music drifting through open windows, laughter spilling out onto the streets. Sophia should have felt at home.
And she did.
Mostly.
She sat on the balcony of her family house in Manila, a cup of coffee cooling beside her, the humid night air brushing against her skin. Somewhere inside, her family was talking over one another, happy and loud.
Yet Christmas this year felt… off.
It was small. Almost unnoticeable.
Like forgetting something you couldn’t name.
Sophia pressed her fingers lightly to her chest.
It’s just because I’m not working, she told herself.
Because the year feels unfinished.
Still, when December 29th came and went, the strange emptiness didn’t leave.
On the evening of the 30th, she finally admitted it.
“I feel like I lost something,” she murmured, staring at the quiet starry sky.
Then a knock echoed through the house.
Sophia frowned. Visitors were rare this late.
“I’ll get it,” she said, standing.
She opened the front door—And froze.
Yoonchae stood there.
Hair slightly disheveled, jacket slung over one arm, breathing just a little heavier than usual—as if she’d rushed, as if she’d crossed more than just the street to get here. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
“…Yoonchae?” Sophia whispered.
Yoonchae blinked, clearly relieved to see her.
“Hi.” stupidly grinning and small waving at Sophia like she not just take a 5 hours flight from Seoul to Manila.
Sophia laughed softly, disbelief threading through it.
“You— what are you doing in Manila?”
Yoonchae swallowed.
“I had to give this to you.”
She lifted the bouquet.
It wasn’t the same.
And yet—it was.
Pink lilies, gentle and familiar.
Lilac irises, soft and steady.
White baby’s breath, cloudlike and pure.
And blue roses, tucked carefully among them, vivid and rare.
Sophia stared. Disbelieve.
“…You flew here?”
“Yes.”
“Just for this?”
“Yes.”
Sophia chest felt complete like a puzzled found their last piece.
And suddenly, a gentle, deep voice drifted from behind Sophia. "Babe, who's that?"
A familiar, veiny hand settled on her waist. Too familiar.
Too painful for girl who just turn twenty— who already knew what her heart had chosen—and what it would feel like. Yoonchae forced a smile, trying not to let her pulse betray her.
Too fake. She knew it, and she hated herself for it.
"Ouh, it’s Yoonchae. Look what she brought me," Sophia said, turning toward him. Her words were bright, cheerful—talking about the bouquet, about how Yoonchae had always been the one to give her these flowers. Innocent. Pure. And it hurt all the more.
"Sophia, who is that? Why did it take you so long?" A softer voice broke through, tinged with concern.
"Yoonchae!! What are you doing here, anak?" Sophia’s mom beamed, wrapped Yoonchae in an immediate, tight embrace. The hug was so fierce it almost knocked the air out of her, and Yoonchae didn’t pull back. She needed this—needed the warmth, needed the connection, even if it made her chest ache.
"Hi, tita," Yoonchae whispered, closing her eyes. Not just to savor the hug, but to stop the sting of tears from spilling over.
Sophia’s mom finally broke the hug. Yoonchae stepped back, wanting—desperately—to beg for another embrace, but she couldn’t. "Come inside, Yoonchae. It’s a little cold out here," Tita invited warmly.
"Ouh, no, no… my Uber driver is waiting outside, and my flight is at 1 a.m.," Yoonchae said, refusing politely.
"What? You need to sleep over here, Yoonchip!" The nickname—so familiar, so intimate—cut through her chest like a knife, slicing deep into every vein and artery, leaving her heart raw. "Sorry, Sophia… my flight is calling. Haha."
Too fake. Again.
With that, Yoonchae turned on her heel and walked back toward the gate. Her figure slowly faded into the shadows, leaving an ache that lingered far longer than the night.
Little did Sophia know that no Uber was waiting behind that gate.
Little did she know that Yoonchae was walking while punching her own chest, trying to hold herself together.
Did the leader know that the Katseye’s maknae’s head was throbbing from all the tears she had struggled to keep from falling.
Did Sophia know why Yoonchae’s hair was disheveled, why her eyes looked so exhausted, why her jacket was crinkled tonight.
Her eyes were weary because she hadn’t slept since her feet had touched Manila’s ground that morning. The usual flower store in L.A. was temporarily closed, and Yoonchae had decided to fly to Korea first—just to give Sophia the flowers when their Christmas break ended.
Her crinkled jacket revealed the impulse that had taken over her: a last-minute decision to buy a ticket to Manila as soon as she found a store selling all four flowers—without a second thought.
Her disheveled hair betrayed the excitement she had tried so hard to hide—the eagerness to hand the bouquet to Sophia, to show that she had arranged and wrapped it herself with the florist’s help.
All of it… just to see Sophia smile so widely at someone else. A guy. A guy who held her in his arms.
Without asking how she had gotten the flowers. Without asking why she had flown all this way just for that.
At the Laforteza dining table, nothing had really changed. Still loud, still full of laughter, still singing Sophia’s birthday song in perfect harmony, just like before.
The only difference came when Oreo, Sophia’s brother, glanced at the corner of the TV shelf, eyes landing on a bouquet. The bouquet—crafted with an effort only the heavens and the one who gave it could understand—had almost been ruined by Sophia’s niece, if Oreo hadn’t rushed to save it.
He leaned closer, murmuring under his breath, words that cut straight through the din and pierced Sophia’s heart.
“Pink lilies symbolize femininity, lilac iris for wisdom… wow, kinda describes you, Sophia.”
Something bloomed painfully in the Filipina’s chest, swelling until the air felt too heavy to breathe—suffocating her with a feeling she didn’t yet have the courage to name.
“Who gave you this? Leon?” His voice was casual, almost teasing—but to Sophia, it hit like a thunderclap.
Her hands trembled as she lifted a single blue rose. The flower still smelled fresh, handled with such gentleness and care.
“The white… and the blue ones?” she asked, barely above a whisper. Her lips quivered, as if she were afraid of the answer even as she asked. “What do they mean?”
Oreo tilted his head, eyes tracing the bouquet as if reading its secret story. “White baby’s breath—everlasting love. Blue roses—mystery, but can also represent an unrequited love. Hm… kinda an angst ending.”
Sophia’s chest tightened. She barely breathed as the truth spilled out of her lips: “Yoonchae gave it to me.”
The words were soft, fragile—yet they carried the weight of everything she had tried to hide.
“What? Where is she? I want to play Switch with Yoonchae-ate!” Oreo burst out, excitement masking confusion. When Sophia stayed silent, he looked to their mother.
“She had a flight at 1 a.m., also her uber were waiting” their mother said casually, as if it explained everything.
Oreo’s brow furrowed, a mixture of frustration and understanding washing over him. He stepped closer to Sophia, lightly touching the crown of his sister head, and his voice dropped to a whisper that only she could hear.
“There’s no flight to Korea at 1 a.m.—also not even a single uber willing to wait for their customers at this late.”
The room around her blurred, the laughter fading to a dull hum. Sophia’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. The flowers… Yoonchae’s effort… the exhaustion, the excitement, the sleepless night—it was all for this moment. For Sophia.
And in that instant, Sophia realized the depth of what she had almost missed, and the ache of it was unbearable—like watching the person you loved reach out to you, only to vanish into the shadows before you could take their hand.