Sejeong walks along the hospital wing’s corridor in a practiced ease. A routine-made expertise from weekly visits. It’s gotten to the point where most of the medical staffs could recognize her face (which means free greetings, which is nice) – in a way, it’s far from a compliment, and personally she thinks Nayoung should stop gracing her body injuries that net her a couple of nights stay.

Here, where the sickly scent of Iodoform meets her own ceaseless worrying, the sleek floor only speeds up her pace, the faint echoes of someone wheeling a cart couldn’t bury the loud thumping against her ribcages, and Nurse Hyemin’s casual smile is a stark contrast to her deep-etched frown.

Seong Hyemin leans against the door separating the hallway from the room a (probably) half-dead Nayoung supposedly resides in. “Don’t you have class? It’s 7 AM.”

“Duty calls. A friend needs me.” Sejeong takes a step closer to the door, but Hyemin doesn’t hint a move at all. “C’mon, miss... I just need to know whether Nayoung’s still with us on this very Earth or not.”

Instead of stepping aside, she taunts by shoving her hands into her lab coat’s pockets. “I’ll snap you a snapchat of her alive. Now scram and cram school stuff.”

“Perfect. Just when I’m really astoundingly worried to death for a buddy.”

Hyemin scoffs at her face instead, leaning forward with an offending finger bopping her nose twice. Thrice. “You said that a week ago, miss worry-wart. I had to let you in the last time ‘cause you looked like you shat your pants, but this time I might have to up the ante.”

Last week, she broke her own hospital run records after she witnessed Chungha one-sidedly beating Rag Doll Nayoung. Hell, she tried to jump into the arena, but some deans nearby managed to hold her back. The whole situation ended as a big ‘ol regret, as the school journalists “playfully” dragged her into the headline along with a photo of her looking crazed and desperate with a leg flung over the safety fence.

Her face crinkled in disgust at the fond memories. “I will cry.”

“Sure. I might consider giving you the pass.”

“Okay. I will.” Sejeong readies the tears she stocked up for the k-drama marathon she promised to Chaekyung. Blinking to pull the tears out, she lightly fans her face for effects. “No camera, no recording, no nothing.”

“No compromises.”

Sejeong sighs. Before she could get her waterworks game on blast, a scream that rhymes with mortal pain resounds from the room behind the door. She eyes Hyemin, gravely asking for an answer, and gets a slow shrug in return.

“Oh. Ohhh that’s it.” She attempts to pry the school nurse off, but the latter is clearly trying to glue herself to the door. The determination Hyemin puts into shooing her off forces her to step back, feigning resignation for a second before her shadow shapes itself into ten hands that quickly latch themselves on Hyemin’s body. The sheer force of ten furious palms finally manages to shove Hyemin out of the way, who curses her sneaky , but Sejeong is too blinded by the worst case scenarios in her head.

The door is flung open and instead of finding Nayoung choke-slammed to the floor, Nayoung is on bed, in an awkward position where Mrs. Insun – a teacher in the art of spiritualism – is holding her half-folded left leg while Nayoung’s right leg is thrown to the floor. On top of it all, there’s a ing apple on Nayoung’s head.

Sejeong takes an unsure step closer anyway. “Is there a context?”

“We’re in the middle of a meditation!” Insun chirps for her.

“SAVE ME!” Nayoung chirps for her.

Sejeong ignores her and walks over to Insun’s side. “Would it be rude of me if I were to ask for an elaboration?”

Hwang Insun possesses a heart of gold, something the people from modern society generally lacks, so at least Sejeong can trust her. “A meditation! The school labelled the previous incident as a case of possession. Nayoung here was closely involved as she was the one who knocked the demon out of Mr. Jang, so we might have to cleanse her inner spirit just to make sure. Residue of a demon might latch onto her spirit and – “

“Possession?” Sejeong blinks, still processing the ghastly information. “Ghosts are real?”

Instead of really answering her, Insun instructs her to sit on the other side of the bed. It must be the woman’s charisma – since Sejeong follows her without firing a question. “Since Nayoung won’t sit still, I put something on her head.”

“That’s ‘cause you told me to sit cross-legged! You might break them again!”

Nayoung halts her barking when she feels the apple shake around a bit too much for her liking. Sejeong watches the hospitalized girl trying to balance the apple back, eyes focused up.

She feels the need to ask, but Insun answers before she could even word her query. “I imbued the apple with my power; the moment it falls, this very room will burn to dusts and ashes.”

