Wendy's not comfortable with knowing there are still things left unsaid.

 

She watches the way Joohyun shifts through the kitchen, aimless as if her hands have no direction, merely fluttering through cupboards like the noises would fill up a map – show her where to go.

 

The creases between her brows are too deep to be nothing, along with the frown lining her lips.

 

Ones she'd just kissed.

 

Wendy knows what's troubling her. Maybe it's the reason hesitation was so embedded in Joohyun that Wendy didn't feel the need to yank her back in for another.

 

It isn't hard to figure out when Joohyun keeps sharing brief glances towards her bedroom door.

 

Wendy musters up the words on her tongue.

 

“You should go to her,”

 

Joohyun pauses her movement, stilling by the refrigerator. She doesn't look surprised by her suggestion, not when Joohyun stops as if to listen, the quiet passing over, patient for an explanation.

 

Wendy shuffles closer, gentle when she holds Joohyun's arm, squeezing for their eyes to meet.

 

“There are still things you two haven't been able to say, right?”

 

Joohyun turns to her, a shaky breath breezing past her lips, doubt so embedded on her tongue that Wendy has no trouble hearing the nerves in her voice.

 

“But what if I do something stupid?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“...Like kiss her.”

 

Wendy smiles, drawing invisible circles on Joohyun's arm with her thumb, attempt to massage out the jitters in Joohyun's bones.

 

“It wouldn't be stupid,” she cradles Joohyun's cheek with her free hand, warmth filling her up when Joohyun leans into her touch. “I think it'd be brave.”

 

Because it must be bravery to open up to someone who still manages to make them feel hurt – feel anything.

 

Joohyun's chuckling, moving her head so her lips press into Wendy's palm, the heat of her breaths seeping deep into Wendy's skin that her heart starts to skip.

 

“Right,” she raises a hand to keep Wendy's fingers there, kissing words against Wendy's skin. “Stupidly brave.”

 

Wendy laughs, listening to Joohyun join in, feeling her smile write against her palm. It feels the same again – this homey comfort, the tension that had once seized them, gone.

 

Joohyun's shut her eyes, as if to savor her touch, Wendy's not sure, until Joohyun tugs her hand, shifting her lips to trace past her palm down to linger on Wendy's wrist.

 

A deeper kiss presses against her skin, so soft that Wendy could pretend it was all a mere figment of her imagination. But it isn't when Joohyun stays there, as if to make sure she knew it too.

 

Wendy's worried that Joohyun can feel her heart race through it.

 

“J-Joohyun?”

 

The curtain of lashes lifting has Wendy holding her breath, paralyzed under Joohyun's steady gaze. How unwavering Joohyun's voice is makes Wendy's knees almost buckle. It doesn't help that Joohyun's lips still write against her skin.

 

“...You're right. I want to talk to Yerim. Sort everything out and finally understand so I won't think about it anymore.”

 

Joohyun's letting go but only so her lips can paint across Wendy's knuckles. Wendy grips tighter on Joohyun's arm, afraid that if she doesn't, she really will have her knees meeting the floor.

 

But with how Joohyun's taking over her heart, heating up her skin with ghost kisses across her hand, Wendy considers yanking her in for the oxygen her lungs are suddenly deprived of. Wendy wouldn't be surprised if she falls now.

 

Joohyun’s smile makes it hard to resist.

 

“So I can just think about you.”

 

Oh god,

 

She pulls Joohyun in, falling into lips she's already kissed when they were in bed together just moments ago – a mouth she can't get enough of, hoping that Joohyun can feel how much she wants this. Wants them.

 

Vanilla coils her lungs, filling them up that when she finally breathes it all comes out shaky, sighing into Joohyun's embrace, snuggling closer when arms draw her in.

 

Seconds pass, maybe more (there's no point counting time when she's with Joohyun), shuddering under a fleeting kiss when she finally pulls back, just enough to have Joohyun a breath away.

 

To think she's panting for a marathon Joohyun's made her run in even when they've been standing still.

 

Joohyun blinks, mouth agape, as if to gawk at the fact that they've just kissed – again, Wendy's not sure, easily imagining the gears in her head spinning. Wendy chuckles at how it dawns over Joohyun's eyes like spilled paint.

 

“...Seungwan?”

 

It's funny how surprise curls along her name, like cursives of handwriting, wiggling its way into her heart and only speeding up the pace that she's still running in.

 

“...I just want to think about you, too.”

 

Shy beneath her breath but it's as honest as her weak knees, barely standing if not for Joohyun's grip circled around her, keeping her upright and just close enough to kiss again.

 

...God, she wants to kiss her again.

 

But it'll have to wait.

 

“Can we talk? Tonight, I mean.” Wendy curls auburn behind her ear, “There's just - there's so much I want to tell you, and I don't know if you'd want to even hear any of them, but...” she clutches Joohyun's sweater tighter, “...but I want you to know. About everything.”

 

Seulgi's taken up every bone in her body, of images that hurt to recall, a skeleton in her closet. That shouldn't be. It's scary to think about how much she doesn't really know and how much she should.

 

If Joohyun could face the things that haunt her, then she could, too. Besides, if she wants to tell Joohyun everything, then she'll have to remember it all, first.

 

Wendy rubs her thumb over the ends of Joohyun's sweater, smiling.

 

It's as soft as Joohyun.

 

“Just make sure you talk to Yeri first, okay? I'm sure she wants to tell you everything, too. Even if it doesn't look like it.”

 

It's about time she started listening to the noises in her head.

 

Joohyun blinks, as if attempting to register what she's just said, before soft chuckles escape her lips and the sound makes Wendy grin.

 

Affection swallows her chest, rising up to color warmth across her cheeks when Joohyun ruffles her hair.

 

“You sound like a better unnie than I could ever be.” Joohyun smirks, combing stray bangs from Wendy's face. “Tonight, then. I'll be here.”

 

Joohyun pauses, as if thinking, before leaning in, her smile warm against Wendy's temple, somehow more intimate than the kiss their lips shared. Wendy shuts her eyes so she could memorize it better.

 

When Joohyun shifts back, causing her touch to fade along with her, Wendy watches Joohyun leave for Yeri. A soft click of the door tells her it's hiding away two people who haven't been as honest as they should’ve been from the start.

 

Wendy stares at it for a little longer, fiddling with the cuffs of her sleeves as she shuffles her feet across the kitchen floor. When she cycles around the table for the fifth time, Wendy forces herself to stop by the grip against the countertop.

 

She knows exactly what she's supposed to do, but she's stalling because it's always easier that way. Easier than the fear of knowing how much it'll hurt when she does it.

 

Wendy searches for the lighter Joohyun had given her on her birthday, finding comfort in the touch of cool metal beneath her skin when she takes it from her jacket pocket. Settling on the sofa, Wendy fiddles with the box of silver, anxious for the memory reel that will inevitably come.

 

It's random at best, the bursts of images that are too familiar but can't be recalled. Wendy's learned that when it gets quiet enough, they creep in, like the slow crawl of smoke.

 

Flicking the lighter open and close will make the noises disappear, the sound as calming as the ticks of her watch and the clicks of the door; but as tempting as it is to do just that, Wendy knows she shouldn't.

 

So Wendy holds it close to her chest, curling up against the corner of the couch, and shuts her eyes - looking for the courage she often sees in Joohyun, and waits.

 

She won't count the noises away anymore.

 

-

 

Joy watches Seulgi flip through pages of her scrapbook.

 

Why she even bothered showing Seulgi in the first place is beyond her. Oh well. Too late now. No use regretting it.

 

Joy twiddles with a strand of hair, ebony coiled between her fingers; they're getting long. She should cut it short again - less of a hassle to manage.

 

Her gaze flickers up from time to time to watch Seulgi sweep through pages of what is supposed to be her most prized possession.

 

Joy wonders what Seulgi must think of her now.

 

Finding images of herself captured on someone else's photo album is one thing, but to have them all shot like they were meant to be kept is another. Joy wouldn't know what to do if she found out that someone had taken pictures of her.

 

Maybe call them a “Creep” before taking the album and burning it.

 

Joy can already guess which images Seulgi has already seen from the various colored tabs she has stuck on the edges of each page.

 

Yellow for summer, red for fall, blue for winter, and green for spring.

 

Counting the number of yellow and red tabs, Joy already knows that Seulgi has seen the pictures she's taken of her. After all, she has only caught Seulgi during two of the four seasons.

 

Not that she meant to, anyway.

 

A candid picture on a bicycle, another where she's perched on top of the hill at the park, painting. Seulgi would've seen the one in the restaurant by the window too, if Joy hadn't already given her the image as a gift when she had been crying outside in the snow.

 

To think she had stopped to sit in the darn snow with her and keep her company - it sounds silly even in her own head.

 

Joy hopes that it was obvious enough that she was never the actual subject, poking out around the corners, to being a blurry blob in the background.

 

She just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

 

“Go on, tell me I'm a stalker. A creeper. Whatever.” Joy's waving a hand, “I can take it. Just don't rip those pictures off, please. Polaroid film is expensive.”

 

Joy's rambling, excuses leaving like rapid fire - anything to distract herself from the fact that Seulgi is still currently looking through her picture diary.

 

At this point, Joy would rather Seulgi say something than be swallowed in all this silence. It's too loud to be this quiet.

 

Why did she even bother showing her in the first place? Seulgi should just talk already.

 

“...You really are in love with me.”

 

Joy freezes up. She swears her heart has paused, along with the words that still float in the air between the quiet that only sounds louder, now.

 

That was not what Joy had in mind when she wanted Seulgi to talk.

 

Who even states the obvious like that? She hasn't even said she loves her that way, yet.

 

She swallows, attempts to gather herself, replying with a voice far more hoarse than she'd like.

 

“Was there ever any doubt?”

 

“...A little,” Seulgi starts, tapping on a yellow tab; she's back to looking at summer. “I don't know how to help someone who's in love with me.”

 

Joy frowns. “As in, move on?”

 

Seulgi doesn't say anything, but the tiny smile quirking up along her lips is all Joy needs to see.

 

Joy shrugs, ignoring the harsh tug in her chest.

 

“Good luck with that.” She says between scraping lint off the ends of her sweater, “It'd be a miracle if you could get me to spend a day without thinking of you.”

 

Seulgi hums like the truth doesn't bother her, eyes never leaving the pages of her scrapbook; almost as if it entranced her to stay.

 

Joy ignores how attentive and careful Seulgi is being with the pages of her heart.

 

“So you don't find it creepy?”

 

“I do,” Seulgi tilts her head, a low hum leaving . “But maybe it's because I know you a little better now that it doesn't make this that creepy. Sort of.”

 

Joy snorts, though she's unable to stop the smile that crawls across .

 

It goes quiet again except for the soft shuffling of paper and pictures, Seulgi still so drawn to the pages of her scrapbook.

 

Joy takes this time to text Joohyun - ask if Yeri made it safely to her last night, as well as think back on the moments in between, where Seulgi occupies more than just a metaphorical piece of her heart and had taken up residence on her actual couch.

 

(“You don't get to just waltz in and shove my feelings right up my face just so you could leave me behind with them still all over the place.”)

 

Even in her own head, Joy doesn't recognize herself.

 

“...I meant it, you know.”

 

Seulgi's gaze lifts from a page of autumn, confusion palpable by the arch of her brow. When she thinks about it, Seulgi hadn't looked at anything else for a while since she had first shown her the photo album.

 

Joy clears .

 

“About what I said earlier. That you can call me and text me - whenever, and about whatever.”

 

There's a smile wrinkling the corners of Seulgi's mouth. Joy teeters on the balls of her feet, feeling awkward from the stare Seulgi is giving her. Seulgi always did manage to make her feel nervous.

 

It gets worse when Seulgi approaches, her hand a gentle weight on Joy's elbow, squeezing like the foundation for support.

