[fading]

“You are gross!” she rolls her eyes, pretends not to see her friends making out right in front of her, disgustingly close, on her sofa. “I’ll need to bleach it,” she sighs, kicking them, making them roll to the ground with a tut when they squish on the furry carpet, holding onto each other, giggling, drinking the laughter from each other's lips.

“Unnie, don’t be so pressed,” Wheein protests, emerging between Hyejin’s waterfall of long, dark hair. “Just ask Byul unnie out, enjoy yourself,” she adds, smirking, eyeing at Hyejin, who quickly joins.

“Right, you’ll feel better,” she advises, looking at her, long, green nails rubbing her jeans, a hand on her knee, petting, solacing. “You could do the same we do,” she chuckles, her other hand entangled around Wheein’s wrist, holding her near, “you know, soul-mate prerogatives,” and at the torrent of her jiggling laugh, she sighs once more. It is so tiring to be around them – they only remind her of what she doesn’t have and, as much as she appreciates them, she is done watching them staring at each other, orbiting like satellites, gravitating into each others’ arms.

Yongsun knows that soul-mates exist – it just happens that Byul isn’t meant for her, despite all the affection she feels towards her, they aren’t suited together, the sign hasn’t appeared. And even if she doesn’t really care about any of that – the signals showing up, the prove of belongingness, - Byul does and she doesn’t want to take her away from her true love, doesn’t want to play a game she won’t win – doesn’t want to give Byul her heart just for her to throw it away (to be refused, to be hated, to force her sentiments to Byul, who is so enthusiastic about soul-mates, who is so sure that her destined one is waiting for her, somehow).

“Byul isn’t interested,” she pouts. They have had this same conversation uncountable times over the years, always with the same result: Yongsun crying all night long, eyes buried against the pillow, mind stuffed with images of Byul leaving, of her loathing her, rejecting her tender fondness that it’s far more than just friendship, that runs deeper than her blood, that it’s stitched inside of her very core, written in every firefly inside her eyes when she lays them on Byul, exploding like new constellations and fireworks.

It is now Wheein’s turn to look at her with exasperation. Hyejin puts her hand on her shoulder, kisses her cheek calmly. Wheein shakes her head and lets it slides, pretends she hasn’t heard Yongsun using the same lame excuse – the same pretence she has been holding on to just to avoid confronting her own emotions.

They say that when you find your soul-mate, everything falls into place, makes sense. Byul only makes her more confused, sends her life into a void of chaos, hollows her chest, taking away her heart and filling the emptiness with the shadows of her laugh, all the colours that linger inside her orbs, the metamorphose of her face when it’s lit up by the rays of sun, the tint of blush on her cheeks, the scrunch she does when she smiles. But even if she loves her that doesn’t mean that they are suited to be together, that they are soul-mate, bounded by fate. And Yongsun knows better than to press her affections to someone who would turn her back to her once her betrothed finds her. She knows better than to try, so she weeps for her feelings that have been blooming since the instant she first saw her: since she first entered her space – to firmly stay.

Wheein ignores the well known blue strike that Yongsun is already enumerating, the list of facts that make it impossible for her to even dare to dream of Byul, she absent-minded nods, politely enough to not offend even more her friend while favouring her attention to Hyejin, who is curled on her lap, her head resting peacefully on her leg, distractedly indulged by her girlfriend’s ministrations, with fingers submerged on her long hair, brushing it gently, a soft, relaxing moment under her care. She has mastered her way to avoid Yongsun when she speaks – specifically when she talks about her feelings for Byul that have always been so obvious to her and Wheein when she has seen them being sow and blooming under all the circumstance of their friendship.

“She is just a friend,” she first points out, “and she is waiting for her soul-mate that, certainty, isn’t me,” she continues, “and she doesn’t feel this way about me, either,” she finishes with a lasting heave. It has been hard enough without friends coming over to remind her of what her heart longs for – but that it’s totally out of her reach. It is impossible and she is too aware – despite what Wheein might say, she has killed what was left of optimism in her.

“Soul-mates are overrated, really. Just because there is a link, it doesn’t mean that you can’t love anyone else until then,” Wheein cuts her, shaking her head. “I’ll put some sense into Byul unnie next time I see her,” she promises just to see a sad smile beaming on Yongsun’s lips, threatening to spread and take the shine of her eyes down.

