Irene’s never been a fan of traveling.

 

She doesn't mind trains. Or planes. Or cars. Still, it doesn't mean she likes them.

 

The seat is soft, at least.

 

“Unnie! Sooyoung! Stop it!”

 

“Not until she stops going off with that man from – I can't even remember which movie he's from. But he's not worth it!”

 

Irene still remembers being breathless, anger seeping from in huffs and white knuckles.

 

She wasn’t one for violence but with Sooyoung’s cocked brow and arrogant tongue, how she knew exactly what to say and how to tick her off, it wasn’t going to take much more for Irene to imprint a fist to her face.

 

“He's nothing like you think he is, Unnie! You don't know him!” a pause, flicking strands of hair back. “Not like how you know Seungwan unnie with all the noises you two mak—”

 

She swings.

 

“All passengers, please remain in your seats…”

 

Irene settles into the corner by the window, phone in hand and her cheek in the other.

 

Four years since then. Funny how she could still picture it like it just happened this morning.

 

“Aren't you heading to bed yet, Yerim?”

 

Yerim had her earphones on, scribbling on paper the words she wanted in their next album that never comes.

 

“I'm waiting for Seulgi unnie,”

 

Irene remembers taking a seat beside her, recalls the way Yerim’s shoulders droop as soon as Seulgi’s name left her lips.

 

She didn't know how to erase the defeat in her eyes. “Do you think she'll take it? To go solo?”

 

It wasn't her decision to make. She couldn't tell Yerim that Seulgi already told her in private of how much it'd mean to her to sign that contract.

 

They all knew they were looking at customized contracts, with a few promising far more than the others.

 

No wonder Sooyoung was already looking for comfort elsewhere. Seulgi always meant more than just a friend, to her.

 

Maybe that was why Sooyoung hated her for letting Seulgi go.

 

“How could you, Seulgi unnie?! We're supposed to be in this together!”

 

Sooyoung’s voice trembled across the walls, louder than any other fights they've had. And they’ve had a lot. Just nothing as equally heart-wrenching as betrayal – and certainly not at each other.

 

Irene made sure not to step on shards of a broken platter, avoiding the puddles of chocolate and frosting painting the floor from the cake that used to have the words 'Happy New Year!’

 

Seulgi’s shaking shoulders and nervous hands were more than enough for Irene to take her place.

 

“I told her to sign it. She has nothing to lose.”

 

The silence that followed was filled with Sooyoung’s heaving breaths and Yerim’s music blasted on high volume; Irene couldn’t bring herself to warn her about her hearing when she knew it was because Yerim didn’t want to hear them break apart.

 

“Funny,” Sooyoung stepped back, fingers through her hair, distancing herself as if she'd rather just disappear. “So we’re nothing, then?”

 

She wonders if the scars are still on her tongue from years of biting back words that never got to leave that night.

 

Irene flits through her bag for the envelope, tracing the loops and swirls of her name, ‘Bae Joohyun’ in that signature way Seungwan doesn’t write. Probably her manager had it made without Seungwan knowing.

 

She wonders if Seungwan would be disappointed that she’s chosen to see her.

 

“...Joohyun unnie?”

 

She looks up, finds dark strands of hair and signature red lips that it doesn’t take long for familiarity to leave her tongue.

 

“Sooyoung,”

 

Irene watches her tuck ebony behind her ear, casually nod, all nonchalant as if her lips and nervous swallow aren’t giving her away.

 

She helps her out.

 

“Come on,” Irene pats the seat next to her, smiling when Sooyoung doesn’t waste time obeying like clockwork; as if it’s been ingrained and still wired down to the nooks and cranny of every gear running her limbs, settling down and fiddling with the ends of her sleeves.

 

Irene leans back, closes her eyes because the quiet surrounding them speaks volumes; there isn’t anything more to say. They’ve all said their piece; raw, unfiltered, hurtful, and true.

 

“How’re you?”

 

Irene turns her head, amused by how Sooyoung doesn’t meet her eyes, scraping at nothing on her lap. She appreciates her initiative to erase the quiet, even if it’s not hard to hear the slight quake in her voice.

 

“I’ve been good,” Irene pauses, watches how her response helps Sooyoung relax. She probably thought she wouldn’t have bothered. “And you? How are things going?”

