Winter is her favourite season. That it’s his least favourite season rarely bothers her; their relationship is full of differences, after all. If she were to be poetic, she would say their relationship is like the seasons. Different phases, different sides to it. Sometimes she likes to think back to before she debuted, to when everything was sweet and they were too shy to even look each other in the eye. But his hands on her waist and hot breath in her ear are enough to bring her back to the present.

 

When her scandal broke it was his hands that kept her together; stopped her from shattering like glass.

 

When she wakes up, it is with those same hands hugging her tight. Frost creeps up the window pane and there’s a chill in the air. It’s still early, early enough that the heating hasn’t , that the sun is still hidden behind the apartment blocks of Seoul.

 

Sleeping used to be great. Tired, bored or sad, all she had to do was close her eyes and she could forget about the world for a while. But the past few years have been cruel to her and now she feels like she’s constantly chasing sleep. Not even pills work (punishment for her sins, Seungri once joked before Seunghyun slapped him).

 

His body shifts next to hers; he can always tell when she’s awake.

 

“Can’t sleep?” He mumbles, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. Hot breath makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. She can feel her heart slowly thumping against his arm as she turns to face him.

 

“It’s fine, go back to sleep.” She whispers, and he does, with an ease that makes her jealous. On the rare occasions he wakes up first, she often catches him staring at her. And in those moments his normally expressive eyes become so hard to read, as she looks up at him with her own eyes bleary from sleep.

 

Her friends say she’s the luckiest girl in the world. And sometimes she downplays it, says it isn’t all that. Which it isn’t, they have their fights. But they never fail to point out the way he looks at her, like she holds the sun and the stars in her hands.

 

One day, she thinks, he must realise that she doesn’t.

 

That most of the time she’s barely clinging onto this earth, let alone the solar system.

 

But then he wraps her hands around her wrists, covering her scars with his fingers. Pulls her hands away when they tug at her body, brings her breakfast in bed when she can’t begin to face the day, staying by her side until the sun goes down again and she finally feels ready to move. This is going to be one of those days. She can already feel it from her fingers down to her toes, in the weight that sits at the bottom of her stomach. She tried to explain the feeling to her therapist, once. She suggested indigestion pills.

 

The clock ticking brings her thoughts back into the room, back into the present and she sighs involuntarily. Seunghyun stirs next to her, and she watches him run a hand through his hair. He needs to wash it before he leaves.

 

“What time is it?” He asks after a giant yawn, stretching his arms out around her. She wants to tell him that time has escaped her, that she doesn’t even know what it is anymore, but she’s trying to be less melodramatic these days.

 

“Half 6.” She says, instead. He groans before rolling out of bed, and the springs on their mattress bounce up, relieved of his weight. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, that’s going to stick with him. True to form, he stays with his back to her whilst shrugging on his dressing gown, shoulder blades and biceps rippling as he moves.  

 

“The big day, I guess. I’ll get you breakfast.” He kisses her on the forehead before leaving the room, his deep voice still echoing around her head. She realises she hasn’t moved since she woke up.

 

Her face is puffy. Her neck is puffy. Her body is puffy. But she swallows these thoughts down along with her pills, staring into her reflection. The flat used to be littered with mirrors. Wall to wall. Slowly Seunghyun started to remove them, replace them with art work that she’ll never understand and can’t even pretend to appreciate. But she gets why he did it.

 

She never wanted him to stick around.

 

Not now, not ten years ago, not at any point in between. Countless therapy sessions (both qualified therapists and drunken chats with friends) and she still cant shake the idea that she’s a burden to him. He sticks around, though, through all of it. From the depression to the scandals, the hate and the insecurity. She jokes that he’s like a virus that never leaves, but really she doesn’t know what she’d do without him (probably be buried six feet under by now).

