(Her happiest moment, ironically was born out of a sad one.

She was coming into a lot of things at that age (coming into loneliness, coming into her shape, coming into the industry, coming into terms with her sister’s recently acquired stardom). 

She had no other choice but to work through it on her own though, so she did. For the six months leading into her debut, she slept on the cold floor of an unheated dance studio (only when she needed or was on the brink of dropping dead) to and ate enough to stay alive. Even then she knew she was at a disadvantage with anemia on her side, she would never have the stamina that Luna possessed nor her vocal talent.

Kim Jongin, at that point, had been a boy she has familiarized herself with through Taemin. But it wasn’t enough for her to anticipate his visit at four in the morning.

She would have asked him what he was doing here but she was too tired. He never told her why until this very day, never explained why he laid down on the floor besides her or why he stayed until the sun came up. They slept on their sides and woke to one another: Good morning, let’s keep saying that for the rest of our lives.  

She didn’t know she loved him then but she already did.)

They must have been seventeen when she got it in her head that he’s the one.

It happened in slow motion during an unprompted slow dance. He was humming a lullaby and she was wondering if she could live without him.

-

You’ve got 22 missed calls:

Sister (7)

Seunghyun (8)

Jonghyun (3)

Sehun (3)

Jinri (1)

-

She goes to a photo shoot because well, life goes on.

The funny thing is, she had known from a very young age that she is indeed, conventionally beautiful. Puberty kicked off and gave her a figure that is only ten centimeters short of a modern model, but she is an idol and she is the ‘trend.’ They put her on all these covers because she is “really, seriously, plainly pretty.” (Don’t they know how sick it makes her? Looking at herself on the billboards, on television, pasted on an advert – how much it disgusts her to see all these doll parts that are supposed to be her body?)

They always make her play this character: an empty vessel of a girl. Little did they know, she’s slowly becoming just that.

-

“Hi, this is Jinri. I can’t come to the phone right now – obviously. Leave me a message and I’ll try to get back to you as soon as I can.”

BEEP

(It’s Kry – Soojung. I wanted to tell you that I got all your calls – and messages. Thanks, for not giving up. Like right now, I never know what to say to you and that’s why I guess I never picked up. Sorry. I don’t know why it’s so hard to tell you how I feel when it used to be so easy. Is that how you felt too? Uh…well…my life is falling to pieces, so…call me when you get this?”)

-

She gives herself a deadline of the next photo shoot to speak to him again, unfortunately for her that’s a week after her last one.

So here she is, trying to decide between a text message and a call. (With a message, you can edit it however many times you like but if you call, you can tell from the sound of his voice if he’s pissed, moderately pissed or extremely pissed.)

She calls.

He picks up on the first ring (a good thing for her manicures).

“Hey, um…hi! How are you?” She wants to face palm but is afraid he would hear the sound of her forehead colliding with her hand, “You must be busy. Maybe I should call at another time. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

“Where have you been?”

He doesn’t sound mad – not at all. Instead, he sounds gravely concerned.

“After you left, I kept on calling,” he tells her what she already knows to be the fact, perhaps to remind her that he had tried – precisely thirty seven time in these two weeks, “Why did it take you this long to get in contact with me?”

She’s known him to be straightforward – blunt and on to the point. It’s a trait they share in common, so why is it different this time around?

“Did I do something to offend you?” He asks her wearily, “I know it was not my place to interfere but he said some unkind things to you – things that hurt you, Soojung. Did you honestly expect me to bite my tongue and do nothing?”

She shakes her head dumbly. He keeps doing this; proving her wrong on things she was sure she couldn’t be more right about.

“No!” she cries, “No, you didn’t do anything to offend me – at all! I didn’t call you because I was scared what you’d think of me after everything that was said and done.”

A beat of silence passes, then he says gently, “I could never think ill of you, I want you to know that.”

 (Why can’t she let herself be happy?)

“Where are you, Soojung?”

-

The manager gives her an eye-bulging look instead of an applicable answer. (So yes or no? Can she or can’t she?)

