WARNING: This chapter contains some content that may be uncomfortable for some readers. (Mentions of depression etc) Please do not read this chapter if you are affected by such content. Otherwise, read on!

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Byulyi hates to admit it, but the thought of seeing Yongsun again during her session later on in the day makes her stomach feel less like a stomach and more like a cement mixer.

She’s currently lying in bed, staring up at her plain white ceiling, tangled in her white sheets that smell like fabric softener. She stays like that, her brain overthinking and overheating, until the taste of her stale breath makes her wince and she sits up. Her oversized white shirt hangs loosely from her bony shoulders. She yawns and ruffles her pale brown hair.

Maybe I’ll make something nice for breakfast.

She gets up and walks to the kitchen, her feet sticking to the ground every step. She searches around in her cupboard, coming up with a box of pancake mix and maple syrup. Eh, pancakes it is, then.

Byulyi isn’t much of a cook even on her better days, but she’s pretty well trained in the art of pancake-ology. She makes a small batch of pancakes, praying to Mememoo before every flip, which she amazingly manages without messing a single pancake up. She places them unceremoniously onto a plate and pours herself a glass of orange juice.

Ooh, I should watch that drama that Spoongruel starred in…’Fart Glove’, was it? The first few episodes, perhaps. It’ll probably be good to watch, right? Spoongruel is pretty classy.

So she turns her laptop on, plugs her battery cable into a wall socket, and searches the drama up. She clicks on the first episode and settles back against the sofa, drizzling syrup over her pancakes. First bite in, she pauses, her eyes flitting over the fluffy pancakes.

Pancakes. They’re Solar’s favourite food. Then she stops herself and forces herself to continue chewing. Okay, so they're her favourite food. You're not going to to think about her every damn time you eat pancakes, alright? That's Jaehyuk’s job. It's Jaehyuk’s job to care if her favourite food is pancakes. You should not be so affected by Solar.

Byulyi allows herself a good, firm nod of the head, although she’s the only one in her house and there’s no one around to see her nodding her head like an idiot. Sometimes, just doing a gesture of affirmation is what one needs to actually make a decision. Or act on a decision. Or stop their neck from being stiff. Either way, it seems to help Byulyi feel better about being a pathetic person.

Byulyi was wrong about a number of things. First of all, Fart Glove was singularly one of the most horrible things she’s ever had the misfortune to watch in her life. She’d expected some passable shoujo-anime type drama, not a cringey drama with too many dank memes that made her toes feel like curling and falling off. Spoongruel’s constant portrayal of a lovesick girl and the very cheesy theme of the whole drama made Byulyi quit after the third episode.

She turns her TV on to KBS World, Music Bank, and brings her dishes to the kitchen to wash them. She forgets the horrifying attempt to watch Fart Glove over Fiestar singing about Apple Pies and AOA wishing her Good Luck. She even tries to do a couple of the Good Luck body rolls, but stops after she hears an ominous cracking sound from her hip. She settles on doing a two-step--wiggle to Cheer Up.

She rinses the suds from her frying pan, places it on a rack to dry, dries her hands on her shirt - why waste paper towels when your shirt is perfectly absorbent? - and plods to the bathroom to take a shower.

With the leisure of time on her hands, she takes as long as she wants. She shampoos and conditions her hair, draws flowers in the condensation on her shower door, brushes her teeth, and combs the tangles from her damp hair. When she’s done, she dries off and wraps a towel around herself, walking to her bedroom to get dressed. Shampoo-scented water drips onto the ground in her wake, like a trail of clear liquid breadcrumbs.

She opens the door of her wardrobe. This is where her second wrong-doing lies - in the form of a new, crisp leather jacket, hanging proudly off its wooden hanger.

Goshdarnit, I already told myself not to be so affected by her. Solar talks about a leather jacket once, and I’m already buying one. She didn’t even mean to buy the jacket. She saw it on display in some shop at the mall as she was passing by on Thursday night, and unconsciously she bought it. Great, now my subconscious is affected by her?

Byulyi scowls. But her hand moves as if compelled by its own brain, pulling the jacket, a white shirt, and dark washed skinny jeans from her wardrobe. She dresses, then looks at herself in her full-length mirror.

Okay, Yongsun was right. Ugh, I look good. I hate myself.    

It feels awkward, but for once Byulyi actually sits and takes some time for her makeup. She goes darker with the eyeliner than usual, darker with the eyeshadow, and uses a darker tinted lip balm.

A lot more punk than she’d normally dress, and she really feels like she needs a pair of sunglasses to top her whole look off. But she regards her style as sacrosanct - it’s a part of her personality, and she’s not going to make any more drastic changes to it. So she forgoes the sunglasses and goes for the trusty black Converse sneakers.  

She spends a few minutes drying her hair with a hair dryer, then turns the TV off and grabs her satchel-purse off the sofa, tossing her phone inside. She pulls her sneakers on and leaves her home.

The ten-minute walk to her office feels weird now that she’s actually dressed decently; maybe subconsciously, she thinks that more people are looking at her even though they aren’t. The only difference is that the jacket is pretty hot, temperature wise, and she’s beginning to sweat a little when she reaches her office.   

“Good morning, Byul!”

“Good morning, Yuna.” Byulyi smiles. The reception area smells like coffee - from Yuna’s half-drained cup next to the keyboard of the desktop computer. The receptionist herself stares at Byulyi openly.  

