MAY 4

He's here for some reason, like a metaphorical stoplight when she enters the very bar that screwed up every good thing in her life. She hasn't been here since the meltdown, or even immediately after Krystal left for Seoul, but she's here now and so is the face she didn't think she'd ever need to see again. This club isn't as lively as it used to be, or perhaps it's just the perspective she has now. Or maybe other people have been ed over in this place as well - too many one night stands, and other drunken mistakes. Except him - he hasn't lost anything, not here at least.

“Yo,” he calls, apparently recognizing her. “Come have a drink with me.” 

She hesitates, and he laughs throatily. “I know I'm the last person you want to see right now but you're the only person who gets what I'm going through right now. I mean, not to compare us but y'know...” He chuckles at the way he's only had two beers yet is already stumbling over his words. “Come on, it's on me.”

From the moment he stepped through the doors to their house, nothing about Kai was as intimidating or as detestable as Amber found herself subconsciously building him up to be in her head. Even now, the grin on his face holds nothing but a friendly welcome. He's really nothing like the guys that usually came onto Krystal - exactly as she described: a guy with a high school boy-like crush on her. She sees no reason to turn him down (other than the blatant fact that he didn't make an effort to hide his feelings despite knowing Krystal has—had someone). Those text messages are still appearing in her head as she looks at him. It shouldn't bother her this much now, she thinks, but somehow the memory of it still stings. 

She takes a seat next to him, a little wary. He calls for another beer, slides it over, and sits in silence for a while as she takes a sip, sighing at the burning liquid slipping down . It's been a while since she's had a drink, mostly too afraid that what happened before would happen again (though deep down she knew it couldn't possibly happen again, she would die before letting it). 

“Any word from her?” he asks, and she shakes her head. “Me neither. Last I saw her was at the airport. She got her ticket, got on the plane, and didn't say a word about anything else.” He lets out a sardonic laugh, taking another swig of his beer before turning to her. “You miss her?”

She doesn't reply, and somewhere beneath that empty stare he can feel resentment. He doesn't try to urge her on, silently sipping his drink, sips turning into gulps until he's downed another bottle, already gesturing for another. He usually doesn't drink this much, but there's a hollowness he wants to fill and an awkwardness he needs to cover up now that he has company. Despite what he thinks, she doesn't hate him at all - she's much more loathing of herself, she decides - she finds him intriguing.

“Are you the one that got her the vinyl record?”

“You found out about that, huh?”

“It's still sitting there in our closet.”

He's almost hurt that she left it there. “I'm sorry,” he mutters, “about what I did.”

“You didn't do anything.” Her response is quick, catching him offguard. She looks down at her hands, starting to fidget at the memory. She doesn't want to blame him. It was her who walked into the bar that night, her who didn't push Nicole away, her who was completely wrapped up in the thought that at the very same moment Krystal and Kai were doing the exact same thing. Yet she couldn't push the thought of him out of her head. 

“I came onto her. I didn't mean to- it sounds stupid, I know. But I just... I loved her too, y'know?”

“Loved?”

“I may as well start trying to move on early, right? I don't know when or if she's coming back, and if she does, I don't think it's a good idea to ever go down that road again.” He breathes deeply through his nose, almost teetering off his bar stool. “Who would have thought...”

“What?”

“That she's into girls.”

“Really? Is that what you're focusing on?” she quirks an eyebrow at him, and he stifles a chuckle.

“I mean, yeah. It explains a lot, actually. How she never liked kissing, or the lights always had to be off. I thought it was just me.”

“And why couldn't it have just been you?”

“You're right,” he sighs, “just trying to salvage my ego here.”

The atmosphere, although not the cheeriest, isn't as tense as Amber had imagined when she arrived, spotting him in her usual seat. He's not contemptuous in the slightest, just lost and a little like her. 

“The weather's been really nice,” he mentions, watching her nod in agreement. It's nighttime, so neither could look out the window to admire the pleasantness of it. But Amber can still remember how beautiful it was walking outside this morning. The sun's warmth hadn't completely taken over yet, but the streets have dried up, and the grass was glistening in the sun. It feels like forever since she's seen sights like that.

“I forgot to ask,” he turns to her, “what's your name? I've been hearing about you for so long and I've only met you once. I just realized I never got to know.”

“Amber.”

“Ah. And I'm assuming you know who I am?” 

More than you think, she smirks to herself, finding the irony in this situation. She only wishes he knew of the amount of turmoil he's caused over the past month, even before she could put his face to his name. She simply nods, and he looks at her with a small smile before setting his third bottle down. He's decided to stay level headed tonight, at least to drive himself home. He pays the bartender for their drinks, taking one last glance at Amber.

Part of him wants to stay and shower her with the plethora of questions that have been bombarding his mind since Krystal left. What kind of situation they were in, how they ended up together, if what he felt for her could even hold a candle to what she felt. But by the look on her face, the way her eyes seem to twinkle at the sound of Krystal's name as her hands clench tightly around the bottle, he thinks he knows the answer already.

“I'll see you around then,” he says, “or not, who knows.” Really, what were the chances when their only connection had been her. In truth, he found this club at random - needing something nearby to quell the throbbing in his head - and was amazed to stumble upon her. 

She doesn't say a word to him, just lifts her bottle in a farewell gesture. He thinks it's a little odd that she isn't as extroverted as Krystal always described, but then again, after all that's happened, he's not surprised that her spirits have dropped. He playfully salutes, turning his back to her. But before he leaves, he stops for a moment.

“Amber.”

“Yeah?”

“I hope she comes back to you.”

MAY 6

Amber wonders about (if there even was) life before Krystal. 

There was a time, she vaguely remembers - it all seems so distant to the point of being blurry - when things were simpler, though duller, and decisions of the future were entirely trivial. What would she eat the next day? How much would textbooks cost? When could she go on vacation to visit her family? Not a shred of anxiety or doubt plagued her mind through the tranquil period of time when most of her decisions came premade while others could be postponed or compensated for.

A cup of coffee and an opinionated outburst later, it became complicated. Who would've thought those piercing eyes, soft skin, and addicting lips would become something she'd risk everything for.

She tries (and fails, repeatedly) not to ponder over the what ifs and whose faults of last month. It happened so quickly, yet dragged on so agonizingly long. Even now, she can't begin to understand what drove her to be the cause of her own downfall. At this rate, she can't see herself moving on at all.