“Oh,” then louder this time as if something crucial has dawned on him, “Oh! Is it your sister?”

“No,” she tries to not choke on the skinny latte, “I – it’s not my sister. She’s not even in Seoul right now actually.”

He nods stiffly. “Uh…so you two got back together, huh?”

“Who?”

“Jongin and you.”

Huh? “No, what made you think that?”

“Didn’t you just ask if you could go home on your own?” He asks, furrowing his brows, “Doesn’t that usually mean someone is picking you up?”

“Well, yeah,” she replies truthfully, nibbling on her lower lip, “Doesn’t mean it’s Jongin.”

(He can’t even drive.)

The manager hesitates, his evasiveness hinting at a rejection (or SM’s, that’s all he speaks for anyway.)

“Alright,” he finally says, respectfully hushed, “Do I want to know who it is you’re seeing?”

She smiles over at him, however weak. “I’ll be careful.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” he grumbles, already turning a blind eye, “Jinri said that too and look where that landed this group.”

-

She suspects he’s been watching her from the other side but she knocks on the window anyway. (The whole hoodie and facemask look in the middle of summer is doesn’t’ exactly scream ‘nothing to see here.’)

“Sorry,” she mumbles, sliding onto the front seat and shutting the door behind her, “They had to retake some shots. The weather is not cooperating with the hair and makeup team today.”

There’s that deep rumbling sound coming from the back of his throat – the one she equates with solace. “You look beautiful.”

(He is so handsome and so sweet. That’s what all the girls think, she bets. But it’s not the same, she swears.)

“I got you lunch,” Seunghyun says, successfully breaking the ice as he reaches over to the back seat, his shoulder touching her own for a brief moment and he won’t ever know how nice that feels, “And by that, I meant I made you a sandwich.”

On her lap, sits a paper bag and a couple of napkins beneath. What a foreign gesture it is, to put together lunch for her – or a meal in general. It used to be a common practice for their household; she misses that about their family. She longs for her mother’s kimchi stew, Jessica’s bolognaise spaghetti, those sunny days her father would take her for a game of baseball then ice cream – chocolate chip of cookie, extra sprinkles please.

“Thank you,” she feels the corner of curving into a smile, b with gratitude, “You didn’t have to but, thank you.”

He looks down at his folded hands and jokes, “I put in extra bacon.”

She takes a bite under his expectant gaze, reveling in the pleasant blend of mustard and Tahini sauce. The crunchy texture of the bacon goes perfectly with the lettuce and possibly carrots. It’s ludicrous how delicious it is – it’s just a simple sandwich, for god’s sake! But to her, it tastes better than anything she’s had in weeks.

“This is so good,” she moans, taking another and bigger bite.

“Woah! Slow down,” he warns, eyes widening as he lays a tentative touch on her arm, “You’re going to make yourself sick if you chomp it all down like that.”

“You’re always taking care of me,” she laughs, because why does he? “Aren’t you tired of it by now?”

“Stop thinking things like that,” he says gently, coaxing but somehow, it feels like a demand too, “Don’t make it complicated. I take care of you because I want to. I spend time with you because I want to. I talk to you because I want to. Does there have to be any other reason apart from that?”

All the things he says make so much sense that at times, it makes her feel foolish. With him, it is so simple – what she sees is what she gets. She plays with the waiting game but no one else is, she’s the only one placing bets on her downfall.

 “I feel like I’m the one that should be asking you if you’re tired of me,” Seunghyun teases, smoothing a loose curl away from her face and tugging it behind her ear, “You don’t seem to want to pick up my calls, or tell me what’s wrong.”

Because there are so many things that are wrong, she thinks to herself but softens at how profoundly he is staring at her.

“I can’t expect you to tell me what’s bothering you when I’ve never told you anything myself, can I?” he surmises, starting the car engine, “I guess now’s as good a time as any.”

(What’s the catch? She keeps on asking. There’s none, he’s been trying to tell her this whole time.)

