Trigger Warning: Touches on internalised homophobia and over expectations of parents. 

 

The room was quiet save for the sounds of their hitched breaths and the rustling of sheets.

 

And for Wendy, those sounds paled in comparison to the ones she was so enveloped in; Irene’s soft breathy whimpers, the stick and slide of chapped lips that can’t get enough of each other and the hitched murmurs of her name that sounded so much like a psalm, a prayer.

 

She could see nothing but Irene, smell only the scent of Irene’s sweat stained skin, feel the light kisses that silken lips left just by her sternum and know only the taste that was so Irene on her tongue.

 

There was nothing but Irene.

 

“Wendy-”

 

Irene pressed closer to her, beautiful dark eyes hidden behind quivering eyelids as she pleaded in a rasp, her hands tight around Wendy’s waist, marking invisible imprints that Wendy knew she was going to feel for days. There was desperation in her movements, groaning when Wendy rocked into her just so, a grin forming on her lips as blonde hair cascaded around them, curtaining them off from a reality they had both forgotten. A moan ripped from kiss bruised lips when Irene, apparently having enough of Wendy’s teasing, flipped them over in a show of hidden strength, Wendy huffing when her back hit the soft mattress hard.

 

Wendy smiled up at the girl, Irene looking even more beautiful, impossibly so, with her face flushed and her pupils blown. There was a song in her mind now, unknown but melodious as it continued to whisper Irene’s name over and over again. She craned her neck upwards to kiss Irene, somehow unable to fathom how she managed to go so long without the taste of Irene on her lips. Irene grinned cheekily and pulled away playfully, laughing that soft laugh when Wendy growled.

 

The brunette’s fingers clasped around the blonde’s wrists and she pulled them up, Wendy resisting the urge to fight when Irene ordered in a whisper.

 

“Stay.”

 

This was coupled with a look behind dark eyes, one that Wendy can’t distinguish even as a fleeting thought crossed her mind that it has only ever been Irene that gave her that look. It should scare her, had scared her before (just fleeting moments of hello and goodbye surged with tension and looks exchanged), but as Wendy complied with the soft command, there was no fear.

 

It was almost... blissful.

 

When she was sure that Wendy would keep still, Irene’s hand started at her jaw, soft fleeting touches that weren’t circles or figures, nothing like the ones who would press rough fingers into Wendy’s flesh in her previous encounters. It was as though Irene was drawing on her, following the curve of her jaw, the slope of her philtrum before pressing a thumb on Wendy’s chin, fingers following the natural planes of her face, her neck and then going further.

 

Like raindrops running down windowpanes and smooth surfaces, Irene took her time just like the rain, each touch light but burning just so. But Wendy did her best to stay still, eyes trained on Irene’s face as the girl made her , tongue poking out in slight concentration as she continued to play Wendy’s body like an instrument she knew best.

 

Just when she thought Irene had stopped, fingers just at the dip of her hip, Irene pressed a fleeting kiss to her jaw, starting at the place her fingers had just moments ago. She retraced her steps just as slowly with her lips, acknowledging the soft breathy moan Wendy had let out in response to her kisses with a chuckle and a soft murmur. Wendy should say something in response but she was nowhere near thinking at the moment, wanting nothing more but Irene to continue what she was doing, to continue igniting the insides of her with kisses that felt like snowfall.

 

(But she should be thinking, should be arguing against the want, should be answering that little voice in her head going-)

 

And then Irene’s kisses turned scorching, mouth parted to make way for teeth scraping at her abdomen, fingers trailing from her hips to the undersides of her thighs.

 

If there was any chance of Wendy retaining any thought in her brain, they flew out of the window at that moment, her hands moving and twisting at the bedsheets.

 

“Irene, please.”

 

Irene chuckled again, a far cry from her usual shy persona and the brunette murmured against flushed skin, her nails scraping at her thighs delicately.

 

“Just for you.”

 

She didn’t think anymore, doesn’t want to think anymore, not when Irene’s lips met with hers in a fierce kiss, a kiss that took her breath and gave it back to her simultaneously.

 

Bliss, delight, ecstasy, elation- none of these words could describe the feeling in her chest right now.

 

There was nothing but Irene.

 

(But what about later?)

 

***

 

Perfection.

 

That was what Wendy’s parents demanded from her.

 

The only way the world will ever look up to anybody if there is an image of perfection, Wendy.

 

Perfection.

 

But it was just an image.

 

As long as she hid the drinking, the meaningless , the weed, all things she hated, all things she did just to rebel in some way, from her parents, it would be okay. She’d satisfy her parents with the image of a good girl, the girl who got good grades and didn’t go around with boys and definitely not girls while she satisfied the dark hunger within herself by immersing in the clubs that Seulgi was partial to and the weed Tiffany would pass to her wordlessly.

 

Perfection.

 

Just an image.

 

(But later, much later, it would be an image she would struggle with as a girl with a broken heart wormed her way into hers.)

 

***

 

Stay?

 

I will.

 

Has it always been-

 

It has always been you.

