“I'm sorry I'm so frustrating.” Solar says quietly, a wry smile touching her lips. She lets her words sink into the awkward silence, searching through her mind listlessly. She's still assessing the credibility of this Moon Byulyi character - saying that her eyes turned yellow? Really? She may have monsters in her head, but she isn't some sort of demon sent from hell. She's completely sure that she's one hundred percent human.

Is she trying to play mind games with me? Is she trying to insinuate that I'm a mental case? Solar tries not to glare at Byulyi, the perpetual unhappy set of the mouth returning in full force. Down turned lips, brows slightly furrowed, eyes sparking dangerously. What the hell is up with her? Trying to make it seem like I'm some supernatural being.

But she has to admit, she really hasn't been feeling stressed out that much, apart from the first one or two days when she was home sick.

That is…strange. I never noticed that I wasn't - am not - stressed out. Neither have I been having mood swings or being completely depressed. I actually felt normal this week. Solar’s brows dip closer toward the centre of her forehead. Has the fever really affected me in some way? But fevers are completely unrelated to stress and mood swings.

And now she's beginning to understand the psychologist’s dilemma. Her own head hurts just trying to sort out the facts - her thoughts are all jumbled up, as if they're simply refusing to be put together neatly. Solar sighs softly, her eyes trained on the ceiling, at a lone patch of dried blue paint on the rafters.

“I'm sorry for not talking much,” it's Byulyi’s turn to apologise, and the sound of her deep voice startles Solar into looking at her. The psychologist now has her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and she's propping her chin up with one hand, the other idly playing with some loose strings on her jeans. Solar didn't even know skinny jeans could look so colourful, but somehow it fits the psychologist and her weird dress sense.

“Is it in your job description to talk a lot?” Solar doesn't know where her confidence to talk more is coming from, but she isn't complaining. Hey, more talking is good right?

“Probably.” Byulyi admits, glancing down at her empty mug, then at Solar's empty cup. “I'll go make some more coffee. I need some caffeine or something to kick my brain into action. I just can't…can't think.” The psychologist lowers her gaze, then picks up the cup and her mug and walks over to her coffee machine.

I've never been through proper psychotherapy before, but I'm pretty sure psychologists aren't wannabe artists and baristas. But Solar watches her anyway. The psychologist’s posture relaxes slightly as she turns on the coffee machine, filling the room with quiet whirring and the smell of espresso. The afternoon sunlight glints off her honey brown hair, bathes her face in warm orange rays.

Maybe I should ask to be referred to another psychologist. One that has a proper professional office and that wears proper clothes and that doesn’t see weird things and doesn’t make coffee all the damn time.

Solar breathes out quietly and turns her head back to face the blue paint on the ceiling, closing her eyes. She tries to think, tries to sort things out. Sort anything out. She really does. But for the first time since she started getting really stressed out, her mind is wonderfully, maddeningly blank.

“It’s...it’s so weird. My mind is just a blank canvas.” Solar says out loud, and she thinks the silence snatched her words away when Byulyi replies.

“Blank canvases are meant to be painted on,” The psychologist says, her voice low and careful. The smell of espresso intensifies, and Solar hears the faint sound of liquid hitting the bottom of a cup. “Interesting you should use such an analogy. Now all I can think of is how your mind must’ve looked like something Picasso would paint if he were blindfolded and drunk.”

Solar hears muffled footsteps, hears the sound of a saucer being placed on the tabletop, the sound of leather shifting as the psychologist sits down.   

“An apt description.” Solar says, her lips twisting into a cynical smile. She opens her eyes, sees the psychologist staring at her with such intensity that she blinks, a little unnerved. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, there’s nothing on your face. I’m just studying.”

“My face.”

“Yeah.” Byulyi doesn’t even seem half ashamed that she had been caught blatantly staring at Solar. She sweeps honey brown bangs away from her eyes with a slim finger, leaning back on her couch with a contemplative expression. “You seem...different, somehow. More sure of yourself. More confident. Is it because of the lack of stress?”

“I honestly have no clue, Ms Moon.”     

And she'd expected the psychologist to drop her gaze, sip her coffee, do something else. Anything else. But Byulyi drums her fingertips against her lips lightly, still staring at Solar. Then she smiles a little ruefully.

“You look pretty when you smile.” Byulyi says, finally dropping her gaze.

“You're just saying that to make me feel better. Drop it. No one really means their compliments.” Solar’s bitter words are punctuated with sadness. She sits up on her recliner and turns a little, taking her cup of coffee from the table and sipping, disregarding the scalding heat.

Byulyi’s eyes are unreadable. “Do you really think that of every compliment you're paid, Ms Solar?”