-

(‘That woman’ is just another scar – a bigger one than the rest. She is graceful but bold. She speaks her mind, consequences be damned. She used to be his favorite thing to talk about, but she is no longer and hasn’t been for what feels like a lifetime. In fact, she is also now his least favorite thing to hear about. No pleasure is taken from bad news of her, because he would never wish her harm, but that goes the same for the good news, he would never wish her happiness. He doesn’t dream about her anymore but she used to be in each and every dream – the good and bad. She broke his heart but she didn’t mend it, he did that himself. She is the past, so of course, she left a mark but she doesn’t linger – not in presence nor as an after thought. She didn’t ruin him; she changed him.

Work? Work is hard, but the lifestyle that comes with it is harder. He was not prepared then and he thinks he won’t ever be. He can’t dance very well – he didn’t train enough to move like an idol. He came from the underground scene; he weighted too much to be a pretty boy but not too much to be a rapper. He takes pride in writing his own rap; it’s the only artistic license he has left. There was a period where he wanted to quit – he was scared of the media circus, he keeps his distance. Crowds aren’t his friends, they’re his foes. It’s hers too, he can tell when they close in on her. He enjoys acting, he is good at it, but he won’t quit music for it.

He has already told her more than most, so he won’t go on anymore. Even so he doesn’t want to have hide anything from her and he wants it to be the same for her too.)

-

She is slightly more pulled together the next time she sees Taemin. (The last time, her three-day old hair was thrown up in a haphazard bun and her eyebrows weren’t done. She put a hand over her face and walked straight pass him, he didn’t stop her either. For that, she is grateful.)

He doesn’t say anything, (he doesn’t need to, there are no words that can reduce the gaping hole in her heart) he knows what a lost cause looks like when he sees one.

Taemin hugs her – not those ‘dead limbs hanging over your shoulder’ ones but a bear hug, where he rocks her back and forth in his arms. He hasn’t done this since she debut – if she asks, he’ll say he hasn’t had the time but if she asks for the real reason, he’ll say she didn’t need this from anyone but his best friend.

“When is it going to stop hurting?”

“When you give up trying.”

-

It takes her five days to take up Jinri’s invitation (left on a frantic phone message: “I need to see you. Please, Soojungie, if you don’t come over some time this week, then I’m coming to you.)

She shifts uncomfortably on her couch, hating how soft the material is and the way it moulds around the shape of her . Jinri has always had horrid taste in anything interior, but this is another level of hideous. The talk had gone surprisingly well – she had been civil; her attempts at lightening the mood paled in comparison to Jinri’s, but there were less awkward pauses as the conversation went. There were no small talks, Jinri knows how much she hates that, so they skipped straight to her issues: the starter being Jessica, the main would have been Jongin but they were interrupted by a call. (Jinri’s dad was wondering when her and Choiza are free to come over for dinner.)

Tortured by the silence, she reaches for the remote on the coffee table and turns on the television. (News, more news, pretend marriage show Qian unni was on with that dude from the same group as Taecyeon oppa, talk show that likes to scrutinize female idols, even more news, rerun of music shows –)

His hair is Tumblr-aestehtic shade of violet now. They keep on cutting in those bangs that don’t do his good looks any favor. His outfit reminds her of an overgrown toddler. The laugh dies down in because none of this is funny – everything about him hurts. It is a growing pain that she carries within her, it throbs and expands with each and every time she sees him.

You can’t rationalize loving someone this much – much less someone who doesn’t love you as you are. But she thinks sadly, she doesn’t care what’s good for her anymore, nor does she care about doing the right thing by herself. Watching him like this, she can almost touch him…

 “Soojung…”

Snapping out of her reverie, her glassy eyes land on Jinri. Petrified, is one way to describe the way her best friend is looking at her. She would ask why but upon further inspection of herself, there is no point.

“I’m a mess, aren’t I?” she chuckles bitterly, wiping away the fresh tear with the back of her hand.

