Seulgi has a bruise.

It’s not fair, she thinks, how her shortcomings and wrongdoings have to leave a smear on her supposedly perfect, alabaster skin. The blemish is a huge indicator (or a reminder, more so) of how much of a defect she is, how much of a defect she has been, and Seulgi hates it.

Seulgi stares at the tinges of purple running across her knuckles and sighs. She closes her eyes as tight as they can go, but god ing dammit, this won’t do. This won’t do. This won’t do.

Seulgi knows too well about the times she’s collapsed. And if she were to find the courage in herself to admit it, Seulgi might even say that those failures and everything else inherent to it were permanently etched onto the canvas that is her mind. Not even in graphite, but in thick, black blotches. And rather than failure manifesting itself in trauma and unforgettable and unpleasant feelings, Seulgi would fear that perhaps it would become quite the opposite: that she’d actually become one with her own failures and nonfulfillments, which means that she’d actually been too weak that she had succumbed to the feelings of inferiority and inadequacy that had been eating her up alive.

However, in the back of her mind, Seulgi is comforted by the fact that she’d at least tried. (Although she isn’t sure if that makes it any better. But if she doesn’t bother analyzing the intricate trails of thoughts in her head, then none of them would surface and manifest themselves as the true ironies that they are, right?)

“I’m going out.” Seulgi faintly says. Joy shouldn’t have heard it but she does. (Seulgi isn’t even surprised.)

“Haven’t you just gone out, like, a few minutes ago?” Joy looks at Seulgi over her shoulder from her position in the couch.

Through the countless (and questionable) happenings that she’s witnessed Seulgi gone through, Joy isn’t very sceptical anymore as she is worried over Seulgi. But that’s how everyone looked at her, anyways. With pity.

“Mhmm.”

“Take care of yourself.”

It exits as fast as it enters Seulgi’s ears, the way Joy tells her to do so. But to be fair, Seulgi’s response is nearly automatic as well; Joy’s heard it countless of times, and even if Seulgi’s never been that badly hurt to be brought to serious medical attention, she’s still unsure of whether Seulgi really can, in her ability, truly take care of herself.

“Right.”

***

Seulgi doesn’t head to the dark alley behind the pub this time.

“Seulgi,” It’s Wendy. She’s bent over the kitchen counter, baking pastries that Seulgi assumes are cupcakes. (Wendy’s never changed, Seulgi thinks endearingly.) “…What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ah,” Wendy sets her oven gloves on the counter and shuffles to the door, where Seulgi is standing, “Take a seat. You know you can make yourself feel at home here, right? Oh, have you eaten? My god; you look horrible. Have you slept at all? And… a-aren’t you supposed to be fighting this time? Isn’t Mr. Kim is going to kill you?”

“Yes, I’ve eaten, - and yes, Wendy, I’ve slept, and no, Mr. Kim won’t kill me; who’s going to beat Jackson Wang’s ? He likes me too much, so, he won’t,” Seulgi bitterly chuckles.

Wendy nods in understanding. “You have a bruise on your hand.”

Seulgi nods, and repeats, mimicking Wendy, “I have a bruise on my hand.”

Shaking her head, Wendy huffs and gets up.

.

Wendy’s eyes are focused on Seulgi’s hands as she gently, but firmly, presses towel-clad ice cubes against her knuckles. “Seulgi, just… what are you doing?”

“I...I don’t know what I want, Wendy.”

“You like fighting, Seulgi,” Wendy sighs for the nth time that night. (Or at least since Seulgi came.) “God, just look at your hands.”

“Yeah, I guess.“ Seulgi shrugs. She sighs contentedly and smiles, “Thanks, Wendy, y-“

“You can stay the night.” Wendy runs her thumb over the ball of Seulgi’s hand. “Stay in the room adjacent to mine… um, I have a flatmate now, her name’s Irene, and she stays in the room beside yours, so…”

“Huh? So?”

“Nevermind.”

*

Seulgi doesn’t know if this had been a good idea, crashing Wendy’s apartment in an impromptu haste. But here she is now, twisting and turning in the girl’s sheets, shivering when the cold-cutting zephyrs from the open window blow in. Finally she sits up. Maybe a glass of water will help.

Treading on her toes down Wendy’s hallway, the smoothly-polished wood tickling the balls of her feet through thin socks, Seulgi notices a light from Wendy’s room. Is Wendy still awake, too?

There are faint sounds of bed sheets curling and crumpling from Wendy’s room. Seulgi peeks through the door ajar, and at first she doesn’t understand, because Wendy’s supposed to live alone now. But Seulgi forgets to think when she catches sight of Wendy’s blue tresses cascading over this girl’s shoulders, both her palms cupping this girl’s cheeks, and, oh, right, Seulgi remembers: Wendy has a roommate now.