“Save me,” Nayoung’s voice is much smaller this time.

Sejeong isn’t here for pleasantries though – the fact that she doesn’t bring anything with her gives the sentiment away. Questions regarding the training grounds incident sails her straight from her dorm to the hospital wing without any uncertain turns towards the school building. But there’s also Nayoung’s condition. However… durable she has become throughout years of enduring all sorts of damage, Nayoung exudes puffin-ish vibes. It wakes the instinct to coddle and care in her.

Feeling Mother Hen-y towards her own best friend isn’t in her best interest.

Sejeong coughs with a purpose in mind. “So, about Teacher Jang…”

“The faculty archived the incident under ‘Paranormal Incident’, which translates to none of your business, turn away, nothing to see here. They even cancelled the whole remedial classes.” Nayoung folds her arms in front of her chest, leaning back a bit but making sure she doesn’t make much movement enough to knock the apple off-balance. “Obviously, it’s not the faculty playing dumb. The higher-ups. The govt dogs. Our school lives off sponsorship. MNet is too rich, and that dog Joonyoung is too cheap to deny them.”

Ms. Insun reprimands her for ill-talking the principal and Nayoung grumbles back an argument, but Sejeong’s surprised Insun opted to not disagree on Nayoung’s MNet -talking.

Nayoung’s aversion towards the multi-sectorial group Mytho Network (or, MNet for short) surprises no one, at the same time, piques curiosity considering her background. Born a Kim, her family members have been holding important seats in the group. Nayoung stays an anomaly in her family of influential people.

Not that Sejeong’s fond of the group either… considering the history they shared…

“What does MNet have anything to do with this?”

Nayoung begins to face her, “The school is being extremely dodgy about the issue. MNet probably dropped them directions. Worse, they wheeled Jang Geunsuk and the two students who out in the incident – Kim Taeha and Kwon Eunbean – away to somewhere, some sort of ‘inaccessible facility’. God knows what they’re gonna do with three half-dead bodies.”

It sends chills down her spine. It trips her down to a quick memory lane. “Let me guess: emergency inspection?”

“Yeah. Counter-measure for future incidents, they said. We all know what happened – “

“Duh, the apple looks like it’s gonna fall over!”

The way Insun just casually cut Nayoung off induces furrowed brows on her. Then, Nurse Hyemin walks over from her desk, passing by the other empty beds straight to Nayoung’s bed, the furthest one in the room. “Controversial chatter, you might want to use the Morse code.”

Silence befalls the room for a second. Insun looks glad, because Nayoung looks part meditating, part contemplating the interesting turn life has taken over. The silence doesn’t last long; lines of drum beats resound from outside the building, so loud Nayoung’s body jerks at the surprise and the apple nearly topples over. As Nayoung busies herself by trying to balance the apple, Sejeong jumps out of her chair to see the commotion, gluing herself to the window. The view doesn’t tell her much. There are students crowding, a marching band performance (from the sound of it), and balloons let flown to the sky.

…then it clicks. Classes are cancelled today in place of a promotional ceremony for Produce 101. Supposedly, it’ll take the whole day, with the opening ceremony, speeches, seminars in the auditorium, performances and shows, and all will be ended with a ‘fireworks party’ at 7 PM-ish.

“It’s Produce 101. Can’t believe I actually forgot about it.”

Nayoung blanches. “Can’t believe I got sick in a day where we don’t have class.”

“See? Putting you two in the same room is a mistake. Sooo, kids,” Hyemin supplies, “rather than going on with your political talks, how about y’all haul your asses out of this room and watch the opening ceremony through the hall’s windows? Never mind. This is not an offer. Haul your asses out of this room. Nayoung, grab your crutches.”

“Can’t believe a nurse just kicked me outta my hospital room. Snitch monster, god!” The offended girl points to the apple on her head in full contempt. “Also reminder that I have a TNT on my head, excessive movement might end this whole building for good.”

Though they couldn’t join the students on the main courtyard, the marching band show, jester acts, and ‘entertaining’ whatnots might make a good distraction. “Alright then.”

“Um, hello, Sejeong? You wanna blow up real red – “

She just laughs at her face, calls her silly, and pokes her thumb on the apple. It lightly bounces to the floor as Nayoung screams her fear while screwing her eyes shut.

Insun lets out her laugh, covering the dull thump of the apple against the floor. Sejeong only snorts; the spiritual teacher possesses quite the humor sense!