She walks out into the dewy morning, still groggy from the humid night of tossing and turning in bed, and begins her journey to the coffee shop a little ways down the street. It hasn't rained for a while, giving way to clear pavements and dry soil. Now everyone is out on the streets, cheerfully travelling from building to building, while kids return to the park, now unafraid of getting their clothes soaked on benches and playgrounds. Life has returned to the city, no longer cooped up in homes, terrified of the violent storms.

When she gets her latte at last, there's still half an hour to kill before work starts. She smiles at the thought—her, at work. No matter how upset Krystal had been when she left, there was no way in the world she would leave her on her own like that. Amber had found a note she had discreetly placed under her pillow, giving her directions to a job opening at a local club as a DJ that would undoubtedly hire her at the mention that she knew Krystal. It turns out before she started working in fashion, she was a bartender there, serving up drinks and chatting up customers - a job that seemed so unfitting given her often anti-social demeanor. Yet Amber could totally imagine it - how her alluring aura could entice customers into coming back for more. 

It's unusually quiet in the normally loud, chit-chattery café (not that she's complaining, it's a great place to clear her head). She pulls out her phone to distract herself from the silence that's beginning to remind her of how she's here alone. Strange how it bothers her now when long ago she would have welcomed the bit of solitude, giving her time to organize her life so she wouldn't have to worry about it later.

Krystal really liked taking photos, Amber comes back to that realization when she finds over five hundred of them on her phone - a seemingly endless scroll through floral backgrounds, rainy days, dimly lit selfies, and candid photos of herself with hidden messages written underneath each. She enlarges a photo of herself, staring vacantly out their living room window on a particular stormy day - it was so dark that day, the rain barely visible against the ink black night. Underneath is the very gracefully written: Hey stupid, why aren't you looking at me instead? 

She nearly chokes on a giggle, now wildly intrigued. She swipes left - they're at an art gallery, Amber posed in front of a statue that warns 'DON'T TOUCH' with her finger hovering inches away from the marble. Caption: You're such a dork, I love you. She's chuckling quietly to herself, cautious of the students studying silently at a table across from her. The next is a selfie of her at work, slumped against a chair in her uniform with her lips formed in a pout. Caption: Babe, I miss you. It's so boring here. 

She huffs a sigh, annoyed at how much time they spent apart when she worked. Annoyed that she didn't stop by even once to check up on her until their relationship began to falter. And then another thought crosses her mind - an obvious one that she's surprised hadn't crossed any of their minds throughout all of this. Who took the photo of her and Nicole at the club that night? More importantly, why did they care enough to do it? She quickly opens up the Facebook app, searching through tags and mentions, yet the photo is nowhere - perhaps they deleted it? But why? She groans, ruffling her hair. The world sure has a twisted way of ruining her, leaving no trace that it was ever there.

It's heartbreaking, she thinks, that so many of these photos are of Krystal alone, wishing she would notice her, or shots of her looking away. Was this their relationship dynamic? She hadn't thought of it at all.   

There's a pause in her breathing, then a realization. She returns to the photos, swiping through them again. If one photo could produce so much distrust and calamity, making them forget every ounce of affection they had for each other, perhaps they could also—

Her alarm goes off with a loud beep, startling some onlookers. Quickly, she shuts it off, mumbling a quiet apology as a blush pooled to her cheeks. 

MAY 10

Krystal's Facebook is still up, really the only means of contact now that her number has undoubtedly changed. She hasn't been active in weeks, it reads. Amber heaves a guiltful sigh, not surprised. But there's absolutely no way she's backing down from this. She's been out for the past four days, taking long walks, reminiscing and enjoying (as much as she can) places she's been before and places she wishes she would have had the chance to take Krystal. 

Her fingers still on Krystal's picture, hesitant for a moment, then taps on the icon, revealing their last messages—an errand - she remembers that day. They never really communicated by messenger after they swapped numbers, and even then texting became a rare occasion after they moved in together. She realizes she has no idea how to start this off, given how things turned out. Could she still be casual about anything? She swears there was a time she wasn't this bad at this. “ it,” she mutters under her breath, deciding she didn't care - there's a small chance she could mess this up any more than she already has.

The first photo she sends is of the lecture hall - the place they spent most of their first days together, simultaneously bored by the lessons and intrigued by each other's presence just inches away. All the excuses Krystal would make to sneak even a glance at her - a stretch, a yawn, dropping a pencil, 'not knowing what the hell was going on' though a plausible reason, she never bothered to ask Kai who was next to her.

Right underneath the photo, she writes: 

Dropped your pencil?

MAY 13

Messaging Krystal has become something a journal entry rather than an exchange of words. It would be a lie to say it doesn't send just a chill of dejection through her when Krystal sees the messages, never responding. At the same time, it's uplifting to know that she always sees, always checks, is always there even though it feels like she isn't. Amber wonders about what kinds of reactions she's having to them - whether she's sighing and reminiscing the same way Amber is with every photo. They're gorgeous shots, Amber certainly thinks so, as the weather provided the perfect lighting to capture their memories in carefully planned out shots. Some were funny, even stupidly dorky - Amber can imagine her describing it like that - while others, though Amber tries not to get too angsty, conjured up memories of life before, well, everything.

She's working late tonight, her boss would take no arguments, not that she had any. DJ-ing isn't exactly where she pictured herself in the near future but she couldn't complain - not a lot, anyway. It's dizzying having to stand next to speakers towering over her for hours, blasting music at top volume, sending vibrations bouncing off the walls of the club as the lights flashed shades of blue, red and yellow. It's mildly stressful having to keep the hype up, occasionally screaming into the microphone for people to jump and bounce and even grind on each other if the song is deemed fit. But the people were always fairly motivated on their own, and even those that weren't eventually got a push from a few gulps of champagne. 

All in all, she had few complaints. She finds it almost invigorating to watch the faces of people who initially came into the club exhausted, beaten down, and bored from the long week of menial work, now rejuvenated, losing themselves to the beats and rhythms of this week's pop hits and drowning out the reality that tore them down. Oddly, it starts to inspire some of her own music - lyrics spring to life in her mind at the sight of smiles, contagious laughs, gentle touches and flashy lights illuminating figures pressed so tightly together she thinks one of them might start to choke. It's all so reminiscent of her, of them, and the days they were the ones in front of this DJ studio - drunk (on each other), in love, and so uncaring of what curveball tomorrow would toss them. The way they would dance until Krystal's legs gave out from exhaustion, and Amber would catch her before she hit the floor with an amused chuckle before she was instantly shut up with a kiss that tasted of pineapples, coconuts, and the indescribably more delicious taste that was uniquely Krystal.