“Don’t bother,” she sighs, deflated, her usual loud and cheerful tone ersatz by a lingering, palpable sadness that always imbues her when the theme is brought up – Yongsun doesn’t look herself whenever Byul is discussed and it prickles Wheein’s pride to see the sun broken down. “It’s OK, really. I just hope that she will find the love she so much needs,” she finishes, sinking onto the couch, wishing to be swallowed, to disappear – to stop feeling useless, dejected, torn out.

Wheein turns once more in bed. She has been restless since returning from Yongsun’s place, has been distracted, concerned, ignoring anything Hyejin did to get her attention. Hyejin wouldn’t really worry about it – Wheein is too kind to not feel bad about Yongsun’s situation, about how her heart is constantly been crushed by the person she cares the most, the person who feels the same but avoids confronting the truth they all know (that, even if they aren’t soul-mates, they can still fall in love and rejoice). But she can’t accept being disrespected in bed – Wheein has wakened her more times than she can admit and this needs to end (she needs to sleep, for her beauty and her sanity).

“You better stop or I’ll send you to the couch,” she threatens her, rubbing her temples, her long nails scratching – it feels satisfying. “I know you are worried about Yongsun unnie, but the bed is no place for grudges,” she says between yaws, her voice low and raspy with the moon painting her dark skin with new shades or gold and silver – delicately covering her with gleaming butterflies. Wheein heaves, exhaling a long puff of air that feels cold on Hyejin’s face. “Baby, just stop, please,” she pleas, focusing her will on Wheein, holding her still. She is so tired, she can barely think, eyes fluttering, batting back to a pleasant nothingness.

“It is just unfair for them...” she pouts, a tiny complaint setting on her voice, “they are so suitable together, and you know that Byul loves Yongsun back, but she is too stubborn to let go of her dream of finding her soul-mate,” she continues to grip, “and I’m getting fed up,” she grumbles, hitting her face against the pillow, “but I can’t find a way to get them the happiness they deserve,” her voice comes muffled, strangled with feathers and silk covers. Hyejin runs her fingers down her spine, nails scrapping her crumbled T-shirt.

“You’ll figure it out, but let’s sleep,” she begs, urgently, pulling her into her embrace, cuddling her to fall asleep, to let her mind quiet.

“Sorry for waking you up, honey,” she says, regretful, pressing her lips on Hyejin’s mole, sliding into her arms, head resting on her collarbones, counting the sound beating amid her ribs. There is only a soft purr coming out from Hyejin and Wheein just snuggles closer, feeling the warmth irradiating from her skin, slowly melting her.

Yongsun has been fading away, slowly replacing everything else for her, drowning on her mind, in her heart, writing carefully her name, inking it softly with sparkling glances and laughter. She knows that she fancies her – has known it since the beginning, but that doesn’t change anything. Byul has observed Yongsun up-close, has traced her, searching for a sign that would explain the longing feeling she has for her, the craving for her presence every day, even when she is right beside her, the need of touching her, to make her happy, to see her shining – and the urgency is tangible, feels heavy on her chest, reflects in everything she does to get a chance to be closer to her, to have her eyes solely on her (to catch her attention and never let it go, to be always with her: Yongsun is all she loves). But as much as she is sure of loving her, she is also sure that they are not soul-mates because between them there is no link, no red-string, not a mark to signal them as mean to be. So she pushes her feelings back, keeps them caged, tamed, obscured by the certainty that, anyway, Yongsun doesn’t like her this way – Byul is just a good friend.

“Unnie, when will you confess to Yongsun?” it’s the greeting Wheein dispatches at Byul when she storms into her home, uninvited, grinning balefully.

Byul doesn’t flinch, used to her antics, to give her all she wants – to spoil her like a little sister, she just welcomes her in, smiling.

“It won’t work out, you know,” she says, pouring coffee on a mug – it is frankly early and she needs a dose of caffeine to deal with Wheein, to keep up with her energy. “She is not my other half, it’s just a bit of infatuation on my side,” she rubs her eyes, wipes the direness of her temple, already imagining the pep talk ahead. “Confessing to her is the most egoistic thing to do because she doesn’t have feelings for me and she would be obligated to be kind to me and it would all be pretty awful for all of us,” she finishes in a rush.

“What if it would?” she replies, hands cupping her face, looking at her with interest veiling her eyes, opaquing her true intentions.

“She doesn’t love me, we are not meant to be,” it’s Byul’s answer. It sounds like a broken record due to all the times she has said it – they have had different versions performing the same topic.