 

“I meant it, too.”

 

Joy's brows furrow, the skin between them crinkling up.

 

“About what?”

 

“That I don't think I'd ever get sick of someone who loves me. So you can tell me everything,” Seulgi pauses, shutting the scrapbook. “How you feel - sad, angry, or frustrated at me, you can say it. I won't hold any of it against you.”

 

She can't tell if it's some cosmic joke to have her crush tell her it's okay to let her know how she feels. Joy's already told her the most crucial part; there wouldn't be any point to saying the little details.

 

She'd just be hammering the obvious in.

 

“What good would that do, exactly?”

 

Seulgi shrugs, a lopsided smile curling along her face.

 

“I just think that maybe letting everything out might help you move on from me. I can listen to you until you have nothing left to say.”

 

Joy blinks.

 

Right.

 

Seulgi wants to help her. If Joy can speak about her feelings, have them all come out, then maybe it'll help her not to dwell on them anymore.

 

But to think that Seulgi wants to help her move on—

 

“...You think I'll actually run out of things to say about you.”

 

—it hurts more than Joy would like.

 

To think she thought she would be different from the rest - from the idiots who can't help but pine over the impossible. How laughable.

 

Seulgi tilts her head to the side, curiosity drawing along her expression, her pout too obvious to ignore.

 

“Wouldn't you?”

 

“Have you run out of things to say about Wendy?”

 

There's a frown curving Seulgi's lips, the crinkles in skin between her brows deeper than Joy's used to. Her gaze is mixed with a certain ferocity that isn't often associated with her softer demeanor, more fire than the gentle she's used to.

 

But Seulgi still says nothing.

 

Joy snorts, combing her hair back.

 

“Yeah, I didn't think so.”

 

Seulgi sighs. “...I hate her,” fingers fiddle with the edge of a yellow tab, “but I love her, too.”

 

Joy raises a brow, silence sealing her lips.

 

It's hard not to listen to Seulgi's heart speak.

 

“Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I had looked for her earlier - if I had told her earlier...” Seulgi tucks strands of hair behind her ear, “About how we used to be. But I loved the thought of destiny; even hoped that she would fall in love with me again without needing to remind her. But I guess you can't depend on things like fate.”

 

Joy keeps mum, catching Seulgi's flickering gaze before it settles back on the colorful tabs of her scrapbook.

 

Seulgi laughs like it's hard to do.

 

“...I should've loved her more than the idea that we were meant to be.”

 

Joy remains quiet, watching Seulgi fidget like it helps her form words better. 

 

Seulgi's fingers trace worn-out edges along the photo album, as if her hands needed something to do. Seulgi isn't crying - her tears seem to have dried. Or maybe her eyes have gotten tired of the waterworks. Joy can't tell.

 

She just knows that Seulgi sounds like she doesn't want to cry about Wendy, anymore.

 

“But to think she didn't fall in love with me again. What changed? Did she not love me enough before to fall in love with me again?” A frown curls along Seulgi's lips, brows scrunching up. “...Is Joohyun unnie that much better than me?”

 

Joy's lips purse, inclined to speak up. If love could be measured as easily as weighing shallow qualities like personality and appearances, then it wouldn't be as elusive or remarkable - or a pain in the .

 

It'd never be that simple.

 

“To me, yeah. Joohyun unnie's better than you.”

 

When she thinks about it, she's never seen Seulgi flare up like anger is crawling up , as if to scream and just let go. Tension along her jaw is as easy to spot as the tremor in her hands, skin along her fingertips taking on a sheet of white.

 

Seulgi's titan grip on her scrapbook should be worrying - it's her paper film of life's moments she considers worth cherishing, but only calm thrums her limbs.

 

When it comes down to it, no camera comes close to capturing images like the blink of an eye, growing a cache of memories that is infinite for as long as she lives.

 

Joy watches Seulgi bare her teeth as if to bite down whatever words are thrashing about on her tongue.

 

Jealousy kind of looks good on her.

 

“But Joohyun unnie's not the one I'm in love with, is she?”

 

It still has nothing against her smile written out of happiness, though.

 

That quiet anger drawn across Seulgi's face dissipates like smoke from her skin. No more upside-down smile, or crinkles between her brows, or the fire in her eyes.

 

Joy twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, ignoring the fact that she's trying to make Seulgi feel better by telling her heart like Seulgi didn't already know it.

 

“So it has nothing to do with being better. If that were true, then I'd know that I'd be too good for you and wouldn't bother wasting my time.”

 

Joy pretends she doesn't already know that; that despite acknowledging her self-value, she ditches it for mere monolid eyes and a toothy grin that wouldn't stop photobombing her pictures.

 

Seulgi's quiet, her gaze back on the closed pages of her scrapbook. Joy wonders if she has hurt her feelings in some way. She sighs, taking Seulgi's wrist and dragging her down to sit with her on the sofa, slumping comfortably into the cushion.

 

Maybe they should start talking about something else.

 

“Knowing how much you in the kitchen, I wonder if it'll convince me not to be so enamored with you.”

 

Seulgi's instinctive laughter paints a smile on Joy's face, the sound akin to the brightness she's often seen in Seulgi when she took pictures of her (without meaning to, of course).

 

“I'll have to cook with you more often to see if it works, then.”

 

Joy had promised herself that there wouldn't be a next time. Or at least, be smart enough to stop it at the door, keep Seulgi out and away from her heart more than she already was.

 

Chuckles color . “I guess so.”

 

Joy listens to Seulgi talk about her schedule for the next few days, hands animated to showcase an excitement Joy already feels bubbling in her own chest; along with a suffocating dread knowing that she's already a lost cause. Spiraling out of control and allowing Seulgi to take reign of her choices, have a say in what she could do, is barbaric. Insane, even. And significantly detrimental to her well-being.

 

But she's already sunk low enough that there isn't any point in swimming up to the surface; might as well go all the way down.

 

Joy tucks her hair back. “I'm free Friday. Want to catch a movie and sleep over again? You're paying for the tickets, though.”

 

Seulgi's hug is tight and warm and uncalled for. Butterflies tumble and trip and fall in her stomach, enough to make Joy gag at how soft she's gotten - and how much she really wants this.

 

“Of course! You're the best!”

 

Joy holds her back, nuzzling into her shoulder, breathing in orange that only manages to make her crave for more. She mumbles against warmth that isn't hers to keep.

 

“I know.”

 

-

 

Nothing.

 

There's nothing.

 

Wendy can't hear anything.

 

Even when it's quiet, or even when there's chatter - whether there's the clinks of plates or the ticks of the clock, she'd hear something. Anything. She'd even see glimpses of images she can't recall.

 

But now there's nothing.

 

What does that mean? Isn't there anything left to hear? Is there really nothing left to see?

 

Wendy considers all the times she's had when noises crawled along her mind, invaded every thought that her limbs couldn't help but find peace in sounds she had to make.

 

Often it'd happen during mundane things; routine action tended to call for spontaneous images, whether she'd be in the basement doing the laundry, or baking in the kitchen.

 

Maybe she should just do what she normally does; make breakfast like the start of a new day.

 

“Right, yeah. That's it.”

 

Wendy mumbles, settling for that, shoving Joohyun's lighter into her pocket, the weight of metal soothing comfort past the fabric and into her skin.

 

Fluttering through the kitchen comes automated, the cogs in her limbs reaching for cupboards and pans and plates as instinctive as breathing. Shuffles of her feet from one end to the other are in sync with the motions of routine, as if the map boiled in her veins.

 

It isn't until she's staring at plates filled with food that Wendy realizes she's already made breakfast and the noises have yet to greet her.

 

Was there nothing left for her to remember?

 

“Just let me go!”

 

Wendy jumps at the shrill cry, almost stumbling backwards into a still-hot pan, catching herself by the edge of the counter, eyes peeled towards the door that still has Joohyun and Yeri hidden.

 

Their voices come muffled, indiscernible at times, but when it reaches a particular pitch, as if it could draw cracks along the walls and shatter her eardrums, Wendy winces at the pain clawing from their throats.

 

“What makes you think I'd want to go anywhere without you? You know that I'd do anything for you—”

 

“Don't say that! Don't you dare say that!”

 

“But it's tr—”

 

There's a pained grunt that follows, easily recognizing it to be Joohyun's; it isn't hard to deduce when her words cut off quicker than it should. It makes worry scratch along Wendy's mind.

 

Did Yeri hurt her?

 

“Because I'd order you to kiss me, I'd tell you to make love to me, and then I'd want you to tell me that you're still in love with me too!”

 

Wendy winces.

 

With how pain painted Yeri's eyes like it had been scarred there, it wasn't a surprise to hear how desperation scorched , puncturing enough to ring in Wendy's ears despite the barricade of a door.

 

But she shouldn't be hearing this. She shouldn't be hearing any of this.

 

Her fingers begin to make numbers on her sleeve out of knowing that she's listening to a broken lover and not the noises in her head.

 

“...Why can't I be okay with just wanting you?”

 

If heartbreak had a voice, it'd probably be Yeri's.

 

Wendy can't listen anymore.

 

The kitchen has always been reliable company, between the creaking cupboards when pulled open, to the soft steady hum of the refrigerator.

 

This distance should be enough to muffle their voices, allow privacy for a conversation long overdue. But even when it goes quiet again, Wendy is still keenly aware of how silent her head has gotten.

 

Was it because it talked already?

 

(“Because that's all you need, Seul.”)

 

Was that all it - she, needed to say?

 

“Make love to me.”

 

Wendy doesn't know why out of all the things she could hear, it has to be that one.

 

Maybe it'd be better if she left for a little bit. Get some fresh air and ease this childish green jealousy that's growing in her chest despite knowing that Joohyun had been clear about her feelings.

 

Wendy decides to let them know, hopefully alleviate the tension that's seeping through the parting beneath the door, even if it's just so they could pause for breakfast.

 

As soon as she raises a fist to knock, Joohyun's voice filters into her ears, nestling comfortably, making warmth find place in her chest and replacing the green that had festered there.

 

“Then I'd be lying to you.”

 

Joohyun certainly doesn't let doubt stay longer than necessary.

 

Wendy can't help but smile, a mixture of happiness for herself and sadness for another, coiling along her lips. Her knuckles leave a gentle reminder on Joohyun's door.

 

“Hey, um, breakfast is ready. I'll be doing the laundry downstairs, okay?”

 

She backs away as soon is cleared of the words she needed to say, making sure the plates are settled properly for the two to see before reaching the apartment door.

 

“Coming, Wendy unnie!”

 

It isn't hard to hear how desperately joyful Yeri pretends to be, how much she's barely holding on together. Lying sounds like it's all she has left.

 

Wendy musters up a smile her way in hopes that Yeri could see there's more to everything than pretending to be okay.

 

Once the door clicks after her, Wendy slowly heads for the laundry room to seek silence, wondering if there won't be noises to listen to anymore. It can’t be gone just like that, can it?

 

Was it just waiting for another opportunity to surprise her again?

 

Wendy jolts at the sound of Yeri's voice puncturing the walls, loud enough that it blows past their respective apartment, echoing down the hall; it startles Wendy to twist back.

 

“It's done! We're already done! Even if you could do something, what difference would that make?! It's Wendy unnie who you're in love with now and—”

 

“And before that, I was in love with you!”

 

Joohyun's never been this loud - enough to jump-start Wendy's limbs into staggering back towards the apartment, fearing that their conversation could be going worse than it should.

 

Hesitation paralyzes her hands, eager to knock, go back in and act as the peacekeeper, but something's telling her not to. That it's better to let every inhibition go, tell every pain out loud - even if it's in screams that are piercing enough to have Wendy choke on all the pain embedded in their voices.

 

Wendy jumps at the sound of the lock turning, stumbling to the side as if to hide, though it's silly considering how it's an open corridor - and how it isn't a secret that she'd inevitably play witness.