 

She woke to those words whirling in her mind, eyes still closed to hold the remnants of a dream that spoke of love and acceptance, heavy on her shoulders but not a burden. Her legs brushed past another pair and she froze, stunned for a moment because she knew that she didn’t go to the club yesterday with Seulgi and thus, it would not make sense for her to be in someone else’s bed. She cracked open one eye slowly, breathing slowly as to not wake the other occupant up.

 

Her eyes landed on an easel holding up a canvas.

 

And at once, the sleep induced haze was chased from her head by the flood of memories of the night before. It felt monumental, as though Wendy had taken a step into a future where her dream, blurry as it may be at the back of her mind, was just a hair’s breadth away, real and bright and terrifying.

 

Her chest was heavy and there was nothing more Wendy wanted than to just reach out and grasp the wispy fantasy but at the same time, the thoughts that had been silenced yesterday by her want, her need to be enveloped by everything Irene had awoke again, taunting and whispering in voices that sounded suspiciously like her parents’ disappointment.

 

(The image she had struggled to keep up was slowly shattering.)

 

She closed her eyes to stop the sudden rush of tears from falling, to stop her eyes from going towards the figure that was laying next to her because then it would give name to the feeling in her chest that was weighing her down and making her feel like a feather in the wind -

 

There was nothing but pure and untouched feelings in her heart for the girl next to her.

 

But it was something she cannot, should not be feeling for her.

 

(There was nothing but pure and untouched love in her heart for Irene.

 

And it scares her.)

 

*

 

It was when light was slowly filtering in through the gaps of the closed curtains that Wendy forced herself to move out of the cocoon that they had built for themselves over the course of the night, the crisp morning air raising goosebumps on her skin. She slid out from under the blankets silently, a move well practised from all those nights before and she stepped away from the bed, shivering slightly in her lack of dress, her eyes making an unwilling path back towards the bed.

 

And she regretted it.

 

Because on the bed, with her eyes closed and mouth slightly apart as she breathed softly, was the most beautiful version of Irene she had ever seen.

 

Irene, sweet, beautiful, cheeky, sleeping Irene.

 

And at that very moment, Wendy swore she could hear her heart breaking.

 

(Oh no.)

 

It’s then she started to panic, her plan to sneak out of the room ruined when she hurriedly gathered up the bundle of clothes Irene had placed at the corner of the table to get dressed and in her haste, knocking the canvas off the easel. The clatter was loud, despite the carpeted floor and Irene had shot up from the bed, hands clutching at the blankets instinctively as she glanced around wildly. Frozen in place, with her hands clutching the front of her ed shirt, Wendy watched with wide eyes as Irene laid her sleepy gaze on her, the ache in her chest intensifying when the other girl’s lips widened into a smile immediately.

 

“Wendy.”

 

Just a soft murmur of her name took her breath away and it was all Wendy could do to not cry right there and then.

 

How could Irene have so much power over her?

 

(It was that smile.

 

It was that smile from that day in the park.)

 

There was a small bloom of anger spiking in the midst of all the love and hopelessness she felt, a misplaced ire because Irene shouldn’t have so much power over her, shouldn’t have misled her and asked for this favour if she was attracted to Wendy. And now because of that deceit, Wendy was the one who had to juggle these feelings that she shouldn’t even be having.

 

(But why?)

 

Wendy shouldn’t be having these imperfections.

 

(Just the thought of her parents’ disappointment burned a hole through her stomach, hot and angry like lava seeping through the cracks.)

 

She ignored the call and buttoned up her shirt quickly, scanning the room for her bag and spotting it by the end of the bed. She could feel Irene’s confused stare at the back of her head and it bothered her because now she wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with Irene, cocoon them away from the world and just get lost in the warmth they both shared.

 

But even as she got her shoes on and ready to leave, she found that she couldn’t.

 

Not with Irene’s eyes on her like that, expectant and open, hair mussed and an open smile that made the sun pale in comparison.

 

So she plastered on a smile and turned around, aware that it was more of a grimace than a friendly gesture at this point and spoke, lowering her head slightly and pointing towards the fallen painting.

 

“Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t mess it up.”

 

Irene shook her head slowly, shifting so that her feet were touching the ground.

 

“No, it’s fine. I only got the sketch on the newsprint done and after that we...”

 

She trailed off with a blush but the smile on her face didn’t disappear.

 

If anything, it grew wider, as though it was something sweet and happy, rather than a stain Wendy hoped her parents would never find out.

 

That particular thought fueled the (thoughtless) words out of .

 

“About that. Let’s just forget about it, alright?”

 

The ache in her chest doubled when the smile slid off of the brunette’s face.

 

“I-I’m sorry?”

 

And because the engine had already been started, Wendy found it hard to keep control of , more (careless) words spilling out like a waterfall.

 

“Forget about last night. Clearly we were both drunk and obviously there was a lot of tension because I was and you did say you were attracted to me. So we can just forget about it and treat it as a one night stand. Okay?”

 

“A one night stand?”

 

Irene had gotten to her feet now, neck flushed and her eyes bright, looking very much like she did not understand a word Wendy was saying.

 

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