And she is. In what universe is crawling on your hand and knees to a television set and tracing the pixilated outline of your ex-boyfriend while being completely unaware of doing any of it, not a mess?

“I’ve tried, I’ve really tried,” and the floodgate opens, words pouring out of her like waterfall and Jinri is to drown in them, “But I don’t want to imagine a future without him. I’m scared of what it’s going to be like without him there.”

Jinri sinks onto her knees and holds her still. She doesn’t quiet her cries, she doesn’t try to console her or offer an apology for her loss. She owes her too many of those, they both know that. She forgave Jinri the moment she said “I’m leaving for myself and my happiness” – they both know that too.

-

(Her Jongin looks nothing like the boy she envisaged falling for. A younger version of herself wanted a rebellious boy – he would wear sunglasses in door, look best in a leather jacket and make all the girls swoon as he walks pass all of them to get to her. In fact, Kai, fits more nicely into the picture than he does.

He did not like or dislike her from their first meeting, the feeling was very mutual, so it was decided they would fit into each other life when it need be. Years later when they are closer friends, he confessed to thinking she was ‘very cute’ at first glance – this does not set him apart from the rest, and it is not the reason why he became her boyfriend. 

Jongin laughs easily and loudly – at dumb jokes his friends made, at silly faces Sehun pulls behind the trainer’s back, at Jinri butchering a dance routine, at her when she makes sarcastic comments. He never smiles at his own reflection; he knows he is not one of the beautiful ones but he believes you can learn to be charming for the cameras. He fights for the people he loves – he doesn’t cry nor complain when the manager hits him, he would rather take a couple of bruises and a broken rib than break up with her. He won’t follow those kinds of orders, she’s an exception that is not written in the contract. He says he will walk her home, and waits three hours in the pouring rain for her to be let out of vocal lessons so he could do exactly that. He fractures his knee but goes up on stage, because he cannot and will not let his team down. The morning after he asked her out, he tells anyone who will listen that ‘Jung Soojung is my girlfriend.’ He shouldn’t have told that many people, so she scolds him, but he is too proud to keep it a secret. He kissed her for the first time in the hospital after she fainted on stage, he thought she was asleep, she wasn’t – she knows it wasn’t Minho. He fought with a classmate because “Krystal will be bigger than Jessica someday,” he claims it’s not because she is prettier, but because she pushes harder.

Her Jongin is sixteen, he is twenty-one and he is a hundred – he is forever.)

-

Why it takes Jessica a whole week to bring it up, she’d never guess (nor does she care to.) She’s standing in the kitchen, washing dishes at half past nine to waste energy. She’s been ready for bed since eight but is too pumped full with caffeine to keep her eyes shut.

“So…” Her sister shoots her a pointed, pursed-lips look from the wall she’s leaning against, “Are you ever gonna tell me who you went out with the other night?”

Feigning ignorance, “What night?”

“Thursday”

She reaches for the towel but Jessica snatches it before she could get to it. Wordlessly, she hands the older girl the teacup and lets her do the drying (the easier of the two tasks, if she might add.)

“I went out for lunch on Thursday. That’s not night time.”

“Right,” Jessica clicks her tongue, “But you didn’t get home until around seven.”

“Right,” she returns, “Then lunch went on a little longer than planned.”

“Seven pm is not lunch, Soojung,” the other girl makes a small, amused sound, “That’s called lunch followed by a dinner date.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“So you did go out to dinner,” Jessica exclaims in triumph, “Who was it? And don’t say it was a “friend.” It has to be a guy because the car that waited outside for you two months ago is the exact same one that drove you home last week.”

(Do not tell her at all cost.)

“Good on you,” she says evenly, “You seem to have this all figured out. Now there’s really nothing left to tell.”

She gives her a look equal parts quizzical and calculating. “Why are you being so secretive about this?”

“I’m not –“

“Yes, you are,” Jessica cuts her off ruthlessly, “You’re going out of your way to hide who his identity. Which leads me to think that he’s a celebrity – a well-known one.”