 

The smell of cooking drifts through the flat to where she stands. He’s making pancakes in the kitchen (carbs), and she almost drools at the thought of them. Tearing her eyes away from the mirror, she slowly pads along to the kitchen, fluffy slippers making no sound against the wooden floors. After ten years together she’s still never gotten used to the sight of him in the mornings; soft, fluffy hair, just a hint of skin peeking out of his dressing gown. It feels like falling in love all over again.

 

But maybe that’s just the pancakes.

 

She reaches around him to grab her phone off the kitchen counter top (she cant sleep with it in the bedroom anymore) and switches it on. If only she could articulate the anxiety this gives her every morning. Instagram notifications are the first thing she goes to, and some are lovely. Some are less great, though, and its those ones that will burn a hole in her brain. Next is twitter, then LINE, weibo and the news. It’s her own little routine.

 

She tries to enjoy the calm, knowing that later it will feel like the middle of a storm. Listens to the birds singing outside her apartment, to the faint rush of cars on the street below.

 

A thick layer of snow blankets Seoul, and she misses when snow days would bring everything to a halt.

 

“I passed the test.” Seunghyun says, breaking into her thoughts. He’s burning the pancakes and the acidic smell burns as she breathes. She swallows, looking up from where she sits at the kitchen counter.

 

He’s broken her routine.

 

“So I’ll be enlisting in January, most likely.”

 

It’s November. He wants her to say something. She can’t.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s not perfect, far from it actually. Stubborn and childish and a mind filled with self loathing. Irrational thoughts that she’ll never be able to understand; with a face that was sculpted by the Gods and a body to go along with it. She’s never met someone so handsome with such a complicated mind, and she only started to understand it a few years in. There are nights where she wakes up next to an empty bed, to find him staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. A look of such great intensity on his face that she can only hover by the door, wary of drawing his attention away from himself.

 

That’s why they first got together, she’s always thought. Emotionally unstable with enough insecurities to fill a suitcase, being together was so much easier than being alone. He got better, gradually.

 

She didn’t, but he’s patient.

 

They drive to work together, having given up putting on an act long ago.

 

Resentment never fails to build up in her as they near the building, the place she blames for so much of their . The staff look at her differently now, and it’s not because she has Seunghyun on her arm.

 

Once inside the building, he kisses her on the cheek before they go their separate ways. She feels lost while watching him walk away, and she wonders if he can feel her gaze on his back.  The building is like a maze, and navigating it alone always gives her a headache. At one point she catches her reflection in a mirror and is taken back to her trainee days, wide eyed and a body full of fear. It rises up in her chest as the lift ascends to the top floor, sitting right beneath her ribcage when the doors finally open.

 

They open right into his secretary’s office (narcissistic), who stares at her for what feels like an eternity before speaking.

 

“He’s waiting for you.” Is all Bom gets, but its enough to make dry and her palms sweaty. Her dad always told her that no one could make her feel intimidated without her consent, and briefly she wonders when she stopped listening to his advice.

 

The click of her heels against the tiled floor brings unwanted attention to her, even if it is just from the solitary secretary, as she makes her way into his office.

 

“So, today’s the day.” YG says, not glancing up once from his papers. His voice grates against her ears.

 

They announce the teasers later that morning.

 

 She’s had world tours and albums but this collaboration with Lee Hi has got her feeling nerves she never knew existed before. The poor girl has to keep reassuring her that she’s not a burden, but she still can’t shake off the idea that she’s dragging her down with her. Two minutes and thirteen seconds pass before Seunghyun messages her (not that she was counting). Two minutes and thirteen seconds of thoughts racing and hearts palpitating.

 

But then she’s back in the studio, with his eyes on her body and a hand on her back and the thoughts are gone, her heart has calmed down to a gentle thud.

 

 

 

 

 

They’re different, very different. He loves art and fine wine, pretentious books that she swears he’ll never read. She likes shots of tequila at four in the morning and Moomin dolls. But deep down is where they really differ, beneath the strange sense of humour they both use as a defence mechanism.  She pays too much attention to what people think of her, lets it eat her up from the inside. But for all his insecurities, she’s never met anyone with such a disregard for what any one else has to say. No, his problems all come from inside, from a deep rooted fear of not being good enough.