 

“It’s going,” Sooyoung shrugs, shifting in her seat. “Just busy. I, um.” Nerves dance along her fingers, much like the jitters still plaguing her lips. "I managed to catch the leading role for a movie."

 

Pride swells in Irene's chest; it's foreign and nostalgic, like a touch from the past she hasn't bothered to retrace.

 

She's never been one to dwell.

 

"That's great,"

 

"Yeah," Sooyoung shifts, somehow still uncomfortable in her seat. “Yeah, it is.”

 

Silence settles like it’s the only thing they know how to keep. It’s not all that bad, listening to the hum of the train’s engine, or the whir of steel against the tracks.

 

Even just feeling Sooyoung next to her, how every so often her sleeve bumps into hers that it’d be silly to consider it a mistake; it’s nice. The calm of it all.

 

“...Unnie, I’m—”

 

Irene doesn’t want to hear it.

 

“I know.”

 

As if it hadn’t been years since their last true conversation (that had nothing to do with chairs knocking over and its rungs flinging across the room, or the cake that splattered the walls and floor to decorate anger instead of a celebration), Irene feels her lips curl up at the sound of Sooyoung’s scoff.

 

“I know you know, but just let me say it anyway.”

 

Sooyoung seems to find courage in her rebellion, tugging Irene’s sleeve, forces her attention away from the window to eyes she’s refused to properly look at in fear that maybe, just maybe, Sooyoung still hates her for turning the wheel towards their downfall.

 

They deserved a better leader.

 

“I’m sorry,” for an actress, Sooyoung’s not trying very hard at hiding the crack in her voice, or the tears. “...I’m sorry.”

 

There’s a range of emotions that Irene can’t place; how Sooyoung manages to box them all up in two words and throw them at her, she doesn’t know. But it hits her all at once, and every ounce of false steel she’s managed to conjure up for moments like these when she knew she’d bump into any one of her ex-members, crumbles.

 

All because Sooyoung has the courage to say what Irene’s afraid of acknowledging— because that’d mean that yes, she wasn’t the leader they deserved because how could she let them all just go—

 

Irene pulls her in for a hug Sooyoung’s too afraid to ask for (even though she has always been the one who needed it the most) and apologizes for not being the leader she should’ve been.

 

The one who would’ve never let them go.

 

“I’m sorry, too.” For not keeping us together.

 

—

 

Yerim’s not the type to hold grudges.

 

But it doesn’t mean she forgives.

 

Irene bears the brunt of it because she can. So Sooyoung— sweet, soft-hearted Sooyoung, doesn’t have to.

 

“You shouldn’t be here,”

 

Out of all of them, it doesn’t surprise Irene that Yerim’s the one who ended up sticking closest to Seungwan.

 

Yerim does a better job of looking out for others than any of them, even if she’d rather sacrifice herself to bad horror movies for hours on end and sit through the ending credits than ever admit to it.

 

Irene couldn’t have thought of a better guardian angel for Seungwan than Yerim.

 

“We were invited,” Sooyoung fidgets with the ends of her hair; the nerves clearly haven’t left her – not like the apologies she still mumbles whenever they’re alone.

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“You don’t need to,” Irene side-steps Yerim so she could exit the terminal, tugs Sooyoung along by the wrist towards a spot where they could wait for a taxi. “You’ll see us when we get there.”

 

“Then where have you been all the other times she’s had a concert?” Yerim matches her pace, the steady clicks of her heels alarms Irene that she isn’t a kid anymore (though she hasn’t been for a while now, even when they still shared the stage together). “Isn’t it a little too convenient that you two show up for a concert meant to be her last?”

 

She can’t argue with that.

 

But what Irene feared more than not seeing Seungwan do what she loves most is showing up as a ghost from the past that still aches – have memories hurt deep enough that Seungwan might never want to sing again.

 

“Promise me that you won’t be there; that you won’t go to any of my concerts.” Seungwan still looked ethereal even with mascara scarring down her face. “...Please. I don’t want to see you. I just— I can’t.”

 

But what about her? Didn’t she get a say in it too?

 

“Yes, it’s convenient. We’ll go with that.”