She has an inkling that her complexion has been rained of color. Keeping her grip on the pastel bowl in her hand, she scrubs even harder at the non-existent organic yogurt stain.

(Jessica gasps and she knows she’s been figured out.)

“You are out of your mind! Seunghyun?! You’ve got to let that go. I didn’t say anything back in NYC because I thought it was just a bad boy phase or a holiday rebound or - Jung Soojung, what are you thinking?”

“Before you start losing your at me, why don’t you shut up and listen to what I have to say first? You’re always jumping to conclusions – oh okay, so now you want your big sister role back, ‘cause you’ve been around so much, haven’t you? Sorry if you didn’t know this but you don’t actually know everything about my life!”

Their simultaneous speeches takes a lot out of them, leaving them with heaving chests and intensified temper. It’s all coming out too fast and too acidic. (For her, she supposes it is vindictive.)

“He is a waste of your time,” Jessica spits, “You’re wasting your time.”

Throwing the gloves off (figuratively and literally in this instance), “No one’s wasting anyone’s time here because we’re just friends!”

“Friends. Yeah right, maybe that’s what you think,” she hisses the word like it disgusts her, “I don’t know how well you think you know Seunghyun but it’s unheard of him to be seen with same girl for more than one night. That kind of phenomena, Soojung, hasn’t happened ever since that actress came and went out of his life.”

“Then what’s your problem?” She asks testily, “If you’re convinced he’s as serious as you say he is then I’m in good hands, aren’t I?”

Jessica slaps the cup onto the drying rack with a ‘bang’, turning back to face her with such ferocity that she was convinced she was about to scratch her eyes out.

“Alright,” she says, a touch sharply, “If you’re telling the truth, then I’ll give him the benefit of doubt. But if you’re not – “

“I am, okay? So can we stop talking about this already?”

“No, we can’t,” there’s finality in that answer before she goes forth, “If you’re lying or the thought of dating him has crossed your mind, then just know now that he will smother you with his obsessive need for you to prove your unchanging feelings for him. You can try but it won’t be enough,” (Shut up, shut up, shut up). “He will cling onto you until all you will want to do is get as far as possible away from him. And he won’t let you, because that’s the type of screwed up guy he is.”

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, hoping to cease all the horrible, loathsome things she reserves for only the most abominable of hours. Those long hours where it’s not quite nighttime but not early enough for sunlight to peak into her room, where it’s her writhing under the sheets – scared less and clawing at her skin, aching to tear off the layers they’ve sewed onto her soul.

(It’s bubbling to the surface, it’s erupting, it’s –  )

“He’s screwed up? Sorry, I couldn’t tell. I must be so used to being around ed-up people,” she yells so hard, her ears pound, “Oh my god, I can’t believe this – do you have your head shoved up so far your own that you can’t see anything that’s not that walking, talking wad of cash you called a boyfriend or his dim-witted business plans?”

Jessica visibly flinches, out of fear of her own sister or the truth that’s pouring out of her – she doesn’t care to know.

“You! It’s you that’s a screwing me up!” She runs her hands through her knotted extensions, wanting so badly to yank it all out, “If it wasn’t for you and your stupid runaway plan – “

“I was kicked out!”

“You asked for it,” and so she snaps again, “All those times you showed up late to rehearsals, half-assing concerts, missing flights – on purpose! Of course, they were going to kick you out. What did you think they were going to do? Keep you around for the next two years so you can dig all their graves, like you did for yourself?”

Jessica in a breath, helpless and wounded beyond belief.

“If you think moving onto Seunghyun will help you get over Jongin, I’ll tell you now -  Soojung, you’re so wrong.”

“This has nothing to do with Jongin,” she tries to act indifferent but reflexively winces at the mention of his their names in the same sentence, “Stop trying to make this about something it’s not.”

Finally, she puts an end to this staring contest, having already lost all her determination. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

(She doesn’t but when did she ever?)

Jessica sniffles against her tear-stained sleeve and she wishes she didn’t care.