“Oh, stop with the soul-mate stuff, you are missing out Yongsun! You are pinning, she is pinning, I am tired and exasperated to see the both of you skirting around, always giving but never receiving the love you deserve,” she explodes. “Hyejin thinks the same,” she adds, for emphasis – Hyejin will agree, even if she isn’t aware of her tactic: she has been up brooding about it, pondering a way to approach the issue, to convince Byul and Yongsun that they are looking for the same (and that it is the love they harboured for each other). “She is your soul-mate,” she assures, convinced.

“You, out of all people, should be aware of the connection between soul-mates,” she retorts, unconvinced.

She has seen it again and again: the feeling of wholeness, the string blooming on the heart, minds aligning, the proof shown on the flesh. They are not only fairy-tales but a reality and Wheein is just another example of it, she can’t negate it – not when she is totally in sync with Hyejin, completing each other, sharing the same words carved with black ink, not when they are one entity with two shapes, the synergy flowing betwixt them like pouring rain.

“Me, out of all people, know about it,” she replies, staring at her placidity, a peaceful smile beaming on her lips. “Look, unnie, I can see the love that loiters between the two of you,” she promises, “I’ve seen you falling to your knees for her, all you did for Yongsun, how you act around her, desperate for her attention, for her care. You aren’t like this with others, you are never going to be like this with anyone else because, believe me, Yongsun is the one for you,” she explains, “and before you can cut me with all this crap about marks and stuff… You two have the same freckle on top of your eyelids!” she exclaims, a clamour of claps engulfing her last sentence.

Byul looks puzzled, bewildered, in awe.

“Do we? Are we soul-mates?” she wonders, blinking, holding Wheein’s hands for stability, for support – holding into something tactual, to keep her grounded, not lost in a dream.

“Here,” she says, shaking her a little, seeking for her focus. Wheein shows her a picture of Yongsun and Byul relax, exhaling, softening at the mere image of her and Wheein finds it lovable and stupid for how long she has been stuck with her feelings, making it clear to everybody but Yongsun – making it clear they were destined but neglecting her fate, the chance to be loved by the love she holds so dear. “A spot,” and she points at the exact place where a tiny freckle stands alone, placidly placed upon Yongsun’s eye. And then, sliding the picture to turn on the camera, she monitors Byul to look at the screen: she, too, has a mole in the same place – smaller, perhaps, a bit diffuse, but openly there, just like Yongsun.

It takes less than four minutes for Byul to run to Yongsun – Wheein has been counting on it while explaining the developments to Hyejin over the phone.

“But it is not true,” Hyejin mutters to Wheein later on, carefully eyeing Byul holding Yongsun, kissing gently her nose, brushing her lips against Yongsun’ wide mouth.

“Just look at them,” she says, pointing at the pair, “they are so, so happy, aren’t you happy, Hyejinie?” she wonders, pouting all cutely. She can’t resist, Wheein knows: she has to agree because Byul is gleaming and Yongsun hasn’t stopped smiling and giggling and getting trapped into the stars lingering in Byul’s eyes, gently caressing the mark upon their lids, the link between them, the proof of their feelings. “They are in love, and that’s real. Let’s them enjoy it while it last,” she smirks at Hyejin, who looks crossed at her, brows knitted, furrowed.

“And when it is over? What are you going to do then?” she points out. But Wheein observes them, has analysed their behaviour for so long, she knows it by heart.

“Look at them,” she says, kissing her cheek, “this love won’t end, soul-mate or not, it will last as long as they live,” she adds, absolutely sure, fiercely smiling with so much pride at them, the pair she has created. “For several years they have resisted their natural inclination, the pull of their hearts. They know each other outside-down, have a wonderful history as friends, this is just a level-up,” she kindly jokes, chuckling softly, “it won’t change much their relationship,” she adds, assuring Hyejin. “And, who knows? Perhaps it is true and they are meant to be,” and winks adorably at her, punching her side to make her crack up, join her delight.

“Maybe...” Hyejin evaluates, contemplating them laughing like one soul, the way Yongsun stares reverently at Byul, how Byul is all over Yongsun – as if she was the axis of her world, the meaning of the universe.

“Look, I don’t care if it was written in the stars or if I forced it to be, what matters is that they are happy and we won’t see them pinning and depressed again,” she cuts her off, smiling brightly and, at this, Hyejin can only nod, accepting that it is going to be such a relief not having their unnies sinking into the blue for a love they thought untrue.

“Love always finds a way to win,” she mumbles, catching Wheein by the waist, pulling her in for a kiss – a kiss that taste like victory, a kiss that matches with Byul’s lips covering Yongsun’s, the giggles that sound exactly the same (the sound of pure love).