Two windows.

Stained curtains.

A single futon,

one pillow,

a thin woven blanket – all neatly folded in the corner, waiting for use.

A guitar, laid out on the floor.

Some old records.

A dusty record player.

Some device chargers,

one hooked up to a tablet.

These are some of the things one can use to describe Wendy’s shoebox of an apartment.

It is very small.

The kitchen, or what is supposed to be a kitchen, is definitely not fully equipped – she uses a portable gas burner as a stove. Her foldable table is put away right beside the ‘kitchen’.

Basically, it’s an open space with a bunch of Wendy-clutter, ready to be changed into whatever function it needs to be. The only other amenity would be the bathroom, where she has cold showers and a broken mirror.

The fridge?

She borrows a shelf or two from her landlord below her.

So, what exactly compelled her to live in this sock hole? Why not just sit in the slums of the shop with Taeyeon?

It’s the outside.

The literal box is plopped right on top of an actual house with a flat top – the roof could very well be considered her front long.

Sure, she has to climb three sets of stairs to get there, but damn the views are great,

the scenery,

the Seoul night lights.

Some called her crazy.

She just figured they couldn’t see the same things as her.

Especially right now.

Surely, she must be going crazy.

Because there is no way a girl like Irene is in front of her, in this for an apartment, helping her move.

“So that’s why you moved in here, huh?” Irene coughs as she flips the futon up and down, trying to get the dust out.

“Mmhmm...” Wendy hums, watching Irene work.

Honestly, Wendy could stare at her all day.

“What?” Irene giggles, catching her eyes.

Wendy shakes her head and blushes with a smile, going back to putting more clutter into boxes.

Wendy doesn’t own much stuff, so this wouldn’t take long.

“You really don’t own a lot, huh.” Irene says aloud, speaking Wendy’s thoughts for her. “Even clothes, you pack light.”

“What can I say? I only pick things that I’ll keep for a long time.” She shrugs, but Irene is blinking at her.

“What?” Wendy laughs.

Now Irene is the one that blushes, “Nothing. You must be picky then.” She sticks out her tongue at Wendy.

She folds the futon up nicely, and wraps it in a large plastic bag, throwing it over to the corner where all of Wendy’s packed stuff is gathered.

Wendy pouts , thinking for a moment, “Not picky.” She finally says, “Just good at choosing.”

Irene has moved on to sitting on the floor and folding clothes. Thank God Wendy already packed her underwear.

“No wonder you have no friends.” Irene jokes, laughing. “That’s something a picky person would say.”

“You should be honored that I just happened to choose you.”

“Oh believe me,” Irene throws a neatly folded shirt onto a small stack, “I’m very pleased.”

Wendy ignores the slight flirtatious jab,  biting her bottom lip and staring down at her mismatch of socks. “Good.”

“Good.” Irene replies.

They fold in silence, until Wendy pipes up, “So, what made you decide to become a doctor?”

Irene chuckles, as if this question comes often to her, “Why? Do I not look like the type?”

Wendy shakes her head, smiling, “No, I just wanted to know more about you.”

And now it’s Irene who’s biting her bottom lip and staring down at the shirts she’s crinkling because she’s slipped up in her folding process.

Good.

Wendy is happy she has that effect on her.

Irene huffs, closing her eyes briefly before looking at Wendy with a tight-lipped smile, “Good answer.”

Wendy shrugs, grinning, “I try.”

And so Irene goes on to tell the story of why she became a doctor. It’s a slightly odd one – Wendy can’t help but laugh when Irene recounts how she was so amazed as a child watching emergency doctors treat a patient from a vehicular accident while she and her mother were sitting in the waiting room for her broken thumb from when she tripped on the monkey bars. It was such a whirlwind of events that she can’t even remember breaking her thumb but she can clearly remember the exact diagnosis of the doctors as they wheeled the patients in. And so she was compelled to study medicine.

What’s more compelling is that after this story is told, the two of them begin sharing other stories – moving on to how Wendy got into music, how Wendy met Taeyeon, how Irene decided to go abroad, and many, many more.