While the crowd is lost in a cloud of spectral lights and euphoria, Amber pulls out her phone, adjusting the setting to catch a better photo in the semi-darkness. It turns out just the way she wants it - the way they've always seen it no matter what club they were at. The colours are popping, the faces of individual people blurred almost into a single entity.

She sends the photo with the caption: I wish I was on the other side of this booth, tasting pina colada and you.

That night, when she's in the quiet of the bedroom, she finds herself putting together a playlist of songs that reminded her of them. Songs they've danced (and laughed) to at the club, some they've listened to in the peace of the coffee shop down the street (sipping coffee, humming softly), others that just screamed them, what they used to be, and what they could have been, and Amber starts to realize how much she probably seems like a really cheesy, pathetic ex that won't let it go, but it doesn't discourage her in the slighest. She even laughs at the thought. Krystal always liked indie music that never quite resonated with her until they were in the warmth of her car, Krystal's hand trailing up her thigh as her soft lips pressed against her neck, while one of her favourite songs played on the stereo, intensifying the atmosphere. Even in her daze, the lyrics sank in, melting her from the inside as Krystal did from the out. 

She sends the playlist without hesitation. That night, she keeps her headphones plugged in, quietly humming to the playlist of Krystal Jung and Amber Liu: What Used To Be until it lulls her to sleep. 

MAY 15

It's raining again - just a light drizzle, yet somehow it feels like enough to plummet her back into the storms of April.

With her headphones plugged in, drowning out the pitter patter of rain hitting the concrete outside, she starts to write a song. For the first time, she doesn't end up with crumpled sheets piling up in the trash bin - just a few dots and scribbles resulting from her mind rapidly digging into her memories and feelings, wringing out every drop onto the page. A love song of bittersweet kisses, unusual habits, coffee stains, drunken mishaps, and general insanity - only sane through the eyes of those who have experienced it. She can already hear it — a slow beat, picking up momentum as the chorus approaches before cutting off completely - like the way a storm starts off a drizzle before the thunder (beat drops) summons the impacting rain, and before you know it, it's over - not a signal to let you know it's nearing the end.

She slumps back against her chair with a content sigh, the headphones becoming a strain against her ears, but she can't find the will to remove herself from the melody. The song that comes on next is Nothing Like Us - and now that the pen is out of her hand, the lyrics begin to hit home much harder. Then again, everything serves as a reminder of her, but something about the way the soft piano of the song melds together with the pelting of the rain outside sends chills down her spine and the memory of their final clash flooding into her mind.

She pulls out her phone, taking a clear shot of the rain, little beads forming on the window, sliding down in rivulets. Her caption this time is a lyric, and a link: There's nothing like us. Nothing like you and me. Together through the storm.

Listening to the lyric again, Amber almost laughs at how contradictory those words were in their circumstance. If only they had been together through the storm - they were on completely different ends of it, letting it drown them.

MAY 18

It feels, smells, and looks like a flower shop this morning, and nature is the florist. The once plain green front yards are now veiled in rows of stems and petals of different hues, the aroma filling her senses the second she steps out onto the sidewalk. What she wouldn't give to idle around and inhale the smell of spring (at last, she thinks, because April didn't carry the essence of spring at all). But today is far too important to linger around - she's finally found within a surprisingly short period of time, a record company willing to give her a shot at executing this song that's been drifting in and out of her subconscious. 

She captures the vibrant scenery in another photo, content with how the colours pop in the sunlight, and sends it to she who has seen everything but remains silent yet at this point it doesn't bother Amber in the slightest as she grows ever more comforted at the fact that she still cares. 

Caption: After the blacks and greys of the storm, we're finally graced with colour. It looks better in person.

Krystal never liked flowers or anything floral - not for any particular reason, she simply found it unappealing (a total ing eyesore of patterns, she once said when Amber pointed out a floral print shirt during a shopping spree). The same way there was no particular reason behind her preference for pina colada because pineapple and coconut just work well together. But Amber is sure that even Krystal would be rendered putty at the sight of such radiant colours bursting to life on once , boring lawns. It's a sight neither thought they'd ever see again since last spring.

And then she's off, hands buried in her coat and a light thrumming in her chest. 

MAY 20

There's something so painfully ironic about the fact that she spends her days in a club — the very place that flipped her life upside down and smothered it while she thought she could piece it back together.

During one of her breaks, she's subconsciously humming to the tune of a song when a face appears in the club that Amber simultaneously recognizes and doesn't. Perhaps it's not her face but the aura she emits when she struts towards the bar in heels too high for her, and face caked in enough makeup to drown a team of cheerleaders she feels like. Strangely enough, every bit about that makes her seem all the more familiar.  

“A sangria, please,” she says to the bartender, then takes a seat on a stool a few inches away from her.

No, she's definitely seen her before - it's not just the fishnet stockings and frayed black shorts that are throwing her off (memories of the rough material dragging up her legs bombard her mind again). She tries to doubt herself for just a moment because everything reminds her of her - the smell of black coffee, smeared mascara, even the pillows on their bed with the faintest trace of her. No, Amber thinks, she's definitely a person she's met before, as hard as it is to remember a life before her. When Amber turns to look at her again, she's staring straight back, unhesitating and unquestioning. She definitely knows something.

“Have we met?” She doesn't think before asking.  It comes out absentmindedly but the girl doesn't seem to have been caught off guard, as if expecting it. 

“Maybe,” there's a playfulness in her voice that somehow tugs at Amber's heart, “I'll tell you if you can guess close enough.” 

She eyes the girl briefly, scanning over her features. She's quite short contrary to what the stiletto heels would have you believe, smells of expensive perfume (Gucci, is it?), and has a tendency to pull her bottom lip between her teeth every time their eyes meet - she can't tell whether it's an attempt to be seductive or a habit of awkwardness. She doesn't want to let herself admit it but everything about this girl is so reminiscent of the distinct Krystal Jung with her dark makeup and chic clothes. All but her facial features - they're soft and rounded, revealing how young she really is no matter how much contouring she's hiding under. 