 

It didn’t matter anymore. She’s already broken her promise to be the leader they needed— there was no point keeping Seungwan’s, too. She’s kept hers for every concert Seungwan’s ever had; she won’t skip her final one. The invitation felt like mercy.

 

Irene won’t miss out on capturing a moment where Seungwan’s happiest.

 

“Don’t worry, she won’t recognize me.”

 

Irene highly doubts Seungwan would see her anyway.

 

—

 

Yerim chose to catch a ride with them.

 

Sooyoung’s supposedly not all that pleased, but one glance at her scowl and Irene knows there’s no bite; she ends up looking more like she’s wanting another hug and Yerim’s just not reading it right.

 

“I composed most of her tracks for this album, you know.”

 

“Really?” Sooyoung’s more relaxed, laidback as if in her element, staring at her nails and picking at invisible imperfections. “That’s nice.”

 

Yerim huffs. “They all landed at the top of the charts for a while, especially her title track – which I worked on too, obviously.”

 

“Amazing.”

 

“You’re an ,”

 

“How poetic.”

 

Irene smiles, grateful to be seated up front so none of them could catch it. It’s pleasant to hear, despite the jarring bluntness of a not-so-kind term, how quick and seamless they get back to bickering – as if it hasn’t already been four years since their last.

 

From the way she spots Yerim’s and Sooyoung’s bright eyes and laughter lines on their cheeks, she knows they feel it too.

 

“Who invited you two anyway?”

 

Great question. Irene had asked the exact same thing when she received the letter; wondered who in their right mind thought it’d be a good idea to invite the ones Seungwan specifically asked to never have.

 

“Her manager,”

 

“Taeyeon unnie?” Yerim squawks, leaning closer towards the envelope in Irene’s hands. “That’s— surprisingly not surprising.”

 

Sooyoung snorts. “What a surprise.”

 

“Shut up,”

 

They’re back to light jabs and familiar laughter; Irene doesn’t want to interrupt it, but the doubt lingers on her tongue like aftertaste to a bad drink. Taeyeon, then? Her judgement has always been one to trust. Still.

 

“...Do you think she’d be mad?” Irene starts, picking at the edges of the envelope. “That we’re here?”

 

Silence coats the car, the driver polite enough to keep quiet, the engine’s thrum drowning out every possible thought Irene could have that’d be sound logic.

 

“You know how Seungwan unnie is,” it’s the closest Yerim’s been with her, tapping her arm in rhythm to the song on the radio. ”Besides, it’s you.”

 

Irene chuckles. “Right. It’s me.”

 

Seungwan’s never been as forgiving when it comes to her.

 

—

 

“Unnie!”

 

Seulgi’s a star in the middle of faces Irene should be able to name but can’t.

 

They all shine on their own just fine, she has no doubt, but Irene doesn’t really watch much TV. Still, it isn’t hard to distinguish stardom charm when she herself had been sculpted to be the same.

 

Seulgi disperses from the VIP crowd, leaves the hotel lobby with “I’ll see you guys later,” before she’s running to her, arms open and grin so wide Irene doesn’t mind that it’s blinding.

 

Irene grunts at a hug too tight and too warm, but she squeezes back just as hard because Seulgi’s the only one she never got to lose.

 

“Hey,”

 

She’s not sure it’s a coincidence anymore when they all turn out to be staying at the same hotel, a few doors down from each other. Someone’s clearly set this up. Probably Taeyeon.

 

“How’s everything? I heard your next book is coming out soon; congrats! Did you come here alone?”

 

Should she mention Sooyoung? Other than her and Seungwan, they were the next pair that had a lot more to lose and no time to fix it.

 

Maybe that’s why Seulgi always talks about lost time as a radio DJ.

 

“It’s been good, and thanks, just have to finish up a few loose ends before it’s ready to be launched.” No use hiding away Sooyoung when Seulgi’s inevitably going to bump into her anyway (the universe seems to be keen on making it happen— if her colliding with literally every ex-member except Seungwan was any indication). “I ran into Sooyoung on the way.”

 

Seulgi blinks. “Oh.”

 

“Will you be okay?”

 

A shrug, meant to be casual but all Irene can focus on is her grimace.

 

“As okay as I’ll ever be, I guess.” She pauses, scratching at her head, fidgeting the moment Sooyoung’s laughter bounces against the walls. “...I don’t think she’d be all that interested in talking to me.”