 

That’s what she guesses, at least.

 

This is why they work well together. Like almonds and chocolate.

 

She’s reading the comments on her new music video, uploaded 2 hours ago, when he slaps the phone out of her hand, a knowing look on his face.

 

“Stop worrying what other people think. As long as you’re proud of it that’s the only thing that matters.” He says bluntly.

 

But it’s easy for him to say.

 

“Are you proud of it?” She asks, looking away from him.

 

“I’m proud of everything you do.” He says, in a softer tone this time.

 

They go for a walk by the river to take her mind off of things. Something they do so often she thinks she could map out every ripple on the water with her eyes closed. Puddles of rainwater splash under her feet, and the cold air feels sharp in .

 

Suddenly, Seunghyun stops to lean down. Her heart also stops, thoughts of proposals and marriage racing through her head. They’d agreed to wait until after his enlistment, but then Seunghyun had never been one to conform to anything.

 

But then he stands up again, he stands up with a snail between his fingers, walks over to the side of the path and puts it down gently. Bom watches this unfold with wide eyes, unable to keep a look of incredulity off of her face.

 

“They come out in the rain, don’t want them to get crushed.” He explains, with a shrug of his shoulders. And then she’s laughing, she’s laughing so hard that tears are streaming down her face and Seunghyun begins to look at her with concern.

 

Fifteen snails, she saves. She must have earned some great karma because she comes back to find her song at number one, her phone blowing up with congratulatory messages.

 

She lets out a breath that she didn’t know she had been holding in, maybe for the past two years.

 

The girls (what’s left of them) make it clear they’re coming over to celebrate, and before she can stop him Seunghyun is springing into the kitchen.

 

He can’t cook to save his life.

 

And yet he insists on cooking for her every day, her protests and complaints falling on deaf ears. Every cloud has a silver lining, though, as she watches him from the kitchen island. Broad shoulders flex underneath his (excessive) layers and muscles ripple as he moves about the kitchen (and he has a decent bum, too).

 

Admittedly, she’s no better; with a track record of almost burning down the 2ne1 dorm several times she’s lucky she hasn’t been done for arson.

 

“You’re thinking too hard.” He says, back still turned to her. “What are you thinking about?”

 

The first time he asked her that, she was a trainee, crying in the gym after a particularly awful dance practice. Ugly tears that they never show on Korean dramas. He had stumbled in on her by accident, and she’ll never be able to forget the look of sheer terror on his face when he realised what he’d walked in on. But for a some reason she’ll never understand, he stayed. Sat down in silence next to her and let her cry, gradually putting a tentative arm around her. Eventually, when her sobs had subsided into hiccups, he asked her that.  She thought it was a stupid thing to say, but that didn’t stop her from pouring her heart out to him.

 

This time, though, she had nothing to say. Because she wasn’t thinking about her weight, she wasn’t thinking about her face or the mean comments that come along with it. She was thinking about his bum, and how nice it looked in those jeans.

 

“Nothing.” She says. “Not really thinking about anything.”

 

She can’t remember the last time that was the truth.

 

Before he can respond to her, with an eyebrow raised and a look of disbelief, the doorbell buzzes. Chae stands on the other side, the fish eye peephole turning her head into an alien. She opens the door, and a hug so tight that Bom can almost feel her ribs cracking follows straight afterwards.

 

“Hi Seunghyunnie.” She calls out to the kitchen. The man in question peeps his head around the wall.

 

“Chae! We were beginning to think you had become an American citizen. Trump kick you out?” He jokes, and Chae stomps her feet in response.

 

This is her favourite, when their banter allows her to sit back and blend into the background.

 

Dara follows soon after, with gifts from the Philippines almost weighing her down to the ground. It comes with a gentler hug this time, and one that Bom finds her self unwilling to let go of.