 

Joohyun's eyes have turned ochre, darker like the rest of her expression, more grim than Wendy's used to.

 

But there's a clarity in her movements, more precise than the practiced and calculated steps Wendy's familiar with, as if she's finally found a map she's been searching for.

 

Wendy holds her breath as soon as their gazes meet.

 

Joohyun smiles.

 

“Thanks. For everything, I mean.” Joohyun ruffles Wendy's hair as she passes by, her other hand marred by bandage wraps, pearly whites peeking across her face. “I just have to settle one last thing, but I'll make sure I'm home tonight, okay, Wan?”

 

Maybe it's because there's joy in the way she says her name, or blissful affection lined in her touches, but either way, it controls something in Wendy, reaching out to pause steady steps - pull Joohyun back so they're closer again. Surprise is easy to read in Joohyun's eyes, her yelp too endearing not to laugh at.

 

“S-Seungwa—?”

 

Wendy takes in vanilla that still coats Joohyun's mouth, cradles Joohyun's face between her palms. It's simple and sweet, much like the lazy Sunday afternoons they'd spend together lounging on the sofa, watching soap operas and laughing at their horrible acting.

 

When she pulls back just enough to feel Joohyun sigh, watch lashes flutter open, Wendy smiles at the whisper of happiness she writes against Joohyun's lips.

 

“For good luck.”

 

Joohyun's thank you consists of tucking auburn behind Wendy's ear, along with a simple “Goodbye.” It's more reassuring than pinky promises or signed signatures documented on paper; more intimate than fingers clasped together, and deeper than ink from any marker.

 

When Joohyun disappears from her sight, Wendy remembers pain still hiding away behind her apartment door; Yeri didn't follow her.

 

Finding comfort by the phantom touch of Joohyun's fingers, Wendy twists the knob open, hoping she could at least be there for Yeri.

 

She’ll worry about the lack of noises, later.

 

-

 

Joohyun's always been a seeker of the truth.

 

Her stubbornness is both her virtue and her downfall. At least, that's what Yeri thinks.

 

Even if things would be better left alone, as soon as Joohyun notices something amiss, she would always prod further – to see what could be hiding beneath layers of pleasant lies and rotten secrets.

 

It didn't matter whether the present was better, prettier, and perfect; if there was even a sliver of dirty doubt wedged between cracks that made up paradise, Joohyun would claw her way through to find out why it wasn't the way it should be. And why she was convinced that it was.

 

Yeri can't hide a bitter laugh from escaping , raspy and hoarse from tears that couldn't hold Joohyun back.

 

She doesn't bother wiping off the stains that mark her skin, feeling them roll down to her chin, drop to the wooden floor of a quiet apartment that her heart shares with a different woman.

 

Exhausted legs drag towards the kitchen table, plopping herself down on a stool chair, lifeless at the sight of a closed door that Joohyun had walked out of just a few moments ago.

 

It's numbing to think that all her lies have left with Joohyun; no more weights press down on her chest, no more poison that wells up in her stomach - there's nothing left.

 

She's gotten used to filling herself up with secrets that as soon as they've been told, Yeri doesn't know what to do.

 

Maybe that's why she feels so oddly empty.

 

A flicker of yellow peeks through the corner of her eyes, finding that Joohyun has left her cellphone behind in the midst of their little spat.

 

Its blinking light tells her there's a notification waiting to be read, the ringer clearly set off. No one else is in the apartment, now. Just the silence that keeps her company, a wreckage of two; damaged and left behind by the tempest of Joohyun's hunger for the truth.

 

Yeri considers snooping. It doesn't last long before her choice is made, hands flicking through the screen; no password required.

 

There's nothing left for her to lose, anyway.

 

(Hey, did Yeri stay with you last night?)

Sender: Park Sooyoung

Received: 10:15:32 AM

Received: 03/02/16

 

Ah, right. Joy.

 

This is all because of Joy.

 

It was inevitable to have the truth spill out like cascades of rain; soak them all and have them freeze under the chill of drenched clothes and two-year-long secrets.

 

But Joohyun didn't have to know. Not for a long time. Not until she was finally okay.

 

Stupid Joy.

 

“Yeri?”

 

A voice that captured Joohyun worms its way into her ears, curls up in her head to usher her to look up, find Wendy entering through the door Joohyun had left from.

 

Yeri musters up the biggest smile she could, hiding away Joohyun's phone in her pocket.

 

“...Hi, Wendy unnie.”

 

It surprises her when Wendy comes closer, wrapping thin arms around her, as if to blanket her from the quiet that's rattling her heart.

 

Yeri manages to laugh a little. “What's this hug for?”

 

Wendy hums. “You looked like you needed one.”

 

She recalls saying this to Wendy last night, just before the whirlwind that was Joohyun came crashing in.

 

Yeri wants to laugh at how the situation's changed; how their stories have turned around, where she needs Wendy's shoulder to cry on instead.

 

She manages a chuckle between broken sobs, cracking open and spilling out what had accumulated for the past few years she's kept to herself. It doesn't matter who hears, now.

 

“She's not supposed to - she wasn't supposed to—” They trickle out without rest, cutting off to breathe between hiccups.

 

Wendy's rubbing her back, hushing her broken mantra with her mute support. Yeri only holds her tighter.

 

Time passes enough for her tears to subside, swallow back beneath her eyes. Wendy hasn't let her go yet, as if a long embrace would stitch up her torn diary.

 

Yeri pats her back. “...Thanks, unnie.”

 

Shifting, Wendy's looking at her with bright eyes, concern so palpable that Yeri could feel herself sink in them. It's no wonder Joohyun fell in love.

 

“Do you need anything? You haven't eaten yet, right? I'll warm this up for you. Just stay, okay?”

 

There's something tingling in her chest, spreading to warm her heart, caused by affection that belongs to someone she thought she'd hate.

 

Yeri was sure she'd grow to dislike her - or at least a little bit, when she sat across Joohyun at the restaurant and caught their hands tangled together beneath the table.

 

“...You make it hard to hate you.”

 

Maybe she didn't word it right, grabbing Wendy's wrist as soon as she catches the older woman flinch back, as if she had hurled a knife and barely missed.

 

Yeri can't help but smile at Wendy's stuttering lips.

 

“I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

 

“But it's not like I want to, either.” She wraps her arms around Wendy, just to hold warm comfort one more time. “And I'm glad I don't.”

 

Wendy sinks into her embrace, feels her hug back, touch so timid it's almost adorable enough to make Yeri melt.

 

Mischief travels through her veins, eager to erase the affection pooling in her stomach, patting Wendy's soft bottom out of playful spite and laughing when Wendy jumps, her squeak piercing the calmer air.

 

“Now before you start making me cry again, let's go warm them up. I'm starving.”

 

-

 

When breakfast settles in her stomach and dishes are clean and left to dry, Yeri nods at Wendy's, “I'll be right back,” before watching her leave for the bathroom.

 

They talked about going shopping together, eating out, spending time doing anything else just so they could think about everything but Joohyun. Wendy offered to even take her to the park as soon as she was done with her shower.

 

It's been pleasant. Wendy is company Yeri doesn't mind spending time with; they're more than acquaintances and lesser than enemies. Maybe they're friends, even, but Yeri didn't think she could ever be friends with Joohyun's lover (then again, she didn't think Joohyun would have any other lover besides herself). But it's not like Joohyun and Wendy are together, either. At least, not yet.

 

But the inevitability is blatantly obvious that they might as well hang up neon signs on their foreheads; save everyone the trouble from waiting any longer than necessary.

 

Yeri slumps across the table, heart heavier than she could currently carry.

 

Joohyun's cellphone is light in her hands, wanting to laugh at how she still doesn't have a password. Then again, Joohyun's not the type to keep secrets. Not like her, anyway.

 

Yeri's absent minded when she flickers through Joohyun's contact list, as plain as the owner herself. No emoji's or creative names besides the default of first and last names.

 

Not until she finds the one meant for Wendy, anyway. Her thumb hovers over “Home”, blaringly bright and taunting - and everything Yeri wants to be.

 

It'd be so easy to erase the label Joohyun had given to someone else.

 

But it doesn't take much effort to not alter a single thing, wondering if Wendy's wormed her way into her heart deeper than she's realized.

 

Rolling past in search of her own name, a pang thrums in her chest when she finds that it's still the same; even when they’re not, anymore.

 

Yerim <3

 

They've all changed; it's not something to keep, much less have, now that there's Wendy - and what she truly means to Joohyun.

 

Tapping the edit button on her name, Yeri makes the necessary adjustments, watching “Yerim <3” disappear into nothing and replacing it with the appropriate distance. It was about time.

 

Yeri smiles at the new caller ID she's given herself, ignores the pinch in her chest and the jitters in her hands telling her to change it back to the way it was - what Joohyun left it to be.

 

But to Joohyun, she should only be Kim Yerim and nothing else.

 

Taking a sticky note from Joohyun's study desk in her room, Yeri scribbles a small note for Wendy to read later, sticking it on the kitchen counter and making sure that Joohyun's phone is set to the highest volume.

 

She leaves the cellphone between crinkled sheets, making sure it's mixed up in the scramble of chaos on Joohyun's bed.

 

Wendy will have to play a little scavenger hunt later; Yeri's sure she wouldn't really mind. Especially not when she eventually finds it.

 

It's a little rude of her to be leaving without saying a proper goodbye, not even waiting for Wendy to come back from her shower, but Yeri figures it'll be okay. What she'll find will probably more than make up for it.

 

There are still things she has to sort out with a particular “Giant”, anyway.

 

Yeri slips on her leather boots and jacket, grasping her shopping bags by the door, and doesn't look back.

 

-

 

Irene bears Yerim's truth like newfound armor.

 

Hesitation no longer exists between each breath she takes towards a door that hides the reason behind every haunting dream. Doubt used to ebb at her mind, attempt to convince her that Yerim left her because she couldn't meet elusive expectations - that she wasn't good enough. Irene had found a bit of peace in thinking that Yerim knew what she was doing; that she was happier without her, and that was okay.

 

But Yerim carried nightmares as if it were her heart on her sleeve, been haunted much like all the times Irene couldn't sleep. Irene couldn't believe she hadn't been able to see it sooner.

 

Maybe it's a little too late, but that isn't a reason to just set things aside and pretend it isn't still there.

 

She knows better, now.

 

Yerim deserves a happy ending.

 

“You made Yerim leave me, didn't you.”

 

It's a statement that punctures through the air as soon as she's in his office, not bothering to wait for the door to shut behind her. It was easy enough to deduce; no one else could influence Yerim better than her father.

 

When it clicks to a close like a pin hitting against the floor, loud against the silence, Irene continues to speak like he wasn't her superior.

 

“'She would never be good enough for her,'“ she steps forward, ignores the pointed stare he sends her way. “That was what you thought of me the moment you found out, wasn't it?”

 

His gaze lingers until it drops to his desk, papers scattered across like order doesn't exist.

 

“A knowledgeable observer. I've always liked that about you. I'm just surprised it took you this long.”

 

Irene narrows her eyes.

 

“I didn't mean to make you wait.”

 

He hums, the sound of his blue ballpoint pen scratching the surface of crisp sheet of white.

 

“Considerate, too. It's no wonder you were my favorite.”

 

“I'm relieved,” Irene rakes her hair back, makes sure her gaze can't be missed. “I was afraid I'd still be your favorite.”

 

He chuckles. “Never one to mince words, either.”

 

Papers get shuffled on his desk; he's flitting through work like it's any other day. Nonchalance plagues his tongue like a jacket; wrapped around him as if snug to the bone.

 

“You've always been stubborn.” He starts, his eyes flickering towards her briefly before going back to his task. “So Yerim was naturally the easier one to convince.”