 

Irene catches Sooyoung’s eyes, how her gaze flutters to Seulgi before jolting back to fixate on her shopping bags.

 

She knows all too well what it means when Sooyoung’s biting her lip, done only when there’s a difficult decision to be made.

 

It’s almost funny how Seulgi used to be the easiest choice to make.

 

“Maybe,” Irene says, watches Sooyoung hesitate from the lobby before taking a step forward. Her room is behind them, unfortunately. “But what else is there to lose?”

 

It’s hard to make amends; excuses come easy, any reason to cling to besides facing an inevitable nightmare is always more enticing than greeting the truth. After that whirlwind of a night, they were lucky enough to get out with just scars on their hearts and a sore throat from all the yelling.

 

It’d be nice to clean up a wreckage that tore apart four years they could’ve had together.

 

Seulgi laughs, more tired than the happiness she’s been showing off to her celebrity friends.

 

“You always know what to say, Unnie.”

 

Irene chuckles, steps back when Sooyoung eases forward, almost manages to slip past them when Seulgi catches her by the wrist.

 

“Hey, um, can we talk?”

 

She leaves them to sort out a bridge that’s four years too broken, helps Yerim out with her bags as an excuse to not dwell on her own troubles that still linger in her head.

 

—

 

“Thanks, Unnie.”

 

Irene slumps against the couch in Yerim’s room, watches Yerim fumble through her piles of new clothes that could probably fill up another closet. Or two.

 

It almost feels like home.

 

“I’m not mad, you know.” Yerim’s back is towards her, still flipping through colourful folds of sweaters. “About back then. It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, to be honest.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Seulgi unnie’s always been very popular. It’s no wonder they wanted her to go solo.”

 

Irene feels the familiar pang pricking at her heart at a truth she’s tried so hard to ignore— and pretend it never existed.

 

They’re all just as important; all worth cherishing; Irene wouldn’t have minded spending a lifetime or two— or three, to prove it.

 

But the internet’s never been all that careful with keeping it a secret. Neither was the company.

 

“You should’ve taken it too, Unnie.”

 

Irene stares at the carpet lined with topaz-gold and Yerim’s new shoes.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

A snort. “We all knew you were Korea’s ‘It’ girl. You were basically another Yoona unnie; but you know, you.”

 

“It’s not my thing,”

 

“I hope you did it because you wanted to and not because you felt bad for the rest of us,”

 

Irene scowls, grips the arm of the couch just a little tighter, watches her skin take on a tinge of white.

 

“Nothing matters to me more than all of you,”

 

“We know, Unnie.” Yerim plucks a shirt out of a bag with black and white stripes, chucks it straight to her that Irene dodges out of reflex, bewildered that Yerim even threw something at her in the first place. “...We know.”

 

“...So you throw this at me?”

 

“It’s my apology,” a pause, “and thank you.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Blaming you was easier than facing the fact that Red Velvet was over. I’m sorry for that.” Yerim picks at the strings of a shoe more purple than her blazer. “And thank you, because you made the hardest decision so no one else had to.”

 

Yerim has always been too smart.

 

Irene remembers a blur of lights and ringing ears and the stinging throb in her cheek.

 

“It’s not your choice to make, Unnie! How could you— this isn’t, we’re supposed to be a team! How could you decide this without telling us!?”

 

Irene was more relieved than hurt when pain sprouted beneath her cheek, no doubt red from Yerim’s shaking hand; she’d rather take on Yerim’s anger and frustration than let her wallow in it herself.

 

“You weren’t wrong. We were a team; the least I could’ve done was tell everyone else so we’d all be in it together.” She fiddles with the sleeve coloured in black and white, “I took away your chance to say goodbye, and I’m sorry.”

 

Weight settles beside her, a gentle pressure patting her back. Yerim’s warmth seeps through Irene’s jacket. It’s comforting.

 

“Seulgi unnie was right,”

 

Irene tilts her head. “About what?”

 

“You always know what to say.”

 

She hums; she’s not so sure of that.

 

There’s a pinch on her elbow. “You look like you want to say something right now, so what is it?”

 

God, she’s way too smart.