Seulgi catches herself watching more than she should be watching, staring at the way their lips meet. This girl (who Seulgi supposes is Wendy’s roommate, Irene,) is really pretty, but Seulgi wonders what it would feel like to press her lips onto Wendy's own instead. She realizes she wants to find out.

*

Seulgi proceeds to stroll through the streets of Seoul instead of getting a glass of water and retreating to the bed Wendy’s offered her. It’s cold, and the LED lights are still bright and flickering against the midnight dark despite the uncanny hour of the night and promises to get a taste of Seoul’s nightlife still linger in the air.

Ansan isn’t anything like this. Seoul is bright; Ansan is not. Seulgi still doesn’t know what she prefers.

But what Seulgi does know though, is that she still can’t stop thinking about the sight she’s just witnessed inside Wendy’s apartment; she’s still thinking about how Wendy’s indigo hues had draped over Irene’s neck, and over to her back. Consequently, Seulgi is reminded of blue waters and the small river she used to swim in back in Ansan.

(Actually, Wendy does remind Seulgi of water. Seulgi doesn’t know if it’s the blue tips Wendy has in her hair, or the way the air around her moves with tranquillity. Maybe it’s the way light shines off Wendy’s pupils with glimmer, and the way she seems to be able to cut through anything with a whisper, or maybe it’s the way Wendy was permissive yet inviolable in the same time. )

Seulgi just wants to go home.

***

“Hi unnie.” She doesn’t bother turning her head from the television to look when Seulgi enters. Her head is situated onto the crook of Joy's shoulder, and she seems to be comfortable in the position she's in.

Seulgi can’t see her face either, but she’s pretty sure she knows who this girl is. “Yeri-ah.”

“Yah, where have you gone? I was lonely during dinner time,” Joy turns her head to face Seulgi; however, Yeri remains unmoving. “I had to resort to inviting this kid over again. How ugly.”

Yeri simply nudges Joy in the rib (which Seulgi assumes) underneath their shared blanket, seemingly too tired to bite back a response. Joy’s yelp is clear indicator that yes, Yeri had nudged her in the rib, indeed.

“Come sleep with us. Drag your futon over here and let’s go to sleep. I'm sleepy.” Joy presses the mute button on the remote control this time, leaving the television blaring different images of different colours Seulgi can’t quite decipher anymore. It might be a drama, or a replay of the Gayo Daejuns; Seulgi isn’t quite sure. It’s 4AM in the morning, after all.

“Hey, Seulgi, don’t just stand there, dummy. Come sleep.”

“Okay.”

Seulgi smiles. Trust Joy to always make her do so. Joy never fails to make Seulgi feel at home with her presence; Seulgi is somehow always comforted by the fresh air Joy always exhumes, and she can’t really verbalize how grateful she is that she’s found a roommate as tolerating and (albeit barely obvious) kind-hearted as Joy, but nevertheless, Seulgi is beyond thankful.

Seulgi drags her futon from her room over to the couch where Joy and Yeri are already asleep in a tangle of limbs, a pair of feet (one belongs to Joy, the other belongs to Yeri) dangling off the seat. Seulgi takes her top off and expertly unhooks her bra, letting it fall loose on the floor, and she swiftly changes into the set of pajamas Wendy’s lent her (Seulgi would just have to apologize for that next time.)

She slips in her futon and clutches the hem of the blankets within her palms, adjusting her position on the comforter in hopes to attain the most comfort possible. She takes her surroundings in one more time before ultimately closing her eyes.

The television remains the only source of light illuminating throughout the whole course of the apartment’s tiny living room, projecting various colours in uneven rates of speed onto the walls (now Seulgi thinks this might be a variety show instead.) The sound of Joy and Yeri’s alternating snores resonate through the walls as well. (Seulgi found it annoying at first but now she can’t help it; amidst the raging insecurities she holds in her heart, Seulgi can’t help but find the two younger ones so adorable and endearingly innocent. They remind her of the kindred soul she used (and hopes to still) be.)

Seulgi closes her eyes, and now she thinks this is where home is. This is what brings her the most contentment; this is what she wants, and this is where she’s supposed to be.

Not throwing punches with insecurity and doubt firing over from her knuckles, not painfully reminiscing about the river she used to swim in back in Ansan, and definitely not wondering what Irene feels, to have Wendy’s lips pressed against her own.

This is where Seulgi belongs.

Finally – in the midst of the unintentional journey to courage she’s embarked on – Seulgi’s finally managed to untangle the intricate jumble of thoughts in her head. And contrary to what she initially believed in, much to her surprise, none of them has surfaced itself as ironic.

“Seulgi-unnie, stop twisting in your futon,” Seulgi hears Yeri mumble in drowsiness. “Go to sleep, please,”

“Okay.”

That night, for the first time in years, Seulgi falls asleep with a smile on her face.