You need to eat
The Rhythm of the Unbroken
The first week with the cast was an exercise in patience that Amelia wasn't sure she possessed. The "honeymoon phase" of being pampered had slowly given way to the reality of the industry. While the girls were her shields, the world of K-pop didn't stop turning. The comeback was looming, and the pressure to adapt was mounting.
Amelia sat on a stool in the center of the practice room, the mirrors reflecting her solitary figure against the vast, polished floor. Usually, this room was a blur of synchronized limbs and the thunderous beat of bass. Today, it was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning. She looked at her right arm, the colorful signatures on the plaster now a permanent part of her silhouette.
"You’re thinking too loud again, Meels."
Amelia looked up to see Daniela standing in the doorway, her hair pulled back into a tight, professional bun. She was wearing her practice gear—a sleek black unitard that showed off every line of her dancer’s physique. She looked powerful, and for a moment, Amelia felt that familiar, sharp pang of inadequacy.
"I’m just trying to figure out how I’m supposed to do the 'Touch' choreo with a five-pound weight attached to my wrist, Dani," Amelia sighed, slumped her shoulders. "I tried the chorus in the bathroom this morning. I looked like a lopsided windmill."
Daniela walked over, her sneakers squeaking on the floor. She didn't offer a pitying look; instead, she reached out and poked Amelia’s good shoulder. "Stand up. We’re not doing the 'Touch' choreo today. We’re doing the 'Amelia' choreo."
"The what?"
"The performance team and I stayed up late last night," Daniela explained, her eyes sparking with that chaotic, creative energy that Amelia loved. "We’re re-blocking the bridge. Instead of the high-energy ripple, we’re centering you. You’re going to be the focal point, and we’re going to move around you like you’re the sun. Minimal arm movement, all presence and footwork."
Amelia felt a lump form in her throat. "You changed the whole bridge for me?"
"We changed it because it makes the story better," Daniela corrected, grabbing Amelia’s left hand and pulling her to her feet. "Now, stop pouting. Sophia and the others will be here in ten minutes, and I want you to have the footwork down before they see."
For the next hour, Daniela was a whirlwind of focus. She was patient but firm, guiding Amelia through a series of elegant, grounded movements that emphasized her height and her facial expressions rather than her range of motion. Whenever Amelia stumbled or felt frustrated, Daniela was there with a quick joke or a reassuring squeeze of her hand.
"See?" Daniela whispered, standing behind Amelia and looking at their reflection. "You look like a statue. A very expensive, very pretty statue."
The door swung open, and the rest of Katseye spilled in, a chaotic mess of laughter and iced coffees. Megan was the first to reach Amelia, immediately dropping her bag and wrapping her arms around Amelia’s waist from behind.
"How’s my favorite patient?" Megan asked, digging her chin into Amelia’s shoulder. She smelled like peppermint and expensive shampoo.
"Dani’s a slave driver," Amelia joked, leaning back into Megan’s warmth. "I think my legs are going to fall off."
"Good," Megan teased, pressing a kiss to Amelia’s cheek. "Then we can get you matching casts for your ankles. You’d be like a little marshmallow."
Sophia clapped her hands, her leader persona taking over as she stood at the front of the room. "Okay, everyone! The performance director is on her way. We’re going to show her the new blocking for the bridge. Amelia, don't overthink it. Just feel the music."
As the music started, the room transformed. The heavy, rhythmic beat of their new track filled the space, and Amelia felt her heart rate sync with the bass. When the bridge arrived, the girls flowed around her with a grace that felt almost spiritual. They weren't just dancing; they were protecting her. Every move they made was designed to highlight her, to make her cast look like a deliberate choice rather than a misfortune.
When the song ended, the silence in the room was heavy with emotion.
"That was... that was incredible," Lara whispered, her eyes shining. She walked over and wiped a smudge of sweat from Amelia’s forehead. "Meels, you looked so powerful. It’s like you’re a different person when you’re not trying to hide."
"I didn't feel like the weak link," Amelia admitted, her voice small.
"Because you never were," Manon said, stepping forward. She reached out and adjusted the strap of Amelia’s tank top, her touch lingering. "You were just the one holding the mirror. Now you’re the one in the frame."
The rest of the day was a marathon of meetings and vocal recordings. Because Amelia couldn't dance as much, the producers had decided to give her more melodic rap sections, playing into her Australian accent and the soft, breathy quality of her voice.
By the time they returned home, Amelia was vibrating with a different kind of exhaustion. It wasn't the hollow, jagged fatigue of her depression; it was the heavy, satisfying tiredness of a day well-spent.
"Bath time!" Yoonchae announced as soon as they crossed the threshold.
"I can shower by myself, Yoonie," Amelia protested, though her resistance was weak.
"With one hand? I don't think so," Yoonchae countered, already heading toward the bathroom to start the water. "Megan and I have a system. You just have to sit there and look pretty."
The ritual of the bath had become a nightly staple. They had bought a special waterproof sleeve for her cast, but the girls still treated it like it was made of sugar. Amelia sat on a stool in the large, tiled shower while Megan and Yoonchae worked with the efficiency of a pit crew.
Megan was in charge of the hair. She used a scalp massager and a deep conditioning treatment, her fingers working through Amelia’s blonde strands with a tenderness that always made Amelia’s eyes flutter shut.
"You’re purring," Megan whispered, a playful smirk on her lips.
"I am not," Amelia mumbled, though she leaned further into Megan’s touch.