-

She never went through that ‘runaway’ face of teenage rebellion. She didn’t have the time or the sensitivity to do so. If she was being honest, she never had much to complain about as a teenage girl – she had a sister she idolized and adored (“Girls’ Generation’s Jessica is my sister! My big sis is a pop star, I bet you’re jealous that my sister is cooler than yours.”), she had an inseparable group of friends who shared the same dream, her family always went on vacations on summer breaks, her “BFF” was going to debut in the same group with her and her boyfriend loved her more than everything else in the world.

It must be catching up to her now in her twenties. You would think the older you are, the further you could go, but she’s sitting on the swings of her neighborhood’s playground and itching choke herself to death with the chains. (Not a very glamorous way to end a life of a star.)

“Oh, hey, dad,” she says, less than impressed as her father appears on the swing next to hers. (Who makes their aging father come fetch them in the middle of the night? Apparently, a twenty-year old.), “How’d you know I was here?”

He removes his glasses, wiping the layer of fogs off the lenses with his Polo’s sleeve. “Father’s knows best.”

“It’s mother’s knows best,” she corrects, grimacing.

“You came here a lot when you were younger,” her father tells her, “I used to have to watch you from across the street. You kept telling your mother and I that we couldn’t come along – “You’re violating my personal space,” you’d say as a fourteen year old girl, who most definitely did not need that much privacy,” a fond smile makes its way onto his face, nostalgic as he recalls the old times, “Sooyeon kept trying to convince us that you were coming out every night to meet a boy.”

 “Of course she did,” she scoffs, “That’s something she’d do, not me.”

Her father has a hearty laugh over that. “You sister couldn’t believe it when I told her all you’d do is sit on the swing alone.”

“She doesn’t believe a lot of things I tell her, dad,” she says sadly, staring pensively at the orange tree she used to climb.

“Ahh…how did it become this way with my daughters?” his question is a light-hearted one, almost teasing but she knows her father well enough to know this sprouts from unease, “I can still remember it like it was yesterday. You got home from school and ran into my study, and you said –“

“I said, “Daddy, when I grow up I want to be just like Sooyeon unni,” she finishes for him, the words leaving a sour taste in .

“I asked you why. Do you remember what your reply was?”

Slowly, she nods. “ So I can always be by her side.”

“Your mother tells me all the time that every little girl want to be a celebrity, and you and your sister will grow out of it,” he is still smiling, despite dimming a little, “You sister haven’t but I can see that you have.”

She is glad that her father has not made it a question, for she would not have an answer for him.

“You sister loves what she does very much,”

And they both know it to be an old age testament.

“Oh I know, I know, there’s not anyone else in this universe who knows your sister better than you do,” he rises to his feet, not departing without leaving her something to chew on, “What are you going to do, Soojung-ah? Your father is an old man now; look at me yabbering on about all these things you already know.”

(Your daughter is a grown girl now but she really needed that.)

-

When she was a little, she must have been very cool because when asked by a teacher what she aspired to be in the future, she gave an equally cool answer of “I want to be like my sister.”’

She had this fantasy that she’d do all the things she loves as an adult – she’d be beautiful on stage, surrounded by all the beautiful people and dance and sing to beautiful tunes. She wanted to be an idol because she admires beauty and wanted to be admired in return. To her, her sister was (and is) still the most beautiful thing she’s ever laid eyes on.

Jung Sooyeon or Jessica had been a sad young lady, no one knew then and most of them don’t know now. The problem is she’s only ever happy when she’s unhappy – when she can hardly walk from eating so little and exercising so hard, when her bones are brittle but she keeps on dancing, when she’s a shining star but wants to be anything but.

She doesn’t want to be like her sister, not anymore.

-

She goes to see Seunghyun. There is no particular reason why, she just wants to.

He insists that he’s not busy but lately, he’s on TV more than not. She sits down to watch some when she’s got time to kill – he is awkward and funny and she misses him whenever he comes on screen. (She’s gotten used to being the only one indulging in his odd-ball jokes.)