 

Irritation begins to itch at her ears, his voice like audio plaque; a dense mass obstructing her hearing, allowing anger to slowly blend in, seep into her head.

 

It starts to bleed along her fingers, an involuntary quake rushing through her limbs that she digs them deep into her pockets just so he can't see how much his truth affects her.

 

“You weren't good enough and you will never be good enough.” He rubs at his temple like a headache had punctured him then. “Because you're not a man.”

 

Irene's heard this before. In her own home, from her own parents, the last thing being her purple backpack being thrown out the door, along with her own stumbling feet.

 

“So paying and hiding behind college girls to try and convince a woman to stop being with someone is what you consider a man?”

 

Irene watches him narrow his eyes, posture straightening up, the tension in his jaw not hard to miss when specks of his teeth comes bare.

 

“A child is the summation of love. Two women can't do that and neither can two men. Why is that? Because it's not right. Just like a mathematical equation, it doesn't add up.”

 

“You make it sound like math only has addition.”

 

“It's a simpler explanation.”

 

Irene pretends he did not just insult her intelligence. But his stare is condescending and so is his smirk that Irene considers breaking the curve along his mouth, fingers already curling into fists.

 

She tries not to let her temper get the best of her, even if it's getting volcanic, anger seeping into the crevices of her heart, scraping away the little self-control she has left.

 

Breathe in, then out.

 

“So a husband and wife who are infertile aren't really in love?”

 

His scrutiny hardens. “It isn't that simple.” 

 

Irene scoffs. “How convenient.”

 

“Watch your tongue.”

 

She doesn't.

 

“If love was as simple as plugging variables into a formula,” she says between uncurling her fists, allow the blood to wash away white anger. “Then we wouldn't be having any problems.”

 

“That's because everyone keeps making deliberate errors.”

 

He speaks about love like it's limited to algorithms and lines that are required to match up; reserved for logic to understand without abstract thought.

 

His mind is as boxed as a white-picket fence.

 

But that isn't how it works. It can't be looked at with eyes as narrow as concentric circles, or be solved as easily with numbers.

 

There's more to life than mathematical limits.

 

How ironic that she thought she'd find growth under his mentorship.

 

“We're more than an equation.”

 

He chuckles. “You sound like Yerim. So desperate to be right in something so wrong.”

 

Irene's fingers twitch, like a bomb had just been triggered, a switch flipped at the sound of her name.

 

She's about to step forward when he raises a hand, his words pausing the gears in her legs.

 

“But it doesn't matter what I think. Yerim is old enough to make her own decisions.” He's rubbing fingers against his temple, as if to ease a headache. “And she chose you. Again.”

 

Silence spreads across the air faster than the oxygen she breathes. It must be staying longer than he anticipated because he's looking up at her, arched brow raised to question.

 

“Why do you look surprised? Did she not run back to you?”

 

Irene attempts to reel in her shock, hiding it behind thinned lips and pockets filled with shaking fists.

 

“She did,”

 

His gaze narrows.

 

“But she didn't tell you why? Why she suddenly appeared at your doorstep?”

 

Irene doesn't correct him.

 

The image he sketches never happened to her. But it isn't hard to picture knowing that Yerim had been staying with Sooyoung all along. To think the two of them had kept it hidden from her, too.

 

If anything, Yerim tried hard to make sure she wasn't even a choice.

 

 “No.”

 

Her fists are rattling for action, just to do something - anything. But she's not willing to let loose the troubles stuffed in her pockets, hands clenched so tight that she could feel the white stretch along her skin again.

 

A scoff leaves his mouth, though from the small smile curling along his face, he sounds more defeated than disappointed.

 

“Yerim didn't run away from home because I told her she couldn't be with you.” He's fiddling with papers again, “If that was the case, then she would've ran a long time ago.”

 

Irene keeps mum, watches him sigh like exhaustion is written along his throat, the sag of his shoulders slight but telling. Almost as if he's given up.

 

“She ran because I told her she was right.”

 

Confusion swirls in her mind, feeling her expression contort into narrowed eyes and curved frowns.

 

He seems to have understood, twiddling with his pen as he continues, breath heavy with a sigh like he's tired.

 

“It doesn't matter what I do, or what I want, or what I think is best for her.” He pauses, “No man can make her happy. She was right to say that only you could. I expected her love for you to expire, but it didn’t. Though I'm sure you know that already.”

 

In a way, Irene does. But to think Yerim ran away because she already knew who she'd choose - it's worse than knowing he was the reason they broke apart.

 

(“Don't make me regret leaving you more than I already do, unnie.”)

 

So that was what Yerim meant.

 

It had nothing to do with her father's bigotry; maybe it did at first, but now it didn't matter to Yerim whether she found out the truth of their elusive break up - that he had been the one to set them up for their downfall.

 

It was because Yerim was afraid to have her find out that they could be together again. That all Irene has to do is want her back, too.

 

Yerim didn't want her to know that there was a choice to make; that there was nothing left to fight for.

 

He looks at her with a tiny smile, more grateful than disappointed. It startles Irene for how honest it is - no lines of malice scarring the curves of his lips, the timbre in his voice soaked in a certain softness only fathers have for their children.

 

“I leave her happiness to you.”

 

Yerim wanted to make sure that Seungwan was her only choice.

 

Irene manages a small smile in return, turning away, the gold knob of his office door cool beneath her touch. She speaks over her shoulder, words steadier than the harsh thrum pounding in her chest and the incessant ringing in her ears. Irene can barely hear herself over the clashing memory films of Yerim and Seungwan.

 

“I'll hand in my resignation letter first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

(“I still want you, unnie.”)

 

His confusion latches onto the lobes of her ears, crawling in but barely scraping away at the movie reel still playing behind her eyes. Irene's thankful he doesn't question her. Despite his candor, she can't bring herself to stay with him any longer; he's still the reason they broke in the first place.

 

“It was a pleasure working with you.” He pauses, a wry smile plaguing his face. “I'll put in a good word for you, wherever you go. Tell Yerim she doesn't have to worry about it.”

 

(“…I just want to think about you, too.”)

 

Irene tugs gently, hearing the soft click of the door behind her, closing an elusive chapter and opening something far more important than the “Why” to a relationship's sudden end.

 

Shoulders sag like there's no more strength to them, her feet heavier to carry with each step forward towards a decision she'll inevitably have to make. Irene squeezes her eyes shut with tired fingers, sighing into a hand, finding no comfort in the quiet when her head is noisy with thoughts of Yerim and Seungwan.

 

The chill of winter air invades her lungs, the sight of sparkling white easing a bit of the tension in her muscles, alleviating a smidge of the noises in her head. Irene digs into her pocket for the keys to her car, knowing full well that regardless of the images plaguing her thoughts, she has already made her choice.

 

Her tongue isn't itching for coffee, anymore.

 

-

 

Joy's not expecting a visitor, much less one during the afternoon when Seulgi's still in her home, taking up valuable space on her sofa.

 

But the knocks are still there, thumping against the door, ricocheting all the way into her kitchen.

 

It couldn't be Yeri because she already has her own key; so who would it be?

 

“I'll get that,” Seulgi says, springing up faster than Joy could switch the stove off.

 

To think she's cooking for the two of them again; this time for lunch. She really is no better than any other love-struck loser.

 

Dumping stir-fry onto a plate, Joy hangs up the apron by the fridge, removing the hair tie to loosen ebony over her shoulders.

 

“Who is it?”

 

She looks up to find Seulgi by the door, a nervous smile playing along her lips as Yeri stomps towards her, a frown lining hers.

 

Joy grins.

 

“Oh. Hey, Yeri. Forgot your key? And where did you stay last night—”

 

Yeri’s hand whizzes towards her like a whip.

 

The crack of skin meeting skin echoes around the living room, bouncing off the walls like bullets ricocheting. It feels like it too, with how pain stems beneath her flesh, spreading into heat, knowing red warmth begins to wash over half of her face.

 

Ow.

 

The burning spark outlining her cheek isn't tiny, Yeri's palm having made impact hard enough that she could still feel it tingle. Joy doesn't bother turning her head back to look at the younger girl, not when she's trying to blink the pain away and the shock.

 

Did Yeri really just slap her?

 

“J-Joy?!”

 

Seulgi's squeak would've jolted Joy awake, make her forget the stinging sensation of heat on her face, but Yeri's screaming words at her that Joy can't help but be stunned to listen.

 

“Why didn't you tell me that Joohyun unnie would go home?! Did you think it was a joke? Some kind of prank to play? Or did you want us to bump into each other so we could run back to you separately and tell you all about it?”

 

Joy keeps her silence, hears the way Yeri huffs her frustration, breathing hard that her panting bumps across the entire apartment. Seulgi's just as quiet, though she could see the older girl attempt to reach for her.

 

She pretends not to feel Seulgi touch her shoulder as Yeri breathes in, another gush of raging syllables spilling between gritted teeth.

 

“Because of you – because of my stupid mouth, I told her I still love her! How could you make me tell Joohyun unnie a truth she should never know?!”

 

Despite the chaos of tumbling words spewed out to her face, Joy can't help but notice how Yeri calls Joohyun by her actual name.

 

Reaching up, Joy winces at the sore warmth, biting down on sparks of pain that shoots through her as soon as fingertips meet throbbing skin.

 

Yeri wears anger like it's the only clothes she has.

 

“Why did you do that to me?! To Joohyun unnie?! Why couldn't you just leave us alone?!”

 

Joy bristles, gnashing teeth, the sting on her cheek nothing compared to Yeri's yells - puncturing deeper than her heart could take.

 

“Because I was getting tired of my two best friends playing hide-and-seek when all they want to do is be around each other!”

 

The screech piercing through Yeri's throat in response is massive; as if the veins on her neck could pop, boiling all the way up to her face, her hands flinging as if frustration coats them too.

 

Yeri shoves her, though she only manages to make Joy step back once.

 

“You don't know anything!”

 

They're a battle of yells that could probably make her neighbors complain, scorching as if multiple bombs have gone off in - juggling explosives made up of words just to see who gets hurt more.

 

“Then tell me!” Joy steps forward, unhindered by tiny hands pounding to make wreckage on her chest. “Tell me so I can!”

 

Yeri screams again, a sound filled with frustration so contagious that it coils around Joy's tongue too.

 

She grabs smaller shoulders, attempts to shake Yeri out of her hysterical rage.

 

“Why can't Joohyun unnie know? Why can't she know that the girl she was in love with still loves her too?”

 

Yeri's shrill yell is blood curdling, enough to shatter her ears if it weren't for the fact that she's too busy listening to the sound of heartbreak to care.

 

“Because I'm the only one who still does!”

 

Exhaustion looms across Yeri's expression once it's out, as if the anger she's worn is dissipating off her skin, her panting heavier than the weight of her confession.

 

Yeri's gritting her teeth, eyes squeezed shut as if to hold back tears that are already silently cascading past her cheeks, shoving off Joy's hands like they were too much to bear.

 

“...I'm the only one who's still in love with the same person.” Yeri's rubbing off pain with the corner of her sleeve, “Joohyun unnie didn't need to know that.”

 

Joy keeps mum, knows Yeri's talking to herself more than anyone else in the room.

 

It's only when something cold presses against her cheek, easing the fire that still lingers beneath her skin, that Joy remembers Seulgi.

 

“I know you're tough and all,” Seulgi's too gentle with the frozen bag of peas that Joy knows it's more than the cold on her cheek that keeps her feet iced on the ground. “But I figured you wouldn't mind a little help. Sorry it's not an actual bag of ice. I couldn't find any in your fridge.”

 

It's moments like these that Joy is reminded of why her heart chose Seulgi in the first place.

 

Yeri's brow arches before she's turning away, waving a hand over her shoulder, plucking her respective key from the countertop, so eager to leave as if the sight annoyed her.