Amber takes a swig of her martini and sets it down on the counter with a heavy sigh. “We went to the same university?” It's her first and only guess considering she doesn't meet people anywhere else.

“Close.”

“High school.”

“Yes. Where specifically?”

She furrows her brows, concentrating intensely on her face. The girl seems to find it amusing, giggling when she narrows her eyes. “Were you in band?”

“Nope.”

“Soccer team.”

“You're getting warmer.”

High school feels like forever ago, Amber realizes. Judging from her build, nothing about her screams athletic. She's rather slender - not as lithe as Krystal but in good shape. Slender, pretty, nice smelling, but even intoxicated Amber couldn't see her as anything more than a girl trying to drown her youth in makeup and feigned confidence. “You were a cheerleader.”

“Hmm, that didn't take long,” she muses, taking a sip of her sangria. 

“I still don't recall ever meeting you.”

“Yet you recognized my face?”

“And you recognized mine. I don't know what you're trying to get at but I do need to get back to work soon. Will your name at least ring a bell?”

“Jennie Kim.”

Not a single bell or lightbulb goes off in her head, and she starts to think perhaps her memory is going fuzzy from all the booze, but the grin on Jennie's dark lips suggests otherwise.

“You don't remember me, that's fine. We only talked once—well, ten if you count the number of times I've stared at you down the hallway, practiced what it would be like talking to you, and then watching you leave because I couldn't find the courage to say anything.”

“When did the first time happen?” she asks, pretending not to be just a little taken aback by the outright casual confession.

“During one of your soccer matches, you kicked the ball in my direction by mistake while we were in pyramid formation and knocked me off the girls' shoulders. You ran to me right after, helped me up and gave me an ice pack. We never really met per se...” She wraps a strand of hair around her ring finger, “but you kept appearing in my dreams ever since.”

Amber swallows as the memory springs to life again in her head. The poor little girl in twin tails toppling onto the grass, rolling over the white line. It was a brief exchange that she only remembers with mild embarrassment. But seeing the same girl now, shining a new light on what seemed like a trivial interaction, completely changes the memory. “You were in freshman year, weren't you?”

She nods, sighing. “I was young and hormonal, and you were my first love.” She giggles when colour pools to Amber's cheeks - never did she think she'd ever be one to fluster Amber Liu. “I'm not here to stalk you or anything, that was years ago. I just happened to see you walk in here and decided what do I have to lose? I haven't seen anyone from high school for a long time.”

“I didn't see you come in here after me,” she wonders out loud.

Jennie almost chokes on her laughter. “You never do. I guess that's something that hasn't changed.”

“I would apologize but I really never knew.”

“I didn't come here for an apology,” she shifts over a little more until their knees touch. “I just wanted to see your face,” there's a twinkle in her eyes as she looks up, “you haven't changed at all.”

“I wish I could say the same for you but last I saw you were small and clumsy.”

“Anyone would be clumsy with a soccer ball flying at their head.”

“Again, I'm sorry about that,” she apologizes, immediately wondering why she still feels obligated to.

There's a pause, during which a tightness envelops Amber's chest at the striking resemblence this girl has to the girl she wishes could be sitting next to her right now (or at least answer her messages). She ponders on whether it's some twisted coincidence the two had almost identical auras or if Jennie really liked her enough to understand her tastes. “Are you with someone right now?” she asks out of curiosity.

“Yes, I'm in a relationship.”

“What's she like?”

“He is really sweet.” Amber quirks an eyebrow at her, and she plainly shrugs. “It's not just black and white, y'know? It's something you start to realize the more you just let yourself go.” She slides out of her seat after gulping down the last ice cube in her glass, looking Amber directly in the eyes. “I almost forgot about him when I saw you walk in here. I almost doubted myself, just almost.”

She doesn't know how to respond, or if a response is warranted. The whole situation is quite bizarre from her perspective. Of all the places and objects that reminded her of Krystal, Jennie Kim is like a living compilation of all those things. “Almost, huh?” she whispers, more to herself.

“I trailed after you for a year,” it comes out in a laugh, though not a bitter one contrary to her choice of words, “an entire year of wanting a senior to notice me and you never looked back. I was always there, hovering around you and wanting just a 'hi'.” She smiles to herself, shaking her head. “It's not your fault, I know I'm making it seem that way. If I really wanted to do something, I should have... not that you would have liked me back if I did, I was just a freshman. I'm just mad at myself for bottling it up for so long.”

“You don't know that,” Amber tries to comfort, but they both know she's lying.

“Even now, you didn't remember me yet you still look at me like I'm a child.”

Is that why you dress this way? The question gets caught in , and she swallows it because there's no need to further the angst of the situation. Jennie slips a bill to the bartender, not even looking his way because her eyes are locked on Amber's blank gaze that gives away nothing but slight discomfort. 

“I'm sorry,” Jennie gently pats her shoulder, “I tend to get overdramatic when I reminisce. No hard feelings.” Amber nods, though still not fully comprehending what just happened - it all feels so surreal, like an unexpected plot twist in a drama. She silently watches the girl find her balance in the five inch heels, the clack of it against the floor making Amber cringe at just how painful it probably feels. She begins turning to leave but stops abruptly - “I forgot to ask... what was that song you were humming to?”

“Huh?” She nearly forgot. “Oh, it's one of mine. I got it recorded yesterday.”

“Ah, so you're still doing music.”

“Yeah.”

“What's it about?”

“It's kind of a love song.”

“A girl?”

“Yeah.”

Amber entirely expects the next question, but that doesn't prevent the twinge of angst from clawing at her heart. “Are you two still together?”

“No.”

“But you still love her.” It's not a question, and Amber doesn't wonder why because even she knows that she gives off the aura of a person missing a part of themself. So she nods instead, eyes travelling to her empty glass. “Are you still sad about it?”

“I can't be sad forever,” Amber half-laughs, “what good would it do, y'know?” The memory of all the hours spent hopelessly crying after Krystal had left that morning comes flooding into her mind. It seemed like the end of the world then, but tears can't go on forever even if it feels that way and she eventually came to a stand still. All that's left is that gaping feeling that can't be filled with the company of anyone but her and a will to continue on anyway because it's in her nature to be optimistic. 

Jennie nods with a sympathetic smile, deciding not to further inquire about it. As she starts to leave again, Amber believes she hears the sound of her voice, nearly drowned out by the noise of the crowd—

“I hope she comes back to you.”

