Chapter 35 All Your Deepest Darkests #2
“Why can’t I get this right?” I muttered to myself, the words heavy with my exhaustion.
I watched as the clock ticked past midnight, and immediately realized that I’d been here for hours on end, replaying the same piece over and over.
The right of spring wasn’t just any performance.
It was one of the most challenging emotionally demanding works—and one of the most important opportunities of my career so far.
It had to be perfect. I had to be perfect.
I straighten my back, my legs, trembling. Still, I pressed play on the music again, letting the frantic rhythms feel the room.
“Again,” I repeated to myself trying to shake off the exhaustion. The knock on the studio door startled me, breaking my focus. I turned around my gaze meeting that of Wynter and Sydney. Their expressions were equal parts worried and annoyed.
“What the—what are you guys doing here?” I wondered, my voice hoarse.
“Picking you up,” Wynter said firmly as he bent down to help pack up my stuff, folding my towel and placing it in my ballet bag, his brows drawn together, in a frown, his demeanor, sharp. “It’s late, Yesoh. You’ve been here for hours.”
“I needed the extra time,” I told them, setting down my water bottle and avoiding their gazes. “The performance is coming up and I’m not ready yet.”
“You have been saying that for weeks,” Sydney disapproved. “We can’t let you keep push yourself like this. You look exhausted, friend. So exhausted that I had to team up with your freakishly tall, model-looking, figure skater boyfriend to conspire to get you out of here.”
“I’m fine!” I insisted though I could feel the weight of their concern, pressing down on me. “And for the record he’s six foot four. I know he’s freakishly tall, you don’t have to remind me.”?
“You’re not,” Wynter declared, and I could tell there was no arguing with him. He wasn’t even smiling at me—I knew he meant business.
“Don’t be angry at me.” I glanced to him, grabbing onto his arm, and his demeanor softened.
“I am not angry, I am just worried,” he reassured me, placing a hand on my cheek. “Always worried for you. It’s like now my being and my heart are split into two. The side that exists so that I can live and the one that beats for you, so concerned for you. Well, it’s my default setting.”
The car ride back to his apartment was mostly silent, save for the music on the radio, spinning “Stick Season” by Noah Kahan that Sydney sang at the top of her voice. I watched as the city lights begin to blur as we drove my body ached with every bump of the road, my eyelids heavy.
“On a much more serious note, do you need to stop doing this, Yesoh? There’s no way that you can be a workaholic at the age of nineteen.” Sydney scolded.
“What’s wrong with being a workaholic at nineteen? I was.” Wynter cleared his throat.
“You are not helping.” Sydney smiled.
“I can’t stop working, it’s physically impossible. This is too important. You know how competitive the industry is if I mess this up—”
“You are not going to mess it up, and you need to stop convincing yourself that this is going to be the outcome, and it’s not my intent to appear arrogant by any means, but take it from the person who holds the world record for the youngest figure skater to strike gold.
You are what you believe, and if you’re constantly feeding yourself negative sentiments, it’s going to take a toll on you.
You're going to burn out if you keep this up. What’s the point of doing all this if you can’t even enjoy it in the end?
” Wynter explained, glancing at me in the rear view mirror, eyes ridden with worry.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have an answer that would satisfy them. By the time we arrived at the apartment, I could barely keep my eyes open. Sydney gave me a quick hug before heading home, leaving me alone with my boyfriend.
“Sit,” Wynter instructed, gesturing to the couch as he locked the door behind us.
“I told you I’m fine, stop fussing.”
“Fine? You look ready to pass out,” he said, opening the fridge.
“I’ll eat at the dorm,” I said weakly.
“You will eat here.” His voice left no room for argument. “You need real food not whatever granola bars you’ve been surviving on."
I sighed, leaning back against the cushions as I heard him rummaging through the kitchen. He worked quietly and efficiently, and soon enough there was the scent of something warm and familiar in the air. He returned with a steaming bowl.
“Here,” he said, setting the food on the coffee table in front of me. “Cahya made some homemade rice and chicken earlier for you.”
Wynter seemed to sense my hesitation. “Don’t make me spoon-feed you,” he said with a teasing smile.
I raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t, Kwon.”