“Every single one, Ms Moon.” Solar says firmly, setting her saucer on her thigh. The fake smiles, the overly enthusiastic tones that people adopt when they coo over her. It's all utter bull, and she knows it.

“That's…uh…”

“Unfortunate?” Solar asks brusquely. She tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear, feels the cold surface of her diamond ring brush her lobe. She deflates a little, and Byulyi sees the fire in her eyes dim slightly. “Yeah, I know. That's kind of why I'm here, right? To solve all of this?”

“Not all compliments are fake, you know. You just happen to have a rather negative mindset. If only I could get past…some other issues, I could solve all of it for you easy.”

You could. But I'm a lost cause, aren't I?  Solar just sips her coffee, letting her eyes roam around the space freely. She didn't really notice before, but leaning against all the wooden walls are a massive number of canvases, most with completed paintings on them. She sees paintings of sceneries, food, animals - “You don't seem to have any paintings of males,” Solar points out softly, raising an eyebrow. A wild change of subject. Byulyi’s cheeks take on a light pinkish tinge.

“The male anatomy, and males in general, are not exactly on my list of interests at the moment. They have not and will not be for a long time, I believe.” Byulyi answers evenly, gauging for Solar's reaction.

The older woman frowns, then blinks. Then her lips part and a soft whoosh of air escapes from .

“You're gay.”

And Byulyi nods. “Does that freak you out?”

“No, no, not at all.” And it really doesn't, surprisingly enough. Solar had always thought that most artists were queer, both figuratively and literally, and Byulyi being gay doesn't really affect her at all. “That's good for you, I guess.”

“It's kind of hard living around here. Korea being so conservative and everything. Well, people will learn to accept it eventually - that I'm just too gay to function. I can't change my gayness.”

Solar laughs. A genuine, good-natured one, and the sound is high-pitched and smooth and Byulyi feels gratified that she'd caused that sound to be made. Most of all, she felt warmth that she hadn't felt in some time -  the warmth of acceptance. Maybe all she needs right now is someone external to talk to. Someone who can understand her. Who better than a psychologist of the same gender?

“We're pretty opposite then, aren't we, Ms Moon?” Solar raises her left hand, making sure to hold on to her cup with her right, and wiggles her ring finger. Her engagement ring sparkles in the natural light.

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.” Byulyi smiles. She notices the little dimples in Solar's chin when she laughs and smiles, and the way her eyes crinkle up, and her white teeth are shown very visibly. Definitely looks prettier when she's smiling. Why doesn't she believe me?

“I mean, I can't even draw a stick figure or a smiling emoji to save my life.”

And yet she's so confident now? Where did this phantom confidence come from? Just talking to me? From being cared for by her fiancé? Byulyi blinks. “You must be good at other things, then. Everyone is good at something.”

“I'm not so sure about that.” Solar sets her cup down, her lips. Byulyi watches the motion unconsciously, snapping out of it when Solar asks, “Can I take a look at a few of your paintings, Ms Moon?”

“Oh - sure. Just don't judge and don't touch the one on the easel.” Byulyi smiles nervously. Holy , was I just creepily watching my own client her lips? I think I need help.

Solar stands up and walks to the nearest canvas, which has a portrait of some female Kpop idol on it - Solar can't recall the name. That one from that group…Red Velvet? I can't remember. The one beside it, Solar recognises. Krystal Jung? She's a fan of fx? That's cute.

She doesn't hear Byulyi walking up behind her, so she jumps when she hears Byulyi’s voice behind her. “Please don't judge me.”

“I'm not. You're an amazing artist.” Solar moves on to another one, which is some psychedelic abstract painting with so many reds and yellows and greens and blues that Solar feels dizzy just looking at it. The next one is a painting of a single eye, detailed down to the last eyelash, which Solar stares at open-mouthed until she's broken from her reverie by Byulyi’s coughs.

The next twenty minutes is spent going through Byulyi’s precious store of paintings, some even dating back to several years before. Solar is just looking and raising eyebrows and occasionally asking questions, Byulyi is just reliving memories and mostly answering questions and explaining things.

“You painted a picture of doge?” Solar’s eyebrows go particularly higher.

Byulyi snatches the rather small canvas away from Solar and dusts the edges off, looking at the painting critically. Then she smiles. “A shiba inu, actually. I do agree it looks vaguely like doge though.”

A few paintings later, Solar emerges with another hidden treasure from a pile of small canvases: a painting of Pepe the frog wearing a blond wig. Solar laughs again when she sees this and Byulyi decides that maybe her semi art humiliation could be worth a second of happiness Solar feels.

What a selfless psychologist I am. So nice to my clients.

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