 

“…Then why wasn’t I able to keep us together?” Irene finds calm in a picture frame slanted on its side. “If I always knew what to say, then why couldn’t I stop our disbandment? Why couldn’t I have thought of doing anything better than the worst?”

 

Why couldn’t she convince Seungwan to stay?

 

“It doesn’t mean everyone will listen,” Yerim grips her hand, squeezes reassurance Irene’s never managed to have since they left. “Besides, who knows. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe you said exactly what needed to be said and everything that happened after was supposed to happen.”

 

“I thought we were better than this, Joohyun unnie.”

 

“Seungwan—“

 

“Leave. Please.”

 

Irene squeezes her eyes shut, massaging fingers into the corners so that the tears stay behind her eyelids. Not now. Not in front of Yerim, at least.

 

“You look tired, Unnie.”

 

“Yeah,” she stands, rakes a hand through her hair, blinking Seungwan away. “Yeah, it’s getting late. I should go.”

 

Yerim pats her back one more time before shooing her off, making sure the striped shirt stays between her hands so she doesn’t leave without it.

 

“We’re going to Seungwan unnie’s concert tomorrow together, okay? All of us. Even if Sooyoung unnie would rather jump in front of fireworks than breathe the same air as Seulgi unnie.”

 

Irene smothers a grimace with a laugh.

 

“Okay.”

 

It’s at the door that Irene asks a question she’s afraid of hearing the answer to (it has taken years just so she could have the chance to say it; there’s no way she’d let it slip now).

 

She needs to know.

 

“Hey, I just—I was just wondering— and you don’t have to answer, either.” Irene grips tighter, taking in every cold the knob could offer. She can’t look at her. “...Was I a good leader?”

 

Yerim laughs like it’s the silliest question she’s ever heard. It almost makes Irene turn to look, but there’s something more genuine, and nerve wracking, about letting Yerim choose without seeing her expression that could give it all away.

 

“Not really.” Irene could hear her smile. “You were great.”

 

—

 

The ride to Seungwan’s concert is predictably as bad as Yerim said it would be.

 

Not that it was difficult to figure out.

 

“Are we there yet?”

 

Irene rubs her temple, feels a headache come on because despite her repeatedly saying ‘no,’ for the last seventeen times that it had been asked, Sooyoung still bothers to, well, ask.

 

Probably trying to distract herself from her own problem— which happens to be sitting right next to her (Sooyoung’s never been subtle when it comes to Seulgi).

 

Irene’s only reprieve is getting to sit at the front, though poor Yerim probably has a vein ready to burst any second now, the sound of her sighs all too telling — obnoxiously loud.

 

Yerim groans. “I swear, if you ask that one more time—“

 

Irene could already imagine the mocking grin on Sooyoung’s face.

 

“Are we there ye—“

 

A screech and a thud follows after, the car jostling slightly that Irene knows she’s better off preserving her sanity and plugging in her earbuds than intervening as peace between two devil-incarnates.

 

Seulgi sounds like fear had crept up and preferred to make a home there.

 

“Unnie…”

 

God, if only Seulgi wasn’t present, Irene wouldn’t have minded letting the lunatics fight to the death at the back, but Seugi is here and she knows better than to let Seulgi — sweet, soft, passive, Seulgi— suffer too.

 

“Keep that up and I’ll start addressing the actual problem.”

 

Sooyoung’s voice sounds muffled. “Y-You wouldn’t dare—!“

 

“Joohyun unnie totally would!”

 

“Shut up, Squirt!”

 

Grunting and more yelling. “The only one squirting around here is y—“

 

Seulgi’s cry is a mix of a scream and yelp. “Can we please not say that word?”

 

Moments like these makes Irene wonder if this would be enough to justify why they were better off disbanding in the first place.

 

—

 

Stage lights and fireworks don’t come close to Seungwan’s smile.

 

The cheers are deafening, ringing throughout the stadium, almost as loud as the thrumming in her heart but nothing compares -- not even the large sound systems that blanket each corner, or the shrill screams from fans knowing this will be Seungwan’s last.

 

The moment the spotlight drapes over Seungwan like a wedding dress-- white and blinding and ethereal, Irene almost stands to leave as if she has cold feet.

 

It’s the hardest thing she’s ever had to bear; that she can’t call Seungwan hers. It feels like a movie she loves but could only bring herself to watch just once because it hurts too much to see, again and again and again.