He picked up the spoon, dipping it into the soup with exaggerated care. “I assure you that I am by no means in a joking mood, so try me.”
I laughed despite myself, the sound weak but genuine. “Fine, I’ll eat.”
Satisfied, he handed me the bowl, taking the spoon into his hands and feeding me.
A part of me felt like a child by the way he was treating me, but a part of me also felt safe and warm seeing the lengths that he would go.
He watched me closely as I took a few tentative bites.
The warmth spread through my chest, easing the knot of tension that had been there all day.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded, managing a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks, Wyn.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug grin. “Told you. And again allow me to reiterate that I am not angry at you, I just want you to prioritize your wellbeing over potential praise. You’re a phenomenal ballerina, regardless of if you impress those pretentious critics or not.”
When I finished eating, my body felt heavier than ever, exhaustion pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake.
“Stay here tonight,” Wynter said, already grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch. “You’re too tired to go home.”
I wanted to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I let him drape the blanket over me, the soft fabric warm and comforting.
“Okay,” I murmured, my eyes already closing.
“Anytime,” he said softly.
I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up, I was in Wynter’s bed. The sheets smelled like him—clean, with a hint of cedar—and the room was dimly lit by the faint glow of the city outside.
For a moment, I was confused, then I realized what must have happened.
I stumbled out into the living room, finding Wynter stretched out on the couch, a blanket draped over him.
“You carried me,” I said softly.
He stirred, blinking up at me. “You were out cold,” he said with a sleepy smile. “Didn’t want you waking up stiff on the couch.”
My chest tightened, a wave of gratitude washing over me. “You cannot be real, Wynter Andy Kwon,” I whispered.
“Go back to bed, Yesoh,” he murmured, already closing his eyes again.
I stood there for a moment, watching him. And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.
The next morning
The sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, the golden morning glow wrapping around me like a warm blanket. I stirred, shifting under the covers, not quite ready to leave the cocoon of sleep.
Then came the voices.
“Should we just jump on her?” Cahya’s unmistakable whisper floated into my awareness, filled with barely suppressed laughter.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Wynter replied, his voice quieter but tinged with amusement. “She’ll murder us.”
I cracked one eye open, catching sight of them both hovering by the bed like mischievous children caught plotting something devious. Cahya had an eager grin on his face, and Wynter’s expression was a mix of excitement and exasperation.
“What are you two doing?” I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep.
Cahya stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back like a little boy about to spill a big secret. “We have a surprise for you,” he announced, rocking on his heels.
I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “What kind of surprise?”
“The kind that requires you to sit down and not freak out,” Wynter said, handing me a glass of water he must have prepared earlier.
I narrowed my eyes, taking a sip. “I’m already sitting down.”
“Good,” Cahya said, practically bouncing in place now. “Because this is a big one.”
Wynter shot him a look. “Let her wake up at least.”
Cahya ignored him, producing a sleek envelope from behind his back and holding it out to me with an exaggerated flourish. “For you, dear sister.”
I raised an eyebrow, taking the envelope cautiously. It felt light in my hands, but there was a weight to the moment that I couldn’t quite place.
“What is this?” I asked, glancing between them.
“Open it,” Wynter said, his voice soft but steady.
I slid my finger under the flap, pulling out the contents. My breath caught as I unfolded the papers inside, the words and numbers coming into focus: Jakarta, Indonesia. Four tickets.
“What…” I looked up, the papers trembling slightly in my hands. “What is this?”
Cahya grinned, his excitement impossible to contain. “Surprise! We’re going to Jakarta! You, me, Wynter, and Soleh.”
Tears blurred my vision as the realization sank in. “How…how did you…”
“Wynter and I put our money together, although he insisted on funding it all,” Cahya said, his voice softening. “We’ve been planning this for weeks.”
Wynter stepped closer, his gaze steady and warm. “We know you’ve been homesick,” he said gently. “You miss your mom, your people, your home. We just thought…it was time.”
I stared at them, my heart swelling with an overwhelming mix of gratitude and love. “You two didn’t have to do this,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
Cahya shrugged, his grin never faltering. “Of course we did. You’ve been working so hard, Yesoh. You deserve to see home again, see mom.”