MAY 24

Krystal hasn't checked her messages for two days, leading Amber to wonder whether it's become too much for her - the photos, the bittersweet captions, the way every message seemed to drip with concealed longing. It's only been two days, a part of her tries to reassure as she sends the newest batch from the park she visited this afternoon.

Parks are one of the few places in which having kids seems like a good idea.

It's something Krystal once said on one of their ventures into a local park by the university. Contrary to her careless image, Krystal has an inexplicible soft spot for children, though they've only talked about them once during a drunken night at the most unfitting time - not that either of them noticed or cared after a few shots of vodka. They were alone in the deserted park after midnight, the smell of alcohol and expensive perfume overpowering the earthy scent. In between sloppy kisses, it came out of her in a slurry whisper - “I want to name our first child Alex.” Amber merely laughed - partly because she was convinced the alcohol had gone to her head, but mostly from the randomness of her statement.

It only occurs to her now how honest Krystal gets when she's intoxicated. She's a stoic enigma when sober but lets her facade crumble twice a week - Amber realizes now how oblivious she's been to all of it. 

I guess that's something that hasn't changed - it's Jennie's voice that echoes through her mind but Krystal's face (red, puffy, with desperate eyes) that she sees.

Amber thinks back to those nights where confessions were drowned out by passionate kisses and warm caresses, muffled between lips. All the suppressed I love you's and don't leave me's that slipped right past her. She was insecure, vulnerable, and more importantly —alone, even when Amber was right in front of her.

Krystal Jung wasn't an enigma - she was entirely human, entirely comprehensible.

I should have listened to you. She sends the message without a second thought, then lets the device flop next to her on the bed. 

MAY 26

Once or twice the thought of ‘moving on’ has crossed her mind, only to vanish like smoke to the wind when she realizes that there's no way in this world that she could lose something that had become so paramount in her life and continue onto the next chapter as if it was nothing at all. No matter how much she tries to bask in the warmth of the sun beating down on the city, the warm breeze signaling an oncoming summer, and the opportunities to start another life (she's been offered a contract with the record company - a chance she couldn't believe sparked up so soon), every passing moment without her is a hollow feeling in her chest. 

Maybe it's my imagination because I miss you so much, but the bedsheets still smell like you - To anyone, it would seem pathetic  to be pining after her ex everyday, expressing her feelings when most people go to extremes to suppress them. But, she believes, Krystal Jung is worth fighting for.

The house always feels vacant but she has no regrets about the decision to move in together. Loving each other wasn't a mistake - not knowing how to love properly was. So she uses music to fill the quiet space, humming to the songs (her songs, at last) of April showers and May flowers. 

MAY 28

Amber doesn't believe in fate or that things happen for any particular reason beyond coincidence but she can't deny the utter freakiness of the chain of events leading up to this point. 

She thinks she's imagined it at first, but the scent of distinct musky cologne wafts through the air of the café and pulls her back to that dream-like night many weeks ago. He notices her, somehow turning around at just the right time to catch her in her state of contemplation, and waves her over with a smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. The same man, at a different place, with a different atmosphere. His eyes, once tinged with darkness and regret, now seem to beam with renewed light. Perhaps it's the radiant sun outside that's finally lifted his spirits. Or maybe he's just that much more optimistic than she is. Or maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as crazy about Krystal as she is.

She grabs a latte with plenty of time to spare to linger around because he let her cut in front of him (insisted then begged, really, she never figured out whether his generosity was genuine or a dominance thing).  

“It's been a while.”

Amber nods, though she considers his idea of 'a while' much shorter than her's. 

“What have you been up to?” 

“Um,” she hums, tapping the side of her cup, “writing music, producing music, DJ-ing.”

“Have you majored in music?”

“No, I dropped out of school.”

She's not sure if it's her imagination that sees his face drop slightly. Krystal didn't talk much about Kai, other than their brief relationship (which painted him in a rather unflattering light), but being studious was something that Amber deduced back in their university days. He cared enough to make an extra set of notes just for Krystal (for obvious reasons) every lecture, and paid intricate attention to lessons (making it much easier for them to flirt subtly). “You really value education, don't you?”

Kai nods with a small, unashamed smile. “Runs in the family. Everyone's a PhD holder.”

“What are you studying right now?”

“Political science. It's a really fascinating field, given the state of our world right now. I attended a conference last week emphasizing the importance of understanding government sys—” his speech comes to a halt as a chuckle ripples through his body, “oh my god I'm blabbing again, ahh.” Two hands abandon his cup of coffee to cradle his face that's becoming tinged with colour.

There's a lot more that constitutes the faceless guy from psych than Amber had cared to notice - a genuineness that she didn't notice before. The light shining through the large windows of the café perfectly illuminates his features - soft, well-defined, slightly embarrassed, but not a hint of envy or spite. All the jealousy-wracked images of him fall apart in an instant, and she thinks her face mirrors his right now. 

“Do you still miss her?” Amber asks, clearing .

“I'm not gonna lie... not as much as I did when we last met. I think of her once in a while but they're really only fleeting thoughts...” he sighs, looking up at her, “you still think of her a lot, don't you?”

“How'd you guess?” she asks even though she thinks it's obvious - she sees that missing part of herself everyday in the mirror. 

“I mean, you're the one who brought it up,” he almost mutters it, rubbing the back of his neck. Now that she thinks about it, their connection has only ever been Krystal. She didn't know anything about him beyond the guy who was waiting for the right time to take her back. “I haven't gotten over her completely but I've erased her number off my phone if that counts for anything,” he laughs weakly, “I don't know where I was even going with her. I guess it was just really strong infatuation, y'know?” He takes a sip of his coffee, yet his eyes never break contact with her, as if expecting to get some kind of response. Quite frankly, he feels awkward carrying conversations, which happens often.

“I don't,” she answers honestly, “I really love her.”

“I know,” he says after a sip of coffee, “I said I did too, back at the bar. I don't regret it because I really did love her too. But it's fading the more I think about how we didn't fit together at all. I really really thought we would, but it's like two puzzle pieces that just look like they'd fit, but there's that small centimetre of a difference that makes one piece fall into the other.” A grin graces his lips, “I think I was that piece that fell through.”