 

“Never mind, forget it. Sorry to intrude.”

 

Joy is about to shoot off after her, Yeri's name rising up her parched throat, until Seulgi's grip on her wrist keeps her still, staggering backwards.

 

Seulgi smiles.

 

“She'll be okay. It's still sinking in for her, so she's not exactly wanting company when she would rather punch walls and cry until she can't, anymore.”

 

Joy huffs, hearing the door click close, Yeri already gone, rendering her a sore mess like a storm had gone through and left its mark.

 

The bag of peas return to her cheek, wincing at the cool touch against her stinging skin, Seulgi's soft apologies easing more of the pain than the cold ever could.

 

“Thanks,” Joy musters up a smile, “though you really didn't have to. And sorry about the ruckus.”

 

Seulgi laughs, too tender it almost makes Joy's knees buckle at the sound.

 

“It's okay, I understand.” Joy shuts her eyes at Seulgi's light touches, the soft taps against burning skin a soothing comfort. “More than I'd like to. But that's life, you know?”

 

Joy opens her eyes just so she could roll them, bumping her shoulder against Seulgi's, watching laughter lines grow wider on Seulgi's face.

 

“You can't grow up this fast. That's not good for my heart. Didn't your heartbreak happen just yesterday or something?”

 

Seulgi bumps their shoulders again, her chuckles making safe haven into Joy's ears; the sound is intoxicating.

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. And to think I'm helping you out like this.” Seulgi attempts to let go of the bag of peas, but Joy catches her wrist, keeping it there. “I'm spoiling you.”

 

“I like being spoiled.”

 

Joy means it in more ways than one, but she knows Seulgi doesn't catch it all when she hears her giggle. It's nice like this. Despite the chaos that had happened just moments before.

 

“Why am I not surprised?”

 

Hearing Seulgi say the same line she had said last night is distracting and terrifying and a lot more attractive than Joy would like to admit.

 

Maybe it's time she gets some fresh air; breathe in crisp winter over Seulgi's constant presence, the scent of orange still so potent on her.

 

But Seulgi beats her to it.

 

“It's been fun, but I really should get going.” Seulgi readjusts their hands so Joy could hold onto the bag instead, “My parents are probably worried considering I didn't come home last night.”

 

“You didn't tell them?”

 

“I did,” Seulgi's fetching her bag by the couch, “it doesn't mean they'll stop worrying though. I'm their princess.”

 

Joy rolls her eyes at Seulgi's cheeky grin.

 

“Of course you are.”

 

She follows her to the door, watches Seulgi slip on her black studded boots and jacket, before meeting a smile that promises a next time.

 

“See you Friday?”

 

Joy can't tell if it's because they've become actual friends and not just people-sharing-the-same-air that encourages her to take her own coat off the rack, filling her arms through the sleeves, and tucking feet into her brown boots.

 

“Yeah, I'll see you Friday.” She flings the frozen bag of peas on the sofa, grinning at Seulgi's open mouth. “But I can still walk you home, right?”

 

If she was in her right mind, she would've never bothered offering something as insane as spending more time with a crush that shouldn't be lasting this long. But she isn't (Joy blames it on Yeri's slap - she didn't think it'd hurt as much as it did), so she'll go with the flow and learn her lesson the hard way.

 

Seulgi's touching her cheek, the tips of her fingers fleeting across her skin, a different sort of spark spreading along her flesh, less painful but more nerve-racking.

 

“Does it still hurt?”

 

The “Yes” is lying comfortably on her tongue, eager to jump out between her lips, but Joy swallows it back, patting Seulgi's wrist.

 

“Not anymore.”

 

Nothing hurts more than knowing they won't be anything else but this; of gestures too friendly and smiles too meaningful - all because she's already opened her heart for Seulgi to see.

 

-

 

Wendy hurries out of the shower.

 

She's combing her towel through drenched auburn, an apology already lined up behind , twisting the knob open and stepping out.

 

“Sorry, did I make you wait long?” Wendy looks up to find no one, “Yeri...?”

 

Glancing left and right, across the living room, towards the front door - Wendy sees the lacking pair of extra boots and shopping bags Yeri had left the night before.

 

It prickles at her chest to know that Yeri had gone; leaving behind a quiet apartment and a purple sticky note as her “Goodbye”.

 

Wendy peels it off the countertop, reading words written in black ink, confusion swirling in her mind at the contents.

 

(Thanks for breakfast and giving me a place to stay for the night. It was fun getting to know you. I didn't think I'd like you all that much, but here I am, writing to say that I do. I like you, unnie. I'm not surprised Joohyun unnie does, too.

 

I'm sorry for troubling you.

 

—Yeri

 

P.S: Do me a favor and call Joohyun unnie. I hope this will make up for me not saying goodbye.)

 

Wendy frowns, unsure of why she should be calling Joohyun when Yeri needs her more. What could possibly make up for the fact that Yeri chose to leave without an actual “Goodbye”?

 

Doubt embeds deep into the space between her brows, taking up the corners of her lips, wrinkling skin. She shuffles towards her bag for her phone. It doesn't make sense - why would she need to call Joohyun? And would Joohyun understand? It isn't like there was a code left behind for her to say.

 

Cradling her phone to her ear, Wendy listens to it ring, expecting Joohyun on the other line but not the sound of Joohyun's mobile ringing somewhere in their apartment. She left it behind?

 

Wendy trails after the basic tune of Joohyun's cellphone, a repetitive set of beeps, finding herself in Joohyun's respective bedroom. It's muffled beneath crinkled blankets, digging carefully and setting them aside, catching sight of blinking blue; as well as the name Joohyun had given her.

 

Home

 

Fingers trace over a bright screen, hovering along the lines that form letters together into something that's so much more than just a name; the privacy of having it written on Joohyun's personal mobile carries more weight than there are words to describe how it makes her chest swell and her stomach jump.

 

In a way, Yeri was right. This sort of makes up for not hearing her “Goodbye.”

 

But still...

 

“You're as stubborn as Joohyun.”

 

Wendy mutters to no one but herself, scrolling through Joohyun's phone and spotting 'Kim Yerim' on her contact's list. She remembers how it used to be 'Yerim <3'; how it had prickled at her heart back when she hadn't understood much of anything.

 

There's no way she could tell whether Joohyun had been the one to change Yeri's name, not for sure, at least. But if Yeri managed to go through with planning this parting gift, having full access and making edits on the fly, Wendy wouldn't doubt that Yeri could alter it herself. She would've considered Joohyun's name for her: ‘Home’, be customized by Yeri, too, but something tells her it hurt Yeri to find it - even more so to let her know.

 

Clicking the edit button, watching ‘Kim Yerim’ disappear into a blank slate, Wendy types in what is more accurate now that she knows better.

 

Yerim <3

 

“I like you too, Yeri.” Wendy says into the quiet, a response to a tiny note and a gift that doesn’t make up for any goodbye, hitting ‘Save’.

 

-

 

Yeri kicks at snow, blowing off warm air that leaves in wisps of smoke from her lips.

As soon as she hears Joy's voice and the creak of the entrance door, Yeri swivels to hide behind a corner, watches the Giant walk away with a woman she recognizes to be Joy's precious monolid crush.

 

At least one thing is going well for someone.

 

Once the two disappear further down the block, Yeri slips back into the building, going up to Joy's floor, and twisting the key in.

 

Time to start packing.

 

Contrary to what her coworkers and friends think, Yeri isn't much of a hoarder. She takes what's necessary and travels light. Not everything is useful or needs to be kept; she's glad to be more of a minimalist than most women her age.

 

Dumping all of her belongings into a single purple backpack, an old partner to the one Joohyun had, Yeri makes sure to tidy up like Joy never had a roommate in the first place; a space made for one, as it rightfully should.

 

After what she did to Joy, Yeri knows she can't stay any longer. Joy's done a lot for her; the least she could do is give her apartment back.

 

Dropping the extra key Joy had made for her on the table so Joy can spot it easily later, Yeri dials a friend.

 

“Hey, mind if I crashed at your place for a bit?” Yeri readjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder, “Just until I find my own. I won't stay long.”

 

“Whatever you need, unnie.”

 

Yeri shuts the lights off, looking back once just to soak the image in. She's proud of herself; it looks just like normal.

 

Joy won't have to complain about the mess she makes, anymore.

 

“Thanks, Saeron.”

 

-

 

Seulgi notices how she's starting to compare the differences between Joy and Wendy.

 

She doesn't mean to. But it's something that just happens, when she's in the comfort of her own thoughts, accompanied with the quiet.

 

Joy doesn't say “I love you.”

 

At least, not in the way Wendy did.

 

Wendy would always make sure she'd hear it, even when the television would be a little too loud and the pan would be jostling sparks of oil into the air, like firecrackers.

 

Joy says it in the way she'd talk about anything else but love, rough along the edges, crass enough to puncture fragile feelings. But Seulgi knows better. Joy always means well. Even if most of the time, it doesn't sound like it.

 

Seulgi's not waiting for her to say it, either. She's not expecting a confession of feelings she's already made aware of. It'd be better not to hear it though, when she's already experiencing it in the way Joy would make sure her scarf is wrapped properly to the foods she'd offer to pay out of the blue.

 

Seulgi never lets her shoulder any bill, though. Especially when Joy's already carrying her heart around like it was something she was allowed to play with.

 

“Am I boring you?”

 

Seulgi blinks at snapping fingers, Joy's arched brow and frown sealing her thoughts away.

 

She shakes her head. “No, I was just...”

 

“What?”

 

“...I was just thinking.”

 

“So I was boring you.”

 

“N-No! Not when it was you I was thinking about anywa—”

 

Joy's brow only rises higher.

 

Seulgi is frantic, waving her hands.

 

“I - I mean, I was just thinking. About everything. That's all.”

 

She clams up the best she can. For Joy's sake.

 

Joy is rolling her eyes before she's leaning back, raking fingers through her ebony hair, no more words leaving her lips. Seulgi's grateful.

 

There was no way Seulgi would ever confess to making comparisons between Joy and Wendy out loud. That would be rude and insensitive, and knowing that Joy's already tolerating her mere presence, Seulgi knows better than to rip off the tiny tether of friendship that still keeps them together.

 

Snow crunches beneath their boots, petals of falling soft white creating a picture of washed-out skies. Seulgi had insisted that she was okay with walking home alone, the distance from Joy's apartment shorter than if she were coming from Wendy's.

 

But Joy wouldn't take “no” for answer, as usual.

 

Joy's great company, but she can't help but check over once in a while, make sure Joy isn’t close to the road, nervous for the slight rumbles that spike through the ground beneath her feet whenever cars pass by.

 

Maybe it's because of a past she couldn't fix, but Seulgi feels all too aware of the distance between the sidewalk and the street.

 

“You okay?” Joy says, looking distracted that Seulgi feels slight panic rise in her chest. “You look nervous. Like, really nervous. We're not even on a date.”

 

Her words don't really process when Seulgi catches sight of a truck driving too close to the curb, speed faster than what is considered safe on winter roads.

 

Seulgi reacts on impulse, yanking Joy away from the edge of the sidewalk, clutching at her arm as if she'd disappear if her grip isn't tight enough.

 

 

Joy stumbles into her, a grunt coughing out of , the impact easing Seulgi's worries - even if her side hurts from Joy's pointy elbow, because it means that Joy's far away from incoming traffic.

 

Seulgi can't let go even when Joy's turning to her, a hiss leaving her lips.

 

“You've got quite the grip,” Joy grasps her fingers, attempting to lift them off. “And you pull hard, too. What was all that for, anyway?”

 

Seulgi tries to calm the jittering in her heart, feeling it beat beneath her ribcage, bones quaking, the flashes of Wendy's unmoving body on the road dissipating slowly from her vision.