 

Maybe Seungwan knew she’d feel this way— maybe that was why she didn’t want her to come to any of her shows. Maybe it was mercy.

 

Irene swallows down tears and awe; how Seungwan brings happiness through her dances, songs, laughter—

 

Seungwan’s exactly where she’s meant to be.

 

“Amazing, isn’t it.” Seulgi says, leaning deeper into her seat, pride painting her grin. “I wonder if she knows we’re here.”

 

Irene isn’t sure if she wants Seungwan to know at all.

 

“Did you think I’d be okay with this?” Seungwan looked like anger; how it seeped through her eyes, spilled through the cracks between her lips. “You know what’s worse than you not telling me?”

 

Irene had recognized that look.

 

Seungwan always had it before she’d leave.

 

“It’s that you thought we couldn’t make this choice together.”

 

—

 

She should go.

 

There’s no point in staying when the stadium’s already half empty and security’s adamant to kick people out.

 

“You coming?”

 

Sooyoung’s arched brow and nagging finger against her shoulder has Irene scowling, turning away because she can’t look at Seulgi’s frown or Yerim’s expectant smile and not crack under the pressure.

 

They’re all heading backstage to meet Seungwan; probably catch up and do whatever it is that ex-members do when they see each other again.

 

But Irene’s not here to stay.

 

“I have to catch a flight to Japan in a few hours,”

 

Yerim gapes. “What!? Since when?”

 

“Since I first booked this trip.”

 

She had the event scheduled months in advance; there was no way Irene was going to cancel it now. Seungwan’s concert just happened to make the travel slightly easier, so it was convenient. Or so she tells herself.

 

“Are you sure?” Seulgi’s grip is gentle around her elbow.

 

Irene waves her off. “I’m sure.”

 

She leaves with their new contact numbers and a promise for another moment to spend together. Irene didn’t think it was possible to mend what little they had, if at all, of a relationship.

 

But here she is, at the entrance of a venue to her ex’s last concert and wondering if it could ever work out the same way with Seungwan, too.

 

If only she could get over her cowardice first. Not that she’s in a rush to fix it— she’s got all the time in the world.

 

“Wait!”

 

The universe doesn’t seem to think so.

 

She wishes she never turned around to see who it was— wishes that it wasn’t Seungwan currently heading towards her (if the others alerted Seungwan of where she’d be, well, Irene knows how to play that game—but she has to survive this one first).

 

Her expression is hard to read; it’s not easy to discern the straight curve of , or the sharpness in her eyes; her steps sound frantic, but not desperate enough like she was happy to see her, or angry enough to throw a fist.

 

Irene can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.

 

But it’s been years and frankly Irene isn’t sure she knows Seungwan all that well to guess right.

 

Either way, she’s getting hit, hugged, or just straight up ignored; none of them would hurt any less.

 

“Seungwan—“

 

She stumbles backwards catching armfuls of Seungwan; tasting her smile never crossed her mind.

 

Irene short circuits: it doesn’t help that Seungwan’s fingers melt like satin against her nape, soft against the baby hairs on her neck, how her thumbs paint soothing circles on her cheeks as if it’s supposed to massage away the tinge of pink undoubtedly blooming beneath.

 

Irene doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Or .

 

She just knows she wants to chase the laughter sprinkling against her lips — taste that happiness again, and again, and again.

 

And then it was gone.

 

“...Why?” Seungwan sounds just like a song she’s only heard once and could never forget. “...Why are you here?”

 

The truth comes too easy.

 

“I wanted to see you.”

 

There’s plenty more she wants to answer for, and she’s sure Seungwan has many questions she wants to ask, but for now, as Seungwan leans in, seemingly placing their broken history on pause, hearing her mutter “To think you still taste the same,” on her lips, Irene thinks – everything else will just have to wait.

 

Getting the chance to kiss Seungwan again is already four years too late—she won’t make her heart wait any longer.

 

—

AN:

An idea came to mind and I ran with it (much like everything else). Most of the backstory is ambiguous and it will stay that way; I was more interested in their present than their past. Which brings me to my next point: Happy New Year! I hope you had a wonderful year, and even if you hadn’t, I hope that it only gets better from here.

 

Until next time.