Wendy found it so easy to spill her guts out to Irene.

Then again, Wendy wasn’t one to keep her own secrets.

She was like an open book, with no filter.

Just like now.

“So, boyfriend?” Wendy asks blatantly that Irene almost guffaws in laughter. “What?” Wendy blinks, not finding anything she said to be of the comedic variety.

“N-Nothing.” Irene is still laughing.

Wendy waits, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.

“Ok, ok.” Irene stops.

“Well, boyfriend?”

“Aren’t you persistent?” Irene grins.

Damn her.

“No boyfriend. Been there, done that. Not my thing.”

Wendy’s eyebrows remain raised, this time in surprise. She wasn’t expecting that kind of answer.

“Are you...?”

Wendy finds herself unable to be her usual blunt self.

Irene is laughing again but this time it’s a softer chuckled – Wendy surmises that it’s due to her shy reaction, as if she knew Wendy was going to act like this.

Damn her again.

“Yes, Wendy-ah.” Irene rolls Wendy’s name off her tongue as if she’s casting a spell on her, “Not into guys. First time seeing a lesbian?”

Wendy purses her lips to prevent herself from smiling, “Far from it. I have many LGBTQ acquaintances.”

“Oh I bet you do,” Irene finishes folding and she gets up, but as she is doing so, she does that soft little laugh again,

that purr-like giggle,

it’s almost sinister,

like Wendy and her are playing some game,

and Wendy is losing.

----

They finish packing all of Wendy’s things into the back of Irene’s (she doesn’t require a moving truck because she literally has that little) and are all set to head over to Taeyeon’s apartment, which will be Wendy’s temporary residence while she pays off some bills and saves some money to move out.

“How long do you think you’re going to stay at Taeyeon’s?” Irene asks as she buckles her seatbelt and turns on the engine.

Wendy shrugs, “Not sure. My place was a steal, and I’m not making enough money right now to move to another apartment.”

“And Taeyeon’s cool with you just staying at her place?”

“What can I say?” Wendy laughs, “We’re cut from the same cloth. We might as well stick together.”

Irene looks at her incredulously, as if that’s not a satisfying response.

“You look like you’re worried about me.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m just going with a flow.”

Irene glances at her again with the same dumbfounded face before turning back to the road and moving forward, “You know,”

Wendy looks at her,

“If we were dating, I think I’d be mad you right now.”

Wendy finds herself blushing,

and smiling,

and laughing,

all at the same damn time.

“An angry Irene?” Wendy imagines what she would look like.

Definitely hotter.

“Maybe we should be dating,” Wendy looks out the window to her right so she can hide her giddy smile, “I’d like to see that.”

And her smile doesn’t go away because Irene says,

“Oh Wendy, don’t tempt me.”

----

“We’re here!!” Wendy makes a rambunctious amount of noise by knocking on the front door of Taeyeon’s apartment, which by the way, is conveniently located above the shop. She practically stays in one building all her days.

Wendy unlocks the door and carries a couple of boxes inside – she can only get in because she knows where Taeyeon hides her emergency key.

“Where is she?” Irene asks, coming behind her with another box.

“Probably downstairs in the shop.” Wendy sets her things down beside the garage-sale bought couch.

“She’s working today? Isn’t it the weekend?”

“Oh believe me, she would have nothing better to do.”

Wendy shoots Taeyeon a quick text saying that they’re upstairs, and so they beginning the moving in process.

Moving in takes no time at all because Wendy literally is keeping her clothes in one box, her guitar beside the couch, and the futon on top of it. She basically has nothing else of importance and if it is, then it’s in another box, tucked away in a corner.

“Well, that was easy.” Irene remarks, plopping herself on the couch. Wendy plops herself right beside her.

“Home sweet home.”

They are centimetres apart, with the ends of their pinky’s just barely touching, but it’s enough to make Wendy’s heart beat.

And, as if it’s the most natural thing ever, Irene raises her hand and places it lightly on Wendy