 

“I - I just,” Seulgi shuts her eyes at all the red she still sees in her head, lips trembling. “You were just too close - it's dangerous, I can't - I can't believe you'd walk so close to the road!”

 

Joy scoffs. “What are you talking about? There was literally room for one more person before you pulled me in. Now there's space for two.”

 

Seulgi peeks to find Joy gesturing with her free arm the amount of distance they are from the curb.

 

Oh.

 

She feels timid under Joy's stare, avoiding her gaze by focusing on her fingers still grasping Joy's arm, her hands loosening their grip - but not enough to let go.

 

“Right, um, sorry. It's—” Seulgi can't say it's because of Wendy's accident - that isn't her story to tell, “Forget it, it's just a habit. It's nothing.”

 

Joy snorts. “How you grabbed me like I was about to die surely doesn't seem like just a habit.”

 

“Well it is, okay?” Seulgi huffs, turning away.

 

Letting go comes easier, her hands uncoiling their fortress grip around Joy's arm, shoving them in the warmth of her pockets. Footprints in white crack beneath her boots, trudging on, ignoring the additional crackles of snow behind her.

 

“Hey, wait.” Joy’s gripping her elbow, her breath puffing out in smokes from the chill. “I didn’t get to say thank you.”

 

Seulgi doesn’t respond, more frustrated at herself for overthinking things - and getting a bit carried away; Joy was right. She wasn’t close to the curb at all.

 

Joy tugs her back. “You were just looking out for me, so thanks.”

 

The red on Joy’s lips have gone chapped, cheeks colored a natural savory hue of pink from the cold, more prettier than the ones drawn by makeup. The palm print on Joy’s face has faded slightly, leaving behind an outline that tells it hurts more than she’d ever admit.

 

Do people always tell white lies to the ones they like?

 

“You’re zoning out, again.” Joy’s finger pokes her forehead, “I guess I really am boring.”

 

“I was thinking about how you’d tell me you love me without actually ever saying it.”

 

Watching Joy recoil as if she had just physically hit her is frightening; to think she affects Joy this much to have someone so tough (or at least, as tough as most could get) flinch as if she held something over her.

 

Seulgi doesn’t know what to do with it.

 

“You make me listen for it.”

 

“You’re weird.” But just like usual, Joy bounces back as if she never got hurt. “You bring this up while we're near your house.” She looks around, “Which one is your house, again?”

 

Seulgi points at the one with Christmas lights still draping over their windows and doorstep, colors of blue and yellow and red twinkling in the snow.

 

Joy ushers her towards it, the weight of her hand gentle against Seulgi's back.

 

“Go on, it's cold. I want to go home already.”

 

Seulgi can tell it isn't really a lie; Joy's teeth are chattering, shoulders quaking beneath her jacket, her green scarf already wrapped up to half of her cheeks. Her nose is as pink as her ears and face; all Seulgi wants to do is hold her close, warm her up like a pile of blankets and sweaters and jackets.

 

“Thanks for keeping me company, though you really didn't have to.”

 

Joy snorts. “Too late, already did. Now shoo.”

 

But all Seulgi hears is “I love you” despite the curtness in her voice, the lazy shrug of her shoulders, the rigid nod of her head; and maybe that's why she reaches up, careful not to press deep between the outlines of a faded palm.

 

“Hey, wait, what are you—”

 

Seulgi doesn't listen to the string of panic on stumbling lips, leaning in, slightly pulling down Joy’s soft green scarf so she could paint a chaste kiss on injured pink.

 

When she pulls back, Joy's redder than the scarlet hues of her apples still sitting in the kitchen.

 

“My parents always kiss the spot where it hurts the most to make it feel better.” Seulgi smiles, backing away and towards the front door. “I hope it makes you feel better.”

 

Seulgi knows where it hurts the most, but how could she kiss a heart when love won’t let her choose on her own in the first place?

 

She waves at Joy, signals her to go, grinning when she finds her waving back before spinning around, fading into the gray of falling snow.

 

Heartache is a tune Seulgi’s used to singing.

 

But somehow, as Joy disappears behind the horizon of sprinkling snow, Seulgi can imagine herself singing melodies to songs where pain no longer exists; she can picture being in love with Joy. It’s almost easy.

 

Seulgi turns away, twisting her key and turning the knob, sighing at the warm air that coats her completely as soon as she enters.

 

But knowing Joy, she probably wouldn’t wait around for something as elusive as singing the same tune together.

 

-

 

Yeri hopes catering to customers will ease off the edge in her system; relinquish whatever frustration she has left for Joy, anger for Joohyun's stubborn streak, and disappointment for Wendy's sickening kindness.

 

But most of all, for the charade she's still trying to keep up. To think she's running away again - hopefully this is the last time. As much as she likes carrying light, Yeri would appreciate being able to settle down permanently some time soon.

 

As soon as she rounds the corner, just a few steps away from her workplace, Yeri spots silk cascades of ebony, sprinkled with flecks of white. Her heart is leaning comfortably against the side of the restaurant, dressed in the same clothes she's worn when they'd kissed on her bed that same morning, still without a jacket - dusting her cheeks a soft glow of pink.

 

Even in the cold, with ears scrawled in red and lips chapped from winter, Joohyun still manages to make her feel warm.

 

“You could've at least waited inside,” Yeri starts when she gets closer, fiddling with the strap of her backpack. “I know you don't like the cold.”

 

Joohyun steps off the wall of bricks, uncrossing arms to dust off snow from her sleeves.

 

“I couldn't think over all the chattering,” she's raking a hand through onyx black, specks of white fluttering from her fingers. “It’s quieter outside.”

 

Yeri tries not to show she's nervous, gaze placed elsewhere, settled on the tiny pile of snow littered next to the light post. She clears , swallowing the nerves clawing up .

 

“What were you thinking about?”

 

The truth is out and despite all the clothes she wears, layered with sweaters and a fluffy jacket, along with leggings inside her jeans, Yeri feels painfully bare - nothing but skin and bones under Joohyun's stare.

 

Joohyun takes a breath.

 

“It wasn't the truth of knowing who caused us to break that you wanted to hide,” Joohyun's hands settle in her pockets.  “You wanted to hide why you ran away, and it was because—”

 

Yeri raises a finger to Joohyun's lips, bravery surging up for something as spontaneously intimate as this; calling for silence against soft flesh she's learned to no longer kiss.

 

Confusion swirls along irises she's gotten used to looking at in her dreams, giggling at the touch of Joohyun's breath seeping into her skin, knowing it's not hers to keep anymore.

 

Yeri takes back her hand, cradling it behind her; the tip of her finger still burns under the lingering ghost of Joohyun's mouth.

 

“...It was because the one person who wouldn't let me be with you suddenly told me I could.” The laughter that leaves is as bitter as the coffee she’s used to drinking, no longer having Joohyun’s lips to sweeten the taste. “What was the point in telling you if the reason I broke us up no longer exists?”

 

She kicks at snow beside a lump of ice, watching sprinkles of white dust the pillar of bricks; distracts herself with tiny specks filling in the spaces between them so she won’t have to look at Joohyun.

 

Joohyun understands now – and it’s the worst.

 

“How do you think that made me feel, unnie?” Yeri draws squiggles with the heel of her boot on fluffy white, “To be told that the past two years was nothing more than waiting it out until the idea of lesbians was tolerable enough for a dad to handle. To find out that if I held on a little longer, fight for us just like how you were, we wouldn't be like this.”

 

As soon as she heard her father tell her she was right – that she was essentially allowed to be with Joohyun, Yeri couldn’t look at him anymore. With a packed backpack of things she only needed, Yeri didn’t spend another minute waiting for her father to stop yelling – “Wait, come back!” before she dialed Joy’s cellphone – prayed for her to pick up.

 

Funny how people change – she’d completely forgotten that her father could, too.

 

To think that all she did was for nothing; she didn’t want Joohyun to know that. At least then, Yeri could pretend that all of it wasn’t a waste.

 

“You had faith in us and I didn't.” Yeri blinks back tears, swallows a sob too eager to leave . “...And I'm sorry I didn't.”

 

If she had known earlier that blueprints weren't the only thing she could follow in life, to not ignore her heart in favor of a status-quo, then she wouldn't have let them go.

 

“…You should've told me sooner.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Yeri fiddles with the ends of Joohyun's sleeves, anything to keep from looking at Joohyun. “I've never been very good at making the right decisions.”

 

Joohyun laughs, and despite their conversation being wrapped up in worn-out bandages over unhealed wounds, Yeri laughs along, too.

 

Yeri wishes she was never brave.

 

Bravery was what moved her limbs to reach up and kiss Joohyun under the summer rain. It was also what made her let Joohyun go, because nothing meant more than keeping her safe.

 

How ironic that it no longer applies.

 

Suddenly Yeri couldn’t stop telling the truth.

 

“What scared me more than telling you why I left was finding out that afterwards, you'd still be in love with Wendy unnie.” Maybe it’s because everything else is out in the open that Yeri finds no need to restrict the insecurities in her head, gushing out as if the words were waiting to be said. “And I didn’t want to know that for sure, because at least that way, I could still have my 'what if' – that you chose Wendy unnie only because you didn't know I was an option. But it didn’t work out that way.”

 

Joohyun’s silence is deafening; no “you’re wrong,” because she isn’t.

 

Yeri can feel tears attempt to spill from her eyelids, lingering just beneath the rim, waiting to fall and cascade over her skin. She won’t let it ruin her makeup – especially not when she has work in fifteen minutes.

 

Stupid Joohyun. Why couldn’t she wait after work, at least?

 

“I just didn't want to hear the choice you already made.”

 

Joohyun hums, hands coming out of her pockets to clasp their fingers together; Joohyun’s skin is cold and red and Yeri wants nothing more than to warm her up and hold her close.

 

“...So what if I'm still in love with Seungwan?” Yeri almost flinches at the certainty, how strength carries her syllables like they melted there. “It doesn't change the fact that I was in love with you first.”

 

Yeri smiles, a touch of bittersweet longing plaguing her tongue, coloring her voice.

 

“That's just a nicer way of saying that you're not in love with me, anymore.”

 

Joohyun’s rubbing her thumbs across her hand, drawing invisible circles like the time they spent cozying up on the sofa, watching dramas they couldn’t care less about.

 

“Yeah,” Yeri hopes it isn’t obvious how she winces, like Joohyun’s confirmation doesn’t hurt. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

 

There it is. Without a doubt.

 

Yeri will remember the times they’ve shared – count her blessings that she’s managed to at least love Joohyun, once, and be loved in return.

 

Joohyun will always be the warmth of small moments.

 

“Hey, Irene unnie?” Yeri says, squeezing Joohyun’s hands, attempt to color warmth in her bones.

 

“Hm?”

 

“When I finally get my driver's license, can I drive you around the city? I've always wanted to.” Yeri's smile feels wistful, like a final lock to a book they’ll no longer write together.

 

“Got sick of my driving, Yerim?”

 

Her laughter is bright despite the tinge of longing that still colors her voice. But Yeri feels better. At least, a little bit.

 

Maybe this time she’ll finally be able to say that she’s okay – and actually mean it.

 

“Yeah. Sometimes you drive too slow, you oldie.” Joohyun's chuckles have Yeri giggling along.

 

Joohyun bumps their elbows together.

 

“Then I guess you better pass that test.”

 

Yeri scoffs.

 

“I will, and when I do, I'll take you out shopping and we can try on some new shades of lipstick.” Yeri points at her own lips, mustering up a smug grin – even if it’s still just pretend, so she could prove a point. “I've been meaning to move on from this one, you know.”

 

Joohyun smiles, her look all-knowing, an expression Yeri hopes she’ll be able to feel on her own lips.

 

“Of course.”

