sooyoung only kisses her when she’s drunk.

seulgi’s come to expect it now– sooyoung goes out, gets completely plastered, and somehow finds her way into seulgi’s bed. and seulgi lets it happen. she lets sooyoung plant sloppy kisses down her neck, lets her say things she doesn’t mean under alcohol’s heavy influence.

but when sooyoung wakes up, it’s like it never happened. seulgi knows that she knows– she must know, because she wakes up in seulgi’s bed after it’s over, their legs tangled together like lovers. and every morning, seulgi searches those eyes for a sign. just one. any.

but sooyoung’s eyes never quite reach hers. they’re distant and frantic, always darting away at the last second. but sooyoung knows, and seulgi knows she does, too.

so the shadow of the truth hangs over them, suffocating them in its all-knowingness. the air between them is riddled with unbridled tension; it’s starting to eat at seulgi more than she’d like to admit. it’s.. unsettling, to say the least. 

but can sooyoung feel it? the passion between them, the way that they fit together like God himself sculpted them for each other. 

seulgi would like to think she does– after all, maybe that would explain the sheer awkwardness of it all. maybe, just maybe, sooyoung’s heart quickens as much as seulgi’s does with every messily placed touch, with every press of lips against skin. but, if she does, she never says a word.

that’s alright, seulgi thinks.