Amber chuckles softly under her breath at his improvised metaphor, but he hears it without looking up, and begins to laugh at himself as well. Then there's a silence, both taking small sips of their warm drinks (warm drinks on a humid day, they both wonder about their choices). A thought crosses her mind - this is the first place she met Krystal, at the pickup line as she internally questioned the girl's strange order (because for some reason that was important enough to engulf her thoughts over the English assignment due that morning), and how that small encounter changed her life. And here she is today, conversing and reconciling with the man she used to blame for the calamity in her life. Used to. 

With another sip of his coffee and a dragged out sigh, he breaks the silence. “I hope she comes back to you.”

I hope she comes back to you. It rings in her head like it's supposed to mean something but she just doesn't get it. Part of her is wondering why he isn't telling her to move on, or why anyone hasn't. Anyone in her situation should and would, but there hasn't been a single sign telling her to let go, only ones that remind her why she needs to hold on tighter.

“I hope so too.”

Amber doesn't believe in fate, but she believes that she and Krystal fit together like the right pieces of a puzzle. 

MAY 30

Krystal hasn't opened her messages in over a week. 

Against all odds, Amber isn't discouraged. She's gone from sending pictures of fading memories to ones of reflections - places they went wrong, words that should have been said earlier but were postponed, things she couldn't see before that are now hitting her head on. The mystery of Krystal Jung begins to unravel with every memory that turns over like a photo in a scrapbook, transforming into the discovery of Krystal Jung - the girl with many insecurities, and the one whom Amber loves more than anything she's ever loved. 

Krystal is an introvert, wrapped up in the solitude of her mind, and only opening up to the ones she trusts. She hates loud, crowded places (bars only worked when she was too drunk to care about the noisy music that made her head throb or the sweaty bodies pressed up against her as long as the one body she needed was the closest). Amber is not entirely an open book but open enough to accept the company of almost anyone willing to provide it. Of the flaws in their relationship, Amber thinks this contrast was the deadliest. Remembering the nights Krystal had to work late, how lonely it got and how much she yearned for attention. She didn't think twice about what that meant for Krystal.

“Babe, I'll be home soon, don't have fun without me.”
“I don't like the way those girls look at you.”
“Why are you so fine with people touching you like that?”
“Stay with me for tonight, please?”

Obvious signs buried under subtle words and gentle smiles - Amber loathes that she couldn't see it before.

The next message she sends is without a picture because nothing out of the hundreds of new selections could quite capture what she wants to get across: I never want to leave you again. I'll stay with you as long as you need, even if that's forever (especially if that's forever). It's only ever been you. I only want you.

MAY 31

There's a new addition to the playlist of Us and Amber wonders how many times (or even if) Krystal has opened it up and listened to the compilation of melancholic tunes. There's a small contrast between this song and the rest of the selection - April Showers, May Flowers isn't all blues and depressing basslines. The song comes to life again by the second verse, building up into an exciting, upbeat tune that one might even expect to hear at a club. Amber's favourite part comes in at the very middle - soft piano transitioning into airy guitar, the two sounds melding together is one of her favourite things. Something about it gives a feeling of renewed hope.

Above all, the lyrics are a condensed version of everything she's ever wanted to say but couldn't, not to her face. Every missed I love you and I need you to stay with me and confessions that were trapped in for too long. But it isn't entirely an apology - they were both in the wrong and they knew it - because it didn't matter to Amber how many people told her that one person inevitably had to take the brunt, she thinks something about them is different. She could feel it in the way Krystal used to look at her with sad eyes when she apologized for things that weren't her fault or when she couldn't speak her mind when something bothered her. She was too afraid of messing up, and irony works in the cruelest ways. 

In the quiet of her small recording studio, she's shrouded herself in her thoughts again. With her neck track creating an ambiance in the background and the air conditioning humming above, she doesn't think she's ever felt this light before - it's as refreshing as stepping out of a hot shower. May has been treating her well with the exception of one gaping hole that she's attempting to fill anyway. 

Hey, it's Stupid again - she types, reading the word 'Stupid' in Krystal's voice in the same way she used to so affectionally say it. God, how she misses that voice. Sometimes she went through old videos just to hear it again but it just couldn't compare to the real thing - especially when she was right next to her, speaking in low tones next to her ear.

One of her favourite things in the world was when she would climb on top of her, scrunch her nose as she pressed it against her own and whisper it just as their lips met. Of all the pet names, Amber doesn't know why that one made her heart jump. That, and baby girl (except she only added 'girl' when she was being super playful, Amber doesn't know why). 

With that thought in mind, she turns to her ipod, swiftly changing the song to B-A-B-Y by Carla Thomas. 

It's been such a long time since she's listened to a happy song because even happy songs sound sad when your thoughts are clouded by what used to be, so she simply stuck with the sad because why not be straightforward about the pain? This song is no exception but it surprisingly brought warmth to her body.

Just one look in your eyes and my temperature goes sky high.
I'm weak for you and can't help it. You know I really don't want to help it.
B-A-B-Y baby. B-A-B-Y baby.

In an instant, she's back to those getaway school nights and sensual club dates - the days when things were so new, and exciting, and easier to understand through her ignorance. But she doesn't regret anything, not a single part because if it didn't happen, she wouldn't know anything. Most importantly, she wouldn't come to understand just how deep she had fallen for this strange girl at the coffee shop with too much mascara and ripped leggings that made her weak in the knees. She wouldn't have understood just how blind she'd been her entire life - with love struck Jennie Kim and the faceless guy who had a gentle heart all along.

I hope she comes back to you. That goddamn phrase is still engraved in her mind and as much as she wants it to mean something, Amber doesn't believe in fate. Things come to people to act on it. To people like Krystal who took the chance of luring her in, of kissing her first, of asking to move in together no matter how unpredictable the future seemed. And here she is, in the loneliness of her recording studio, listening to songs that make her wonder about the what ifs and what could have beens with the biggest attempt at doing something was through a phone screen. 

It takes roughly five seconds of contemplation before she's on her laptop scrolling to find the quickest flights to Seoul. Too many thoughts are hitting her at once — she doesn't know where Krystal is, she doesn't have her number, she can't speak Korean, she has no idea whether the money accumulated from work can even pay off the trip long enough to locate her, she doesn't know how Krystal would even react to finding her in the very place she went to escape all of this and Amber is going to drag it back. But none of it matters in comparison to the single thought that makes it all worth it - she'll get to see her again. After weeks of imagining her there, she'll actually be there (maybe, hopefully). She'll hear her voice again, smell the fragrance of mint and coffee. 