 

Yeri chances for one more selfish kiss, but on a spot more for friendship than romance, pressing gently against a pink cheek, feeling Joohyun’s cool skin warm up beneath her touch. Unlooping her fingers between Joohyun's, she lets her go, lightly shoving her away and hoping Joohyun doesn’t catch the one tear she couldn’t keep from spilling.

 

“Now go away. I’m late for work because of you.”

 

With Joohyun’s laughter cutting through the crisp winter chill, lighthearted as if nothing weighs down her chest anymore, Yeri watches her wave, nodding to her “Let me know when you pass that test,” before Yeri clears away the rest of the tears that fall from her eyelids.

 

Thankful that the mascara she chose to wear today is waterproof, though she’ll have to fix her foundation a bit, Yeri enters the restaurant for her late-night shift; hoping that it’ll at least keep her mind off of the fact that Joohyun really isn’t in love with her anymore.

 

-

 

Yeri's been busy flicking through old love stories in her storybook, but Joohyun's already started a new one.

 

At least, that's what Joy sees.

 

So it doesn't surprise her when she comes home that evening to find every speck of Yeri: her scattered clothes, messy assortments of lipsticks, and overpriced shoes, gone like there were no more pages to their book.

 

It's a relatively good distraction from Seulgi's uninvited kiss; intimate like there was a promise written in it, a vow of comfort over what her heart prefers it to be. Joy won't over think it; it was merely a gesture made in kind - no one moves on that quickly; especially not when in love.

 

Joy hates one thing more than Seulgi.

 

“Stubborn little squirt.” She's drawing the tips of her fingers along the edges of a bed that looks too clean, “You're just like Joohyun unnie.”

 

Joy knows she's talking to herself, but that's only because Yeri's no longer loitering about in her home, pestering her with her presence.

 

She hates not being given the choice to say “Goodbye.”

 

So with one more sweep of her gaze across her little apartment, looking more foreign by the minute without all the mess Yeri's made for the past few months she's been here, Joy slips her boots back on and leaves to knock some sense into her.

 

-

 

She gets comfortable at a table seated for two.

 

Joy likes being beside the window; it's just so she can stare outside at all the snow when boredom inevitably seeps through her head, trances her fingers to tap dance on the table, hum tunes to old songs while the restaurant bustles with life.

 

Yeri's busy tending to a couple dressed in Prada, her little notepad taking in her scribbling, pearly whites illuminating her face - practiced and charming and perfect.

 

Joy grins as soon as Yeri walks up to her table, spotting her frown the moment their eyes meet.

 

She crosses her legs, watching Yeri pluck her notepad from her pocket, clicking her pen open.

 

“What would you like to order?”

 

“Right, well.” Joy curls a strand of ebony behind her ear, “I'd like to have one apology, three fried chickens, and one of my best friends back. To-go, by the way.” Joy arches a brow, a smirk drawing her lips. “Did you get all that, Yeri?”

 

Yeri's mouth is agape, and it's all Joy needs to feel smug, grinning her way. 

 

“Why do I need to apologize to you?” Her question portrays her bewilderment better than Joy expects.

 

“Because you left and never bothered telling me.”

 

She won't have Yeri apologize for hitting her.

 

The slap wasn't uncalled for; Yeri was right about her wanting to hear their versions of the same story. It was a window into their thoughts and feelings, and Joy enjoyed being their pillar of support. As horrible as it sounds, it was the truth.

 

“And why should I?”

 

“Because we're best friends and the least you could do is give me the choice to say 'no'.” She grasps more ebony to twirl between her fingers, “Now I can relate to Joohyun unnie.”

 

It's off-handed, but deliberate all the same. Joy loves Joohyun as much as she loves Yeri. They take up equal parts in her heart – not that she'd ever tell them that, of course.

 

“...What?”

 

“You heard me.” Joy taps her foot against Yeri's shin, “Who said I wanted you to move out in the first place?”

 

There's an expression on Yeri's face that Joy suddenly can't read. It's nothing she's really seen before, but then again, all Yeri's ever shown her were overwhelming images of snarky tongues and rare bouts of vulnerable honesty.

 

Her lips quiver as if words are trembling to come out, so Joy encourages her.

 

She taps Yeri's shin with her shoe again.

 

“And yeah, I know I only got one bed and the couch isn't all that comfortable, but you never had a problem with invading my personal space and stealing all the blankets.” Joy can't help but smile, “So what's the hold up? Are you going to take my order or what?”

 

Yeri's attempting to scowl, her lips curling to frown, but there's a certain glimmer in her eyes, as if there are tears hiding in plain sight. Nothing spills from her eyelids though when she finally speaks, her voice sounding rasp.

 

Joy keeps note of how Yeri never bothers to dodge her pestering foot.

 

“...I'm not a particularly good roommate,”

 

Joy rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

 

“...And I'm not really good at cleaning up after myself, either.”

 

Joy kicks her shin again, more affectionate than she's used to, but Yeri's looking a little delicate right now and it's a bit worrisome.

 

“I know. You're terrible at it.” Joy snorts at a memory of having to hide Yeri's clothes away from Joohyun.

 

Yeri's giggling, rubbing her elbow, a sheepish smile written on her lips.

 

“And I'll probably won't stop talking about Irene unnie...” She says, her voice waning slightly. “...at least, not for a very long time.”

 

Joy scoffs, combing her hair back. She notices how Yeri’s back to calling Joohyun ‘Irene’ again. Maybe she’s feeling better, now.

 

“As if you weren't chatty about her already, so it's fine.” She's shrugging at Yeri's small laugh, “But please, just keep your bedroom experiences to yourself. I don't need to know how far Joohyun unnie's tongue can go.”

 

Yeri's choking on air then, a flush of red rising fast along her cheeks that Joy's fascinated at just how quick it colors her skin.

 

“Y-You know?!”

 

Joy's attempting to muffle a laugh behind her hand, shaking her head and ignoring the pout on Yeri's lips.

 

“I'm kidding, Yeri. But thanks for the insight. You're definitely telling me everything once you come back home.” Joy winks, grinning at the red that seems to be permanently stained on Yeri's cheeks. “And that means every little detail.”

 

Yeri's mouth goes agape.

 

“Wha – I can't, that's private and—” she pauses, “Wait, 'home'?”

 

“Yeah.” Joy's kicking Yeri's shin again, this time unapologetic for the little stain her shoe leaves on Yeri’s black work pants. “Got a problem with that, roomie?”

 

It seems like Yeri's finally snapped out of her rigid stupor, retaliating with a stomp to Joy's foot.

 

“Ow!”

 

Joy's not entirely surprised, all things considered, but still. Ouch.

 

Yeri huffs, and even though it's obvious how much she's trying not to show she's grateful - because Joy knows she is, or at least, she better be, she's shuffling her feet and fidgeting her fingers; a rare sight Joy's intrigued to see.

 

She's only ever seen it present for Joohyun. No one could make Yeri as shy: a blubbering idiot, all flushed in pink, twiddling their fingers - Joy finds some pride in managing to illicit a bit of her meek habits.

 

Yeri's small smile has Joy reeling; suddenly she's not sure if she's even talking to the same person.

 

Joohyun got to see this? More than once? 

 

“...Okay, roomie.”

 

That's a lot of opportunities missed for blackmail material.

 

“Good. I'll be back again before your shift ends, so you better be ready to move in.”

 

Yeri laughs. “Fine. But I'm not going to talk about my bedroom experiences with Irene unnie.”

 

Joy snorts, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms; she feels a smirk gracing her lips.

 

“Nothing a good drink or two can't fix.”

 

Yeri laughs. A smile is bright on her face - it has a glow that doesn't surprise Joy that Joohyun had fallen in love with her once.

 

“I love you, unnie.”

 

It's nothing Joy expects – of course not. A voiced confession and respect in age all packed in one short sentence? And from Yeri?

 

Joy grins, shrugging her shoulders.

 

It's not often she gets to hear Yeri verbally appreciate her. She won't make fun of her this time.

 

“Love you too, you little squirt. Now shoo and go do your job. And don’t forget my chicken.”

 

-

 

Yeri didn't think she'd ever call Joy's apartment, home.

 

But now that it's true, it isn't as far-fetched as it would be if she were to consider Joohyun's as home instead.

 

Joohyun isn't a lie she tells to herself every night. Yeri's never needed it - knows that Joohyun won't be there when slumber comes.

 

But that doesn't stop her dreams from letting Joohyun in anyway. It'll take months, years, probably even a decade - or maybe more, before Yeri can keep her out; dream about everything else but Joohyun. Or maybe time won’t be able to kill the memories of Joohyun’s kisses; who knows.

 

For now though, beneath the comfort of blankets she shares with Joy, Yeri will deal with dreaming of Joohyun for a little longer. She's accepted that Joohyun's chosen someone else; it hurts a lot less that way. But it doesn't mean she has to have Joohyun gone from her mind completely.

 

“Stop thinking and sleep, Yeri. I can hear your brain still working over the sound of my obnoxious breathing.”

 

Joy's snarky interruption is appreciated, even if Yeri would prefer her to be a little less sharp and a bit more soft. At least when they’re in bed together under the covers.

 

Jabbing an elbow to Joy's ribs is a hopeful attempt that maybe she could dull the edges a little.

 

When the quiet settles and the constant murmur of Joy's clock plays like a lullaby - tick, tock, tick, tock, curtains of sleep fall over Yeri's eyes.

 

She sees Joohyun.

 

(“Call me. Whenever you need me. Whenever you're thinking of me - and even when you're not. Whenever you're scared, or feel alone, or happy, or bored, or angry. Even when you just want someone to listen or when you just want to hear my voice - call me.”)

 

Instead of a lover, all she has are memories of one.

 

And that's okay.

 

She reaches out, taking Joohyun's face in hands that can't stop trembling and pulls her in for a kiss she can only dream of.

 

Yeri calls for her until they sink together, a tangle of limbs and tresses of ebony and copper.

 

She’ll ignore the morning light when it beams against her eyelids, tomorrow; attempt to keep Joohyun in a dreamscape for a little longer until it'll be impossible to feel her kisses. It’ll hurt to wake up; she knows that.

 

But oh well. Yeri isn't in a rush to move on, anyway.

 

-

 

Irene comes home to Seungwan's smile.

 

“Hey,” Irene says, dumping her boots by the door. “I bought dinner. I hope you're up for Chinese food?”

 

Seungwan's approach is quiet but swift, finding herself cradled in gentle hands, Seungwan's palms warm against her cheeks.

 

“You're freezing,” Irene watches Seungwan pat her down, as if to press heat along her neck, her arms, her forehead. “You're going to get sick.”

 

She halts Seungwan's panicked hands and holds them between her fingers, pulling them in and leaving a kiss against Seungwan's fingertips.

 

“W-What are you doing?”

 

“Warming myself up.” Irene says, chuckling at Seungwan's confusion. “Isn’t that what you were doing?”

 

Seungwan's laughter latches onto Irene's earlobes, crawling in and nestling there, comfortable and soothing; as if her favorite song came to stay.

 

“I’m glad you bought food,” Seungwan says. Irene let's her help with the bags of take-out, shoulders and hands bumping together. “I was getting hungry and didn't know what to make.”

 

Seungwan's dressed in pyjamas patterned with blue and gold, her hair tidied up in a bun, tiny strands straying from small pins. There's something to Seungwan's smile and clothes that draws comfort in Irene's chest, more relaxed than the past few days when all they saw was each other's brief greetings written on sticky notes or dry-erase boards tagged on the refrigerator.

 

“Did everything go okay?”

 

Irene hums to Seungwan's question, the two of them shifting to the couch, television left on mute, images of a movie she doesn’t recognize flickering across the screen. Their take-out lies comfortably on their laps, small slivers of heat leaving in wisps of smoke.

 

“Yeah, it did. Thankfully.” She pokes at a broccoli dipped in sauce, “What about you? Are you okay?”

