Chorong has no idea why she was still in Bomi’s room.

It’s 2am on a Friday night, and she can still hear muffled music booming through the streets below Bomi’s flat. The rhythm felt slurred and off-beat at the same time; and Chorong frowned, doubting if the four beers she had on Bomi’s couch was a good idea after all. 

“It’s too late to leave, unnie. Even the subways have stopped.”

The younger girl was already spread eagle-style across her queen-sized bed, half her face pressed against her pillow and thus muffling her speech. She didn’t even bother pulling the covers back.

Chorong stood over the half-conscious girl, chewing on her lip. Her face felt too hot, and her head was definitely too heavy for her to walk home now. She didn’t care for taxis either - she’d gotten too anxious while drunk on her way home once, and accidentally hurled all over the backseat. She’d been traumatized since.

So that leaves her one option.

To stay.

As if she read her mind, Bomi tossed her body over and turned to face Chorong, with one eye opened. 

“Don’t be shy, unnie, just stay.” The corner of her lips were raised teasingly. “I promise I won’t do anything.” 

A couple seconds break into themselves, and Chorong decides to be brave.

“Scoot over, Bbom. I’m staying.”

The younger one grins so wide, Chorong swears she’d never seen anything brighter.

“But I’m not sharing a bed with you until you brush your teeth.”

-

Twenty minutes later, Chorong is underneath Bomi’s duvet, hair pulled back casually and in one of Bomi’s ridiculously oversized T-shirts.

The air was quiet, almost silent; except for the obnoxiously stubborn dance music from the bar downstairs. It wasn’t Chorong’s regular taste in music, but there was a heat in her lungs that felt like it was racing against the beat, and Chorong wanted nothing more than to win.

“Unnie?”

Bomi’s slurred voice pulled Chorong out of her trance.

“Mmm?”

“I had a really good time tonight.”

Chorong smiled silently, a wave of glee tugging at her lips. She realizes that this has been one of the best nights she’d had in a long time. Spending time with Bomi, just doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company was something that had her so relaxed, so comfortable, she’d almost forgotten all about her ty apartment, her ty job and her ty boss.

Her tongue begins to circle on something she couldn’t pinpoint, and she tries to find the right words.

“Thank you so much, Bbom.”

Chorong finishes her sentence with a sigh of relief.

The younger girl lets out a soft chuckle, still moderately drunk.

“I love you, unnie,” Bomi says casually, the alcohol still mulling her syllables. 

Her heart pounding ferociously through her chest, Chorong realizes that there’s still one thing she wanted to do, and she wants to.

She holds her breath and counts eight of her own heartbeats. Then something inside of her tells her to do it, and she extends her arm, her hand searching for Bomi’s.

Skin and skin collides, and Chorong can’t find the oxygen in her lungs any more.

Bomi’s hand was a lot warmer than she’d expected. She assumes it was the alcohol - or maybe she was just trying to find a scapegoat for the uneasiness in her veins, something that was rushing along her bloodstream and pushing everything faster and slower, all at once. But it was a warmth that calmed her, unexpectedly; a haze of relief setting over her heart, making each breath easier than the last.

Chorong finds the little crevices in between Bomi’s fingers, exploring as gently as she could, curious but cautious. She wiggles softly with her fingertips, both a tease and a question, and Bomi agrees almost instantly - stretching her fingers to allow Chorong’s to come between each of her own.

And then everything fell into place, the way eyes could be smiles and fingers became bridges between hearts.

The way stars were written into quiet night skies, and became everything that they were.