As she frantically types in her flight details, the songs on her playlist shuffle — Let's Go Away For Awhile by the Beach Boys. No lyrics, just a calming tune that soothes her nerves. Slowly, the tension in her body is lost to the sweet sounds of the violin. 

JUNE 2

Airports have a distinct smell incomparable to anything else, at least nothing that Amber could think of considering she's been avoiding travel like the plague. It's a strange mixture of fried foods and car leather (not accurate, but as close as she could get in her daze). Most people beam at the opportunity to spend their lives abroad, but despite being described as a 'free spirit' and 'lover of adventures' she prefers the comfort of her home city because she knows where everything is, where the best attractions were at (she's planned pretty much all of the dates with Krystal from day one). Yet the idea of leaving didn't bother her as much as she thought it would, though that could be for numerous reasons. For one, and the obvious one, the thought of seeing Krystal again could probably convince her to jump off a cliff for all she knows. The other could be that she hasn't slept in what feels like days at the pent up anxiety of both travelling to a foreign land and not knowing what to do when she gets there. 

Even the music pounding away in her earbuds isn't enough to suppress the heaviness of her eyelids that are starting to betray her. Her arms feel like anchors, refusing to lift from the arm rests of her seat to change the song because the calmness of the guitar is starting to lull her to sleep.

The song is Paper Hearts by Tori Kelly. The lyrics sink in despite her drowsiness. It's such a conflicting song, Amber thinks, because of the peaceful melody combined with lines that make her heart wrench at the accuracy at which it describes them (she doesn't know why it's surprising considering it's in their playlist).

Remember the way you made me feel, such young love but
Something in me knew that it was real
Frozen in my head 

Amber thinks back to late night drives, the wind blowing through their hair as they drove around with the roof down. The way Krystal would sing (sometimes scream) along to the music blasting from the stereo (“So let's set the world on fire / We can burn brighter than the sun!”) always made her heart race for some inexplicible reason. They would drive fast and sing loud on the deserted highway, and it would be an exciting build up until  they parked by some motel that they had no plans on going into, only to make out for hours until Krystal would shove her back against the seat, staring into her eyes with some indescribable emotion (love, she recognizes it now). Their relationship was going much faster than either of their previous ones (unless one ought to count Kai), but the way she seemed to melt on the inside staring back into those dark orbs and messy locks made her feel that there was something more than just young desperation.

Pictures I'm living through for now
Trying to remember all the good times
Our life was cutting through so loud
Memories are playing in my dull mind
I hate this part, paper hearts
And I'll hold a piece of yours
Don't think I would just forget about it
Hoping that you won't forget about it

She's hardly aware that her eyes are shut because her mind is very much awake with the memories of the past month. All the brightly lit photographs and how vividly the memories seemed to the point of almost pulling her straight back into that better world, where Krystal is by her side and all was (mostly) well. Somewhere in the back of her head she's wondering again whether Krystal has seen any of the photos, and more importantly, if she's seeing things the way Amber is through those messages - the world beyond black and white, the world in which they both understood each other beyond sad looks and sympathetic smiles. 

Everything is gray under these skies, wet mascara
Hiding every cloud under a smile, when there's cameras
And I just can't reach out to tell you
That I always wonder what you're up to

Amber thinks Krystal's smile is both a blessing and a curse. It made Amber's heart flutter while hiding every ounce of apprehension she felt about their future together. There are so many things she realizes she wants to ask her now - how she really felt about them, what kind of thoughts were going through her head every time their eyes met in the darkness of their late night getaways, if seeing her with other girls really drove her as crazy as it drove Amber that one night at the thought of Kai.

There's a final verse that she's conscious enough to comprehend before exhaustion washes over her - it feels like the nail in her coffin.

I live through pictures as if I was right there by your side
But you'll be good without me and if I could just give it some time
I'll be alright

“This is the last call for Amber Liu for flight Z09 to South Korea.”

The voice over the system sounds like a long, unintelligible drone in her sleep. There's an internal fight happening in her head as she drifts in and out of sleep - part of her is trying to get a grasp of consciousness while the other wants to just drown with how heavy the need to sleep is. She's not dreaming, just struggling really hard to squeeze out of the middleground of being asleep and being awake. 

“Excuse me,” a voice calls out to her before she feels a sharp tap on her shoulder that startles her awake. “Are you Amber Liu?” There's a man in a business suit standing in front of her with curious eyes glued to the luggage surrounding her legs. 

“Yes,” she replies groggily.

“Your flight just left.”

In the blink of an eye, she feels her chest clench and heart pound against her ribcage. It seems to be one nightmare after another for her even after the skies have cleared. She doesn't even think to reply to the man before she's sprinting - luggage left in place - to the nearest check-in counter, leaving the man baffled. The woman behind the counter barely gets the chance to say her rehearsed “how may I help you?” when Amber frantically bombards her with questions, looking totally befuddled, crazy even.

“When's the next flight to Seoul? Can you get me on it? I'll pay for whatever you have just please-please- get me on it. I need to get there urgently. Can you—”

“Slow down, slow down,” she looks back at her with wide eyes and mild concern.“The next flight,” she bites her lip, rapidly scrolling through the logs on the screen, “in two weeks.”

“What?” Amber questions louder than intended out of her chaotic state and also having just abruptly been pulled from sleep, “no, no, I can't wait that long. Is there any other way?”

Even in this chaotic state, Amber can feel a twinge of guilt run through her as the initially bright eyed lady begins to cower back a little, almost afraid of what would happen if she answers 'no'. She didn't mean to come off as intimidating (Amber really is anything but). Clearing and blinking a few times to properly clear her vision, she mutters a quiet apology and slips her a five to compensate for the momentary ruckus she caused. 

It starts to rain the moment she reaches her front door. It hits her like a bucket of water tilted over her head, crashing down all at once - violent and relentless. It hardly rained all of May, and somehow tonight is as if the bubble has finally burst, allowing the clouds to release their pent up rage. Something about it is so reminiscent of the night she and Krystal got into that final fight that broke the silence and tore through their relationship. When she manages to fumble with the keys - soaked and slippery from the downpour - even from behind the closed door, the thudding sound of the rain hitting the pavement is extremely audible. 

After the click of the door lock, she falls to her knees, with drenched locks plastered to the sides of her face and breathing starting to go shallow from the growing feeling of hopelessness engulfing her again. Cold, wet, and unpleasant - all that she thought had been lost to the April showers, now revived in the wake of her failure to get back to her.