Yoonchae was in charge of the "skincare," which mostly involved her using a loofah to scrub Amelia’s back and then applying a thick layer of scented lotion to her legs. It was a deeply intimate, sisterly process—one that stripped away the last vestiges of Amelia’s self-consciousness. In this room, with the steam rising and the sound of her best friends' voices, she didn't feel like an "idol" with a body that needed to be perfect. She just felt like a girl who was loved.
"There," Yoonchae said, patting Amelia’s shoulder with a towel. "Clean as a whistle. And you smell like a vanilla cupcake."
"Thanks, guys," Amelia said, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I’d do without you."
"You’d probably be very dirty and have very tangled hair," Megan joked, helping her into a fresh set of silk pajamas.
They migrated to the living room, where the "nest" had become a permanent fixture. Sophia was on the floor with a laptop, going over the schedules for the following week, while Manon and Lara were curled up on the sofa, sharing a bowl of popcorn.
"Meels, come here," Manon beckoned, patting the spot between her and Lara.
Amelia settled in, the weight of her cast resting on a pillow. The house felt peaceful, a sanctuary against the storms of the internet and the demands of the industry.
"I had a thought," Lara said, looking at Amelia’s cast, which was now almost entirely covered in colorful ink. "We should do a live stream tomorrow. Just us. No script, no filters. We need to show the fans how you’re doing."
Amelia felt a flicker of the old anxiety. "A live stream? What if... what if people say mean things in the chat?"
"Then we’ll block them," Manon said simply, her gaze cool and unwavering. "But I don't think they will. Have you seen the 'Amelia Protection Squad' tags on Twitter? It’s actually kind of terrifying. One guy tried to make a joke about your cast, and he was deactivated within twenty minutes."
"Really?" Amelia asked, a small smile tuguing at her lips.
"Really," Sophia confirmed, looking up from her laptop. "The fans are protective, Meels. They see how much we love you, and it makes them want to love you too. You’re our little sister, but you’re theirs, too."
The next evening, they gathered in the living room for the live stream. They were dressed in their pajamas, surrounded by snacks and blankets. Sophia set up the tripod, and within seconds of going live, the viewer count skyrocketed into the hundreds of thousands.
"Hi everyone!" Sophia chirped, waving at the camera. "We’re Katseye, and we’re just hanging out at home tonight. We wanted to give you an update on our Meely."
Amelia sat in the center, flanked by Megan and Dani. She felt a bit shy at first, tucking her casted arm slightly behind a pillow, but she felt Megan’s hand find hers under the blanket, squeezing tight.
"I’m okay!" Amelia said, leaning toward the camera. Her blue eyes were bright under the living room lights. "My wrist is healing, and the girls are taking really good care of me. Look at my cast!"
She held up her arm, showing off the chaotic mess of signatures and drawings. The chat began to move so fast it was impossible to read, a blur of heart emojis, "Get well soon" messages, and compliments.
"Someone asked if it hurts," Lara said, reading from a second phone.
"Only when I laugh too hard at Dani’s jokes," Amelia replied, making the girls erupt into giggles.
"Someone else said you look like a warrior," Dani added, bumping her shoulder against Amelia’s. "I agree. A warrior princess."
For an hour, they just talked. They shared stories from practice, argued over which movie to watch, and even did a "room tour" of their blanket fort. Amelia found herself talking more than she usually did, her Australian accent becoming more pronounced as she got excited. She felt a profound sense of connection—not just to her sisters, but to the people watching. She realized that she didn't have to be the "perfect" visual to be worthy of their attention. She just had to be herself.
As the stream wound down, Sophia got serious for a moment. "We also wanted to say thank you. For all the love you’ve shown Amelia this week. It’s been a bit of a tough time, but your messages really helped. We’re a family, and that includes all of you."
"We love you!" they shouted in unison before the screen went black.
The silence that followed was warm and comfortable. Amelia leaned her head back against the sofa, a long, shaky breath escaping her.
"You did great, Meels," Megan whispered, her arm still around Amelia’s waist.
"I feel... I feel like I can do this," Amelia said, looking around at her six sisters. "The comeback, the cast, all of it. I don't feel scared anymore."
"Good," Manon said, standing up and stretching. "Because I’m starving, and I think it’s time for a midnight snack. Who wants ramen?"
"Me!" Yoonchae and Dani shouted at the same time, racing toward the kitchen.
As the house filled with the sounds of boiling water and playful bickering, Amelia stayed on the sofa for a moment longer. She looked down at her cast, at the gold crown Manon had drawn and the words *The heart of Katseye* written in Yoonchae’s neat hand.
She had spent so long trying to be smaller, trying to disappear so that she wouldn't be a target. She had thought that her value was tied to her weight, her skin, and her ability to perfectly mimic a choreography.
But as she watched her sisters in the kitchen—Sophia laughing at something Dani said, Lara helping Manon with the bowls, Megan already coming back to check on her—Amelia realized she had it backward.
Her value wasn't in being perfect. Her value was in being *theirs*.
She was Amelia Rozek. She was eighteen years old. She had a broken wrist and a heart that was still learning how to beat without fear. She was a visual, a rapper, and a sister.
She stood up, her cast feeling a little lighter than it had that morning, and headed toward the kitchen. Toward the light, the laughter, and the girls who had taught her that even when you’re broken, you’re never truly alone.
"Hey, save some for me!" she called out, her voice joining the harmony of the house.
The rhythm of Katseye was back, and this time, it was unbroken.