They stand there as if frozen in the wind. Neither turning away like they should— forget this madness and resume the lives they had before one another —nor do they step forward, falling into each other like they long to do. Instead the pair merely stare. Stare into teary eyes, into the windows of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.

Sooyeon realises that she’s waiting. For what, she has no idea, but she’s definitely waiting. Eunbin doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t so much as twitch. If she didn’t know any better, Sooyeon would think she’s staring at an incredibly life-like statue of a high school girl. But she does know better, and she’s waiting.

For something.

For anything.

For what is increasingly less likely to come. She’s standing, staring into those soft brown eyes. Eyes that once shone with life, lit up animatedly whenever they talked. Eyes that fluttered closed under her spell. Eyes that now look so lost, so wary, so afraid, and Sooyeon accepts it for what it is.

The end.

No fireworks in the sky, no chariot racing off in the sunset. Just two uncertain girls at opposing corners of the street.

Sooyeon tears her eyes away first, looks to the ground as she spins around.

The first step is the hardest, with her feet dragging through every inch of protest.

The second is no better, parts of her screaming to turn back. To stop, to speak up.

She does neither.

A third step and she crushes the desire to look back.

By the fifth she releases her breath. The one that held out for Eunbin. For the other to say something, do anything.

The tenth and it’s now harder to stop moving. Her brain stops hoping for the protest that wouldn’t come.

Sooyeon stops counting after that.

If Eunbin moved, she wouldn’t know.

One Year Later

Sooyeon hated journalism.

Loathed it with all her being, and it had nothing to do with the actual reporters and writers themselves. The incident at Seonam left every so-called ‘news outlet’ tasting like ash in .

“Some deity up there is laughing at me,” Sooyeon muttered, teeth clenched, and eyes glaring holes into the innocent sheet of paper that proudly proclaimed ‘1^st Year Dorm Room Assignments For Block E.’

Annoyingly amused chuckles sounded next to her ears as a playful hand clapped her shoulders, “Probably,” Mirae agreed, “After all, out of the hundred or so students you could’ve roomed with, you’re paired off with the only journalism major in the building.”

Sooyeon sighed and spun around, stalking towards the elevator with her suitcase in tow. Her friend bounded along after her, “C’mon Sooyeon, give this girl a chance. It can’t be that bad. You don’t even know her name yet.”

“And I don’t particularly care to learn it,” Sooyeon replied, pushing the button for the third floor. The school had provided rooming assignments with the students’ ID numbers and faculties—no names, apparently it was to make them get to know their roommates better.

Sooyeon doubted that she was even going to talk to hers. On some level, she acknowledged that she wasn’t being very fair—downright judgemental actually—but her wariness for the types that stick their noses in other people’s business was more than warranted.

“You’re always so frowny. Lighten up a little, I know you can—I’ve seen the pictures,” Mirae whispered conspiratorially.

Sooyeon tensed, and really it was only the teasing nature of her friend’s voice that prevented her from having a panic attack. And really, it was pathetic, the word ‘pictures’ or ‘photos’ still freezes her mind. Taking a small breath, she hoped Mirae wouldn’t notice the tremble in her voice, “Give me something to be cheerful about.”

“Seriously? There’s plenty to be happy about! We’re young, healthy, we just got into college, and we’re about to enter the wonderful world of…” Mirae gestures in front of her in an exaggerated motion, as if peering into the soul of Mother Nature itself, “Men!”

“Yay,” Sooyeon said with absolutely zero enthusiasm. She came to a stop in front of room 365. Her hand moves to the handle, but before she could even touch it, the door wings open and she moves—just narrowly missing the chance to have a door smash into her face.

“Sorry,” her journalist roommate—who had just moved from the ‘ignore’ list to the ‘maim’ one—apologised, “I wasn’t…” she trailed off.

Sooyeon looked up in annoyance, ready to give a cutting remark, any remark—only to fall silent. Her brain froze. Surely this was a joke. It couldn’t be—

“Sooyeon,” the girl whispered, voice barely audible in the silent hallway, but Sooyeon would’ve heard her just as clearly if she had shouted.

“Eunbin.”