She reaches for the ipod in her jacket pocket with trembling fingers. If anxiety was an asthma attack, music would be the inhaler for her. To her dismay, she can't seem to find a single song in her playlist that could relieve the pounding in her head. Her mind is screaming how the did you mess up again? repeatedly like a mantra.

“Breathe, breathe,” she whispers to herself, taking in deep, ragged breaths. The tension lifts - slowly but blissfully, and she relaxes back into rational thoughts.

She's managed an entire month without seeing her - barely, but she did it - she can manage another two weeks. Two more weeks of agonizing over unnoticed photos and messages she desperately wants, needs to get across. But it's worth it, isn't it? She wants to laugh at the amount of contradiction in her thoughts. She really has become a hot mess, and she's desperate to fix it. 

Two weeks - she can wait. 

The throbbing in her head has stopped but the pitter patter of the rain threatens to drive her mad. She quickly puts in the earbuds, tapping shuffle without a second thought, turning the volume up to max. The song that comes on is none other than her own - April Showers, May Flowers - the soft melody surprisingly comforting (did she intend for it to be that way? She remembers it being more angstful than anything). She almost wants to fall asleep again, if it weren't for the knowledge that the second verse is far too upbeat to begin drifting off to. So she shifts her weight off of her knees, fully seated on the floor, and closes her eyes enhance the addictive sounds of piano and guitar. 

After a moment, the April showers verse starts rolling to an end, but something feels very off. She can't hear out of her left ear? Maybe the left bud is broken - the thought quickly perishes when she brings a hand up to her left ear to feel for the elastic bud. It's gone.

Her eyes shoot open and what she sees is something she can only believe is a dream. I've definitely fallen asleep. Sitting adjacent to her, soaked from head to toe in a leather jacket (her's... it's Amber's jacket), damp strands of hair pushed to one side - it's her. They lock eyes the very second Amber's are open, maintaining each other's gaze with entirely different expressions. The left bud that went missing is in her right ear, her lithe fingers holding it in place as she takes in the pleasant beginning of May Flowers - the beat is so similar to her favourite songs from clubs. She looks as calm as a resting cat (doesn't she always?), her eyes usually looked so too but the rain has smeared off her mascara —or are they tears? Amber wonders why these questions occupy her mind now when the biggest question is—

“Whose song is this?”

She visibly shudders at the airy voice. Without a hitch, she answers, “Ours.”

There's a silence - Amber thinks she sees a twinkle in her eyes, one that was lost the night of their argument. Nothing about her has changed beyond the way she's looking at her now more intensely than she ever has. Amber breaks eye contact at last, scanning the entirety of her frame from her dark eyes to the silver rings on her slim fingers because she still can't believe she's here. She wants to touch her more than anything but part of her is terrified that she really has gone crazy - that if this really is a dream, she wants to indulge for as long as time allows.

A minute passes, the song comes to an abrupt end that comes as a shock to the both of them (it's a stylistic choice that even Amber can't get used to). And then Amber sees it for the first time - the facade crumbling away as tears begin to well up in her eyes, falling onto the back of her palms. 

“Stupid,” she mutters, forcing a smirk despite the tears, “I hate you.”

“I know.” Her response is instant, hints of a smile beginning to form on her face as well. Her heart is pounding so hard, she thinks her ears will go numb from how overwhelming all of this is, but she wouldn't trade it for a goddamn thing in the world. “I can't believe you're here. I can't—I've been dying without you—”

“I know,” she laughs, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as more tears spill at the memory of all those torturous messages that made her heart ache and yearn when they were thousands of miles apart, and for once, she doesn't make an effort to hide it. “You're pathetic.”

“I am.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you.”

“Show me.”

The press of their lips is beyond heavenly, yet anything but soft. It's full of pent up want, and need, and a burning desperation to just feel whole again. She tastes like coffee, mint and a distinct sweetness so unique to her that Amber swears she's tasted it before yet hasn't noticed until now. Amber's grip tightens around her waist, muttering in between kisses, “you're real, right? You are—mmm—tell me,” she breathes out, entangling her fingers in Krystal's damp strands. 

“Yes, yes,” she replies breathily, pulling herself into Amber's lap, “you are, too, right? It feels like a dream.” 

Amber can only nod in agreement, breathing in her scent that's faded from their bedsheets. She claws at the leathery material of Krystal's jacket until she strips out of it completely, allowing her to slip her hands under the thin material of her blouse. Her cold hands finally feel the warmth of her back, and she sighs at the relief of finally filling that hollowness in her spirit.

“I'm sorry,” she pants out, “for everything. I should have paid more attention to you. I should have treated you better—”

“Stop it. It wasn't your fault,” Krystal leans in to kiss her again, but she moves her head away as she clasps both of her hands, bringing them to her face. 

“I know, but I just want you to know that I understand now. And I don't want it to happen again. Please, just say you'll be with me. Please... don't leave me behind again,” her voice cracks on the last word, sending shivers down Krystal's spine.

“I won't, I promise. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—”

“It's okay, let's just start over, alright? Together, just us again. I'll go wherever you go,” Amber sighs, pressing soft kisses into the palm of her hands. She realizes it's the most honest thing she's ever said - home is anywhere Krystal is, because this vacant house didn't feel like home at all without her. 

Krystal gives a soft nod, afraid that if she speaks up, she'll totally lose it. There's so much more she wants to say - she's missed her so much. Another place, another time - they have plenty of it now. She just wants to feel her completely again so she gives in, letting herself melt into the long awaited feeling of Amber's hands smoothing up every surface of her body, kissing away the cold from the rain.

This is a new start, or perhaps there was never an end, just a rough patch. It doesn't matter now. All that does is that they're together, fully aware of how much they need each other. 

Amber doesn't notice the softening of the rain outside, now just a light drizzle. Her right earbud is still in, a soft tune playing away. She adjusts her movements to the rhythm of the song, slowing frantic touches into gentle, loving caresses.

Everybody wants happiness, nobody wants pain
Can't have a rainbow, without a little rain

They make love to the playlist of Us. Of April Showers and May Flowers. Of Amber Liu and Krystal Jung: What Is, Always Will Be, and Is To Come.  

A/N: Yikes, sorry that took so long. This is the first time I've attempted something so angstful so hopefully it turned out okay.