“Are you hungry?” He asks from the kitchen, rinsing the last of his wine glasses, “How was the shoot today?”

She down one of his collector edition’s art book and itches to move onto the architectural one but the urge to partake in a conversation with him is just that much stronger.

“Are you going to cook me jjangpuri?” She teases, propping her elbows on the kitchen counter and her smiling face on her knuckles, “And the shoot was alright. They always make me do the same poses though.”

“You mean with the untied shoes? I think that’s becoming your signature pose.” Seunghyun jokes, pulling open the cabinet, “I don’t feel like cooking but since you took the time to watch the show, I should repay you for your part in that poor viewer’s rating in some way.”

She chuckles, coming over to stand next to him. “It looked really good when they showed it on the show.”

“That’s because I didn’t make it myself,” he says with a self-demeaning scoff.

“I’ll make you something,” she offers, nudging him away from the sink, “You look tired, oppa.”

Seunghyun opens his mouth to protest but she hushes him, lifting up a fore finger to cease any polite excuses that inevitably will come her way.

“No,” she grabs the drying towel from under his hand, “I can only guess how packed your schedule must be. I know you’re not doing me any favors, letting me come over but you cooked for me last time, so let me.”

Reluctantly, he watches as she rifles through cabinets and drawers. Not that she had a clue what she was doing but at least, there are enough ingredients to whip up a sufficient meal (for one of them but, he doesn’t need to know that.)

“You’re always welcomed here,” he says, a touch too quiet, “Next time, you don’t need to ask if you want to come over.”

“And what if you’re not here?” she asks playfully, “Should I break in then?”

Sitting down on the wooden stool, he crosses his legs and looks down on his slippers covered feet. “I want to see you more often than I do now.”

She would have dropped the frying pan right then and there if the fear of burning down his condo hadn’t trigger a knee-jerk reaction. (Doesn’t he know not to say such lovely things when one is working with fire?)

“It’s hard to with our work and the album promotion but it’s nice – this,” he motions at the distance separating her from him, and it has come attention that it is far too close, “It’s nice whenever I’m with you.”

There’s a sizzling sound that fills the room once she cracks an egg onto the pan, she lets it. She is torn, because what could she possibly say to that? But she is fearful of listening to him speak more of his feelings.

“I feel happy,” he continues, unruffled by her wordlessness, “Content to just have you around, talking or not. I don’t have to pretend to keep your company and you don’t neither – I like that about us, a lot.”

How pitiful that this is all she can do for him – scramble an egg.

She wipes a hand on the apron, undoing the knot on the back. “Seems like my mom is right; I really can’t cook after all.”

But Seunghyun seizes her fumbling hands, turning her around to meet his penetrating gaze. She can’t look away even if she wanted to. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul and it must be true – when has he been anything but real? (Too real for a denier like her.)

“Don’t leave,” he knows and he is giving her a choice, “Soojung, don’t leave.”

It’s not a command, not an order but a plea, she realizes. There is a ‘please’ that he is too scared to say but he doesn’t need to, she hears him loud and clear. This is their problem, isn’t it? People want so much to play detectives to their authentic self; to separate their pseudo name from the story behind it and they should know better by now but clues are given anyway, hopeful that their demons will be set free.

(How many times have you put on this rose colored glasses, Seunghyun? How many times have you fallen for the allure of unquestionable loyalty? Don’t you know that’s a myth for the likes of them once the masks come off?)

It’s ironic to be so consumed by denial but powerless at denying those ugly marks Seunghyun wears under his clothes. There’s a trail of blood he has left on his journey to get to her and it stains. But he is real and he is raw. He won’t bargain with verity for acceptance and he doesn’t need to for hers. (How could he not know that?)

(But she is weak, you see. She wants to tell him that. She is weak enough to want to stay but even weaker to need to go.)

“I’m not ready to stay, not today.”

-

Inevitably, she is alone.

She is lying on her bed, bare legs and arms stretched out and cold.

She is alone and for the first time, she doesn’t question why.