It’s not awkward the first time, but only because the tiniest twinge of alcohol lacing Irene’s lips was enough liquid courage for the both of their minds to let everything go in that ocean of lust. But the second time, there isn’t any of that. There’s no beer making Irene’s usually overthinking mind calm, and her sense of judgement cloudy. And there isn’t any thinking, either, not when the both of them really get started. Seulgi’s locked inside of their shared room in her apartment, the sound of her sobs unmasked by the buzz of the television Wendy and Joy were attempting to watch with disinterest. Earlier that day, Irene could tell something was bothering the younger girl, even though her fingers only skimmed over the top of her hand when they were all eating breakfast that the eldest girl had woken up early to prepare for all of them. The only thing Irene couldn’t tell yet was why the younger girl was weakly stirring her bowl of fried rice in her hand and why her eyes wouldn’t meet anyone else’s. 

    It had been three sleepovers since Seulgi’s lips danced over hers, but Irene could still feel them ghosting over whenever she merely glanced at the other girl. That morning there was no exception, and when Irene spotted a speck of ketchup decorating the corner of Seulgi’s lips, it only made her blush once more at the thought of kissing the offending condiment off. There were still remnants of shivers running down her spine and instances of her body betraying her and heating up at just the slightest notion of them alone together or when the rare occurrence of their hands brushing together happened. Something had shocked her when their skin touched that morning, when Irene set down Seulgi’s plate in front of her, and when the younger girl dared to meet her gaze from across the coffee table. Irene knew about a lot about sadness, knew more than she probably should, and she’d seen enough of her friends leave the world to know there was something in Seulgi’s eyes that flickered dimmer than before.

    She also knew that when their other two best friends plopped down on the sofa and continuously shot glances at her when they weren’t engrossed in the drama currently flickering across the screen, they believed she was the only one that could stop the flow of tears running down Seulgi’s cheeks from behind that cursed locked door. They would leave Seulgi and they would leave her until the girl was all hers, and Irene wasn’t sure if that was for the best considering what happened the last time she and Seulgi were left to their own devices. Even thinking about that dare and that night had Irene feeling phantom fingers brushing hotly over her skin and the soft voice of Seulgi breathing into the shell of her ear. 

   The day passed by sluggishly until it arrived lazily to dinner like a dancer waltzing on a stage, and Seulgi still hasn’t unlocked the door. Irene’s prickle of panic was currently forming goosebumps on her skin as she paced in front of the door, and the other two secretly watched her from the kitchen with grim expression. Did they really need another push to jump start their relationship? Was the dare not enough to fuel the fire that was obviously burning beneath both of their friends’ chests? “You need to talk to her,” Wendy comments as she sets the table, “You’re the only one that can fix this. You’re the only one she trusts enough to let in.” She’s caught Irene staring at the door for too long with her hands running over her arms nervously, as if the eldest girl was shivering in the middle of autumn, and it’s just another thing for Irene to blush about.