 

Irene remembers Seungwan saying that she needed to talk to her tonight. She sounded more sure of herself, like she wasn’t so lost anymore.

 

Seungwan stares at her food, picking at the ends of the carton; looking more fidgety than Irene remembers her to be.

 

Irene presses a hand on Seungwan’s knee. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m more nervous than scared,” Seungwan says, a small smile on her lips. “I don’t know what you’ll think of me after this.”

 

Irene frowns. “Why would I think of you any differently?”

 

There’s a secret written across Seungwan’s eyes; how she looks at her in a way that is harder to read, emotions covered as if curtained by a single purpose.

 

Seungwan is steady when she asks.

 

“If you were in love with Yeri first, and the only reason you aren’t together anymore is because you forgot you were in love with her to begin with, what would you do?”

 

It’s almost frightening how the air shifts; how tension grows like a silent crawler, already spread vast across the apartment. Irene feels it coil around her chest.

 

From the sound of Seungwan’s voice, more puzzling than there are pieces of it, Irene knows it carries a weight that holds Seungwan together – as if her entire being rides on this question, alone.

 

Irene makes sure regret doesn’t leave her lips.

 

“I’d be living my life because I wouldn’t remember that I was in love in the first place.”

 

“And what if you suddenly did?” Seungwan’s biting her lip, as if to clamp down on the nerves trembling along . “What if you suddenly remembered that you were in love with her, but you already learned to love someone else?”

 

“Then I’d choose.”

 

Seungwan’s eyes carry tears that have yet to shed, glimmering across her gaze that Irene could feel the weight of it crush her chest further, pressing down on her lungs and squeezing air faster than she could breathe it in.

 

“…Would you choose me?” Seungwan begins to tap numbers on the back of Irene’s hand, “If I was that someone else, and you remembered loving Yeri, would you still choose me?”

 

Irene catches how Seungwan alludes to the decision she’s already made.

 

Silence lines her lips, words pausing behind . The questions Seungwan asks has painted a picture for her, the becoming clearer, memories of Seungwan’s noises and habitual ticks starting to click together.

 

Irene’s eyes gradually widen, the images finally sinking in until there isn’t any blur left to clear up. Seungwan’s referring—

 

“…Because I choose you over Seulgi.”

 

—to herself.

 

(“All these feelings I have – the ones I've learned on my own...What if I'm happy the way I am now? Would that be wrong?”)

 

So that was what she meant.

 

(“People don’t really like the sound of ‘Seungwan’ so I go by ‘Wendy’ instead.”)

 

Seungwan wears doubt like it’s the only outfit she knows.

 

“Wouldn’t we be a mistake?” Irene blinks at the sudden question, watches Seungwan lower her head. “Yerim never stopped thinking about you. She still cares about you and loves—”

 

“Like Seulgi?” Irene quips as if it were reflex.

 

There are still a lot of questions she wants to ask: things like “How did you forget” and “Does Seulgi know?” But Irene can’t bring herself to ask any of them when Seungwan sounds like hope isn’t an option for her.

 

They're not all that different. Not at its core, at least. Underneath all the technicalities of forgotten memories and rules of a white-picket fence, they have two people who still love them.

 

If anything, Seungwan and herself were the problem; they found love in someone else.

 

But was that wrong?

 

“If falling in love with you was a mistake,” Irene pauses, “then it's a mistake I don't plan on fixing.”

 

Seungwan’s frown is deep across her lips, guilt so palpable that Irene could almost choke on it from the sound alone.

 

“But what about Yeri?”

 

Irene’s done with maybe’s and what if’s and could haves, should haves, would haves, and did.

 

Seungwan’s altruism is beautiful. But it’d be nice if Seungwan could save some of the care she has for others, just for herself, too.

 

“I spent two years being in love with Yerim,” Irene turns her hand so Seungwan’s counting the taps of her finger against her palm, hoping it’ll soothe the jitters she hears in her voice. “And now I'm in love with you. You make it sound like falling in love with you was a choice I could make.”

 

Seungwan’s quiet, but Irene knows she’s still thinking with the way her finger doesn’t stop tapping numbers on her skin.

 

Irene ushers her to look up, lifting her chin.

 

“Do you want me to go back?”

 

Seungwan clutches her forearm as if out of panic, as soon as her question floats between them.

 

“I don't—!” Seungwan grips tighter, voice going quieter. “...I don't want that. But we'll hurt them, won’t we? If we...”

 

Irene musters up a smile at the way Seungwan trails off, grasping her shaking hand, peeling her clutch off her sleeve so she can kiss Seungwan's knuckles, ease them of their trembling.

 

She doesn’t know why Seungwan’s suddenly doubting herself; she hadn’t been second-guessing this morning, or even in the hallway. But maybe it’s because there’s nothing really stopping them anymore that startles Seungwan like this.

 

Maybe it’s the freedom that they could happen that scares Seungwan into doubt.

 

“...I know.” Irene says, melting her words into soft skin, watching warmth tattoo pink along Seungwan's cheeks.

 

When tremors no longer coil Seungwan's fingers, Irene shifts to lean in, kissing Seungwan's cheek, chuckling at the heat seeping onto her lips.

 

“I know,” Irene says again, tracing along Seungwan's jaw, feeling her shudder. “I know.”

 

Irene understands what Seungwan is trying to say. But she's made her choice and she won't let Yerim dangle between a “Yes” and a “No” anymore. She deserves better than that.

 

(“Don't make me a maybe, unnie.”)

 

She pauses at the corner of Seungwan's lips, watches how Seungwan's half-lidded eyes follow .

 

The last thing Yerim would want from her is to be her “maybe.”

 

“...But I love you, Seungwan.”

 

And there is nothing anyone could do about it.

 

When tears pool beneath Seungwan's eyes, almost as if she couldn’t believe it, spilling to sketch along her skin, Irene cradles her face. Her thumbs are gentle when she erases them so they don't scar longer than necessary.

 

Seungwan has shut her eyes, as if to stave off any more tears, but Irene only finds the image beautiful – and all the more encouraging.

 

Irene retrieves both of their take-outs, settling them on the center table, noting that the light wisps of steam have all disappeared. Their food has gone cold, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Not when Seungwan’s like this – attempting to stay together despite already being completely torn apart.

 

So Irene seals the gaps, shutting her eyes as soon as she can taste raspberry, listening to Seungwan's whimper and the soft call of her name – almost as if it were a plead for help.

 

“Hyun...”

 

Seungwan becomes her photograph.

 

Irene follows her down, steadying herself on the couch, making sure Seungwan’s comfortable beneath her. She kisses the planes of her skin, captures Seungwan's moans into her memory that's longer than any film, tracing fingers across the expanse of trembling alabaster.

 

Every image is rendered into her brain, inked in crisp edges and curves of Seungwan's body, along with the sounds of her breathless pleasure, enough to churn Irene's stomach in desperation to hear more.

 

“Hyun-ah…”

 

Irene shudders at the sound of her name, how it slips out of Seungwan's mouth like all the other noises that spill from . It melts into Irene's ears along with Seungwan's moans, coiling thunder under her ribcage, her heart going rampant with each sound.

 

Irene traces fingers beneath a cotton shirt, exploring Seungwan's stomach, mapping the arch of Seungwan's neck up to the tears beneath her eyes with kisses along the way. She’s not sure how far she’s allowed to go, especially when they’re still on the couch – it’s nothing compared to a bed. But would it even be appropriate right now?

 

She just wants to kiss Seungwan’s tears away.

 

“I’d choose you, Wan.” Irene says between the kisses she places on pink cheeks. “I’d still choose you.”

 

Because even when she still remembers loving Yerim, how she can still recall their every moment, every touch, every kiss, every promise— she still chose Seungwan.

 

Salt seeps onto her tongue as if they were unspoken apologies.

 

Seungwan’s bubbling laughter is choked with tears and disbelief, as if she can’t fathom the reality of it all. But it’s true. Irene wants to prove to her how much it’s true.

 

“I told you, didn’t I?” Irene writes her words against Seungwan’s eyelids, presses light kisses against soft skin. “Don’t apologize for being my priority.”

 

Fingers thread through Irene’s hair, pulling her down, yanking her in for a kiss that’s needy and desperate and more. Seungwan’s only response is a hunger Irene is all too willing to satiate, fumbling with the button on Seungwan's pyjamas, her focus a mere blur when Seungwan makes her head spin – raspberry filling her up.

 

Seungwan whimpers against her lips.

 

“I thought you forgot...”

 

Seungwan’s breathy desperation is mixed in with rekindled hope; it only makes Irene dizzier, her head whirling to hear more, reassure her that she’d never forget. With the way Seungwan clutches onto her like she’s not planning to let go, Irene wouldn’t be surprised if their intimacy evolves further into bare flesh and bones.

 

When Seungwan begins to crawl hands beneath her sweater, the tips of her fingers etching fire across Irene’s skin, feeling a moan eager to erupt from , Irene pulls back, breathless.

 

“Do you want to go to the bedroom? The couch isn’t all that comfortab—“

 

Seungwan hushes her with a scathing kiss, shutting her up better than any other method Irene could ever want.

 

“…I don’t care where,” Seungwan’s voice has gone hoarse, the pause punctuating her point, “…I just want you.”

 

Irene doesn’t need to hear more.

 

“Please…”

 

Especially not when Seungwan begins to beg like that.

 

Irene shudders at the need she hears, tremors quaking her limbs at how much Seungwan’s already winding her up with just her voice. God, she’s always been weak with Seungwan.

 

“If you want to stop, tell me.” She says between kisses against Seungwan's groans, exploring Seungwan’s skin beneath stubborn clothing. “...And I'll stop.”

 

Seungwan's response has nothing to do with words, feeling her nod, noting the way Seungwan only pulls her down closer.

 

Irene marks Seungwan's skin with her teeth along her neck to the tips of her collarbones, reaching back down for the button on Seungwan's frustrating pyjama pants. When it finally pops off, along with the sound of cotton sliding down, Irene doesn't hesitate to wrench it off, flicking it somewhere behind her, and away from Seungwan.

 

Her hand is eager to explore, the other busy with keeping her steady above a panting Seungwan, tracing the smooth slopes of Seungwan's thigh, playing notes off her skin, calling for each whimper Seungwan makes.

 

The planes and curves of Seungwan’s stomach and chest and legs are intoxicating – they’re as dizzying as the slopes of Seungwan’s lips, the edges of her jaw, and the shell of delicate ears. Irene’s teeth rakes down to the lobe, nibbling and finding delight in knowing that Seungwan’s moans only grow louder, feeling her squirm.

 

When her hand traces back up, curling fingers over the waistband of Seungwan's blue underwear, Irene can feel Seungwan twitch, how she holds her breath as if to anticipate.

 

“Hyun...”

 

Dipping down to capture Seungwan's lips, swallow her name, Irene smiles at the feeling of beauty trembling beneath her, how Seungwan grips her wrist, urging her to slip inside and feel her closer, seep into soft heat.

 

“…Please…”

 

It's all the permission Irene needs, kissing Seungwan deeper, listening to the noises Seungwan makes, curling into her ears like audio plaque. Irene doesn’t want it to end.

 

With moans and butchered calls of her name playing as music to their intimacy, finished with all of the maybe’s and what if’s that had haunted her for two years, Irene begins to write love letters for someone new, words between Seungwan's thighs and hopes she knows it, too.

 

-

 

AN:

 

This was supposed to be posted on new year’s eve, but clearly that didn’t happen. This chapter even got much more longer than it was supposed to, so this update is actually the first half. Thank you to my good friend Cheetolord, for helping me finally decide that it was okay to cut it in half because the length was just that long. At least this way, the next chapter will be posted faster. Go read their works; I’m sure you’ll love it – especially for those who are seulrene shippers.

 

Hope you all have enjoyed this update. Until next time.

 

Happy new year!