“Nice jacket you’re wearing. Is that new? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing anything besides dress shirts, sweaters or baggy band tees.” Yuna raises an eyebrow appraisingly. “And your makeup!”  Byulyi brushes the front of her jacket modestly.  

“Yeah, it’s new. I got it a couple of days ago at the mall. And I thought that a little heavier makeup would be more appropriate.”

“What’s the occasion? I thought you hated shopping for clothes.” Yuna looks down at the papers she’s shuffling, riffling through the titles for something. “I’ve never seen you wear anything new in decades.”

“Oh,” Moonbyul smiles feebly, “I just thought I’d look nice in a leather jacket, I suppose. Um, I have a new client coming at one o’clock sharp, right? Just before Solar’s usual appointment at two pm?”

“Let me check that for you real quick.” Yuna sets her stack of papers down and clicks around on the computer, taking a sip of her milky brown coffee as she does. She types something into the system and clicks a few more times, before nodding in affirmation. “Yep, you have a new client coming in at one. Her name’s Jeon Minjung. She has schizophrenia.”

“Ah, yes. Alright. Thank you, Yuna.” Byulyi glances at the clock hanging on the wall above the reception area - she has roughly half an hour more until the new client will arrive. Guess I’ll be having lunch at three today. She turns and begins to walk towards the staircase.

“You’re wearing Converses,” Yuna says.

Byulyi pauses. “Yeah, I am. Why?”

“Everyone hates your Converses, Byul. You’re matching classy with scruffy here. Wouldn’t boots work better, perhaps?”

“I know everyone hates them, but they’re comfortable and I can walk in them, so I won’t bother with changing my shoes for this. Converse is cool,” Byulyi says defensively, exhaling when she sees Yuna shake her head and turn back to her work with a smile. “Don’t insult the Converse, Seo Yuna. I’m still older than you by, like, eight days.”   

“I’ll buy you lunch after Solar’s appointment,” Yuna says, sipping her coffee.

“Deal.” Byulyi walks up the staircase.

-

Byulyi thought she’d have at least a couple of minutes to herself before Solar arrived. Once again, she was wrong. It takes exactly forty seconds after Minjung left before her office door opens again, and Solar’s head peeks through the gap, eyes a normal chocolate brown.

“Good afternoon, Solar.” Byulyi tidies up her table a little bit, patting her hair down. She’s nervous.

“Hey Byulyi,” Solar says. Byulyi hears muffled thumps from Solar’s shoes falling onto the ground, and then the door opens wider and she steps inside, straightening up. She’s wearing a white shirt and a red-and-black patterned skirt. She closes the door behind her and smiles. “You’re looking really nice today. Wow, your makeup. Leather. I remember something about leather on Tuesday.”

“Do you, now?” Byulyi marvels at how she manages to keep her voice steady, because inside her heart is hammering against her ribcage so hard she’s sure it’s going to pop out. “That’s funny, because I’m pretty sure I remember something about leather too.”

As Solar walks closer, Byulyi realises several things. One, that Solar’s eyes are ringed with dark circles. Two, that her eyes themselves look so devoid of life that it’s frightening. Three, that her smile is tired and is definitely not the most sincere of smiles she’s given to Byulyi before. Byulyi feels a surreal dread spreading in her.

Byulyi had always been a professional, but a professional who knows when to loosen up or be more friendly at times. Feelings are of no importance when she’s working - and that includes sessions with Solar. She waits until Solar’s seated before she speaks.

“So, work,” Byulyi says.

“So, work,” Solar repeats, the tired smile draining from her face like wet paint washing off a wall from a high-pressure jet hose. From her reaction alone, Byulyi can tell that what she’s going to hear is not going to be happy news.  

“Tell me.” The psychologist props her chin on her palm, elbow resting on her thigh. She keeps her eyes on Solar, set firmly. She’s all ears.

“It’s just like last time.” Solar says dully. “My new superior is giving me a lot more work. The department I was promoted to is short of people, so we all have to work even harder. And not to mention that my superior is the biggest-” Solar indulges in a few pungent oaths, “ in the entire universe. I’ve got three projects on my hands right now, and I have to make a presentation on Monday. Sales thing.”

Byulyi can see the frenzied, stressed look in Solar’s eyes - the exact same look she’d had when Byulyi first met her. It’s such a change from Solar’s usual bright demeanor that Byulyi’s feeling a little scared. This is where she’s reminded - painfully - that although Solar has been smiling a lot, she’s still a fragile rose who’s stem is on the verge of snapping.

“How’re you managing?”

Solar lifts her hands as though trying to find gestures to express herself, but in the end they just drop back onto her lap. “Preparing Powerpoint slides and getting figures and making sure that the financial operations of the company run smoothly is tiring. I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I think my insomnia is returning. I find it difficult to concentrate - I’m just always disorganized and I hate that.”

Byulyi can see how tired she is. “Has Jaehyuk been helping you?”

“Jaehyuk has his own problems to worry about without having to come over to comfort me all the time. I can sense that he’s feeling frustrated too - not at me, just in general.”

“Do you have insomnia meds? I’m not a psychiatrist, so I can't prescribe medicine to you.” Byulyi leans forward slightly, clasping her hands in her lap. When Solar nods, Byulyi continues, “You’ve been taking them, I assume? Yes, you should