 

“I missed you.” She murmurs into the other girl’s hair. Out of them all, they always understand each other best. Even without having to say anything, she’s pretty sure Dara can map out the hundreds of thoughts running through her mind at 100mph.

 

Seunghyun’s terrible food is washed down by many bottles of Soju and by the end of the evening they’re all drunk. Bom would stand up and make a toast if she weren’t afraid of how much the world was spinning.

 

Empty bottles litter the table and cigarette butts become a mountain in the ashtray. The conversation is still flowing, albeit slurred and messy now, but there are things that stay unspoken, topics none of them want to breach.

 

She forgets that Seunghyun’s never been one to hold his tongue when he’s drunk.

 

“So when is 2ne1 coming back together?” He slurs, head leaning so far into his hand that it’s almost on the floor. She watches the other two purse their lips as a familiar feeling of dread takes root in her stomach. Seunghyun doesn’t get the hint, carrying on through the silence.

 

“You’re all back together now! I say just do it, YG-”

 

“That’s easy for you to say.” Chae’s voice cuts through his speech. “You’re his ing golden boys. Can’t do a thing wrong.”

 

She’s finding it hard to breathe now and as much as she’d like to swallow down her feelings, there’s a lump at the back of stopping her. Excusing herself, she clumsily gets up from the table, almost knocking her chair over in the process, and escapes to the toilet. The sound of the lock scraping against the door is too loud and it feels like icy fingers are clawing at her chest.

 

“Bommie.” Dara whispers through the door. “Unlock it.”

 

So she unlocks it, sinking down to the floor and letting Dara’s arms wrap around her.

 

“It wasn’t your fault.” She hears.

 

Maybe one day she’ll believe it.

 

Seunghyun apologises later that night (morning), after sobering up.

 

“I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He says, through the darkness of their bedroom. It makes her feel even worse, though. The idea that she’s a minefield he has to navigate.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s December. It’s December and she can’t move. She’s read about sleep paralysis, where your mind wakes up but your body doesn’t. Never thought she would actually experience it, though. The darkness is stifling, all she wants to do is scream but nothing is coming out of . There’s nothing and nothing and nothing.

 

Finally, her body jolts awake. Panic floods through her, sweat clinging to her fringe and body on fire.

 

“I’m going on Inkigayo today.” She says, to no one in particular.

 

“I’m going blonde today. Big day for both of us.” He murmurs, voice still thick from sleep. She’s vaguely aware of the heat radiating off his body and tries to cling to it, feeling her muscles gradually melt into his warmth.

 

She’s a little less tense now.

 

It’s 4am. T- minus 10 hours until she has to be ready.

 

The whole day is a blur. Makeup, hair, practice practice practice. Vocal warmups, mic checks, deep breaths. She remembers her rookie days, when going on stage was just fun, pure fun, and makes a half hearted attempt to go back to that.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

And then she’s standing backstage, and for all the people around her she’s never felt more alone.

 

Then a hand slips into hers. It’s warm, and soft, and slowly brings her out of her own thoughts. Seunghyun stands next to her, with blonde hair and a jumper that she gave him last Christmas.

 

“Show them what you’re made of.” He says, clenching her hand in his. She wants to cry, but then the lights are flashing and it’s her turn to step on stage. The lights are blinding and the screams are deafening, and she wishes that two years ago she’d just called it quits for good.

 

But she’s Park Bom, the screams remind her.

 

 

 

 

She’s worried, at first. She hasn’t had a schedule for two years; all of her time has been his. Now she’s busy, busier than he his and a little voice in the back of her head reminds her that this must put a strain on their relationship. He enlists in the Police force, coming home every weekend. Sometimes to an empty flat, sometimes right into her arms.   

 

It’s different now, very different. But their relationship has never been a constant, a reflection on them as people, rather than their circumstances, she supposes.

 

He messages her drunk one night, when she’s on a high from winning her first award in more years than she has fingers and he’s worried that she won’t need him anymore.

 

She’ll always need him, she replies back. It’s just a different need now.