“Newsflash, Mrs. Insun here doesn’t make flash bombs. C’mon, let me help you with your crutches.”
 

They move a hallway away. A huge glass pane window overlooking the main courtyard blesses them with a decent view with only blotches of greeneries and trees blocking bits and pieces.

The marching band begins to relegate themselves to the sideline, passing the torch to a group of pyrokinetic dancers, all shirtless male with toned body and hair styled into a lady-killing buzzcut, performing flashy moves with twirling embers around them. Nayoung makes snide comments at the thirsty swooning from the audience. Understandable; being in a strictly all-female environment does that to those who doesn’t swing the other way.

Assuming the speeches are done, after the performers begin to exit the courtyard (the fire dancers blowing fiery kisses to the girls; more swooning ensues), Sejeong guesses it’s time to announce the event. “It’s starting.”

All the attentions are diverted back to the built-in stage. The large LED screen lights up into a background of soft pink, and a minimalistic animation of a triangle steals the attention of many. Another round of animation forms the logo completely: a triangle of Produce 101.

A hired MC lays down the basic info surrounding the tournament everyone has discreetly whispered with one another for the past few weeks. With them being in a fair distance from the stage, it’s only natural they couldn’t hear much aside from mumbles and occasionally, loud gasps from the audience.

“Produce 101,” Nayoung starts her musing, “A tournament that ends with eleven girls who managed to overpower the ninety others. Unless the mouth-to-mouth rumors are all big fat lies, these eleven winners will have seats for them secured in the government. Hell, the winners are probably gonna get themselves a seat in the High Council. The top eleven – “

“ – IOI. Ideal of Illiad.” Sejeong continues, or rather, reads aloud the stylized logo of ‘IOI’ with the subtitle of Ideal of Illiad below. “The eleven strongest. Ideal of Illiad.”

“So, if the rumors are true, they’ll do an audition first. Then, rounds of elimination until one hundred one turns to eleven. The event’s sponsored by MNet, organized by a group formed by those dogs specifically to deal with this project: Youth Managing Coordinative, or YMC for short. It’s gonna be an annual thing from now on, I think. Eleven girls will lead this generation of heroes for a year… until another round of Produce 101 happens.”

“Well, looks like someone did her homework.” She sends a pat to Nayoung’s back, whose grips on her crutches tightened. She couldn’t hold her chortle down while Nayoung grumpily mumbles things she couldn’t catch.

“Want to try it?”

“What?”

“Produce 101.”

She eyes Nayoung, and there’s something unrecognizable in Nayoung’s eyes. Her lips are pursed thin. No dimples. “I don’t know. Fighting… isn’t my thing. Why the need to battle it out anyway? There are safer ways, like academics ranking.”

Getting into the roster of IOI is very beneficial to her future. The bloodshed is necessary as a price – getting into the government is pretty much why Illiad Academy (Seoul branch!) is the ideal go-to for aspiring heroes, after all. A free pass from taxes, upper-class citizen’s privileges…

A series of footsteps come closer, close enough for Sejeong to tell that another person has joined the two of them. “Academics could only tell you so much the quality of a hero. But throw them in a fight, put something at stake, and you might see a hero’s true colors.”

Insun casually walks and parks herself beside Nayoung, and the latter is visibly alarmed, which Sejeong guesses, from imagining another meditation scenario.

“Answering a set of question on paper won’t set you alight. But in a fight, you have to put your all… skills, wit, your dream, and the most important of all – emotions. Emotions. The phrase ‘love makes you do stupid things’ isn’t just a coined teenage quote for lovesick youngsters. There’s some truth in that!”

Nayoung heaves a deep sigh. “Basically, those rats are throwing us young maidens into a gladiator arena. Classy.”

“In layman’s terms, yes. But it’s necessary.”

When she side-eyes the spiritual teacher, she finds the older woman side-eyeing her too, nudging her into doing the explaining. So she relays a theory frequently repeated in class, “In every hero and even the misguided ones, there’s a fire. It burns as it quietly pronounces your existence. The intensity of the flickering depends to you, as the fire is, in fact, the core of yourself…”

Mrs. Insun continues for her. “The fire corresponds to your feelings. To your emotions. To your desires. A furious person will come out twice stronger, if not dumber. Love blows the flicker into a torch, but at the same time, dulls your wit. A fight is necessary to provoke a hero’s fire. They want to see eleven individuals with an overwhelming desire, but still well-controlled enough so they could emerge victorious with their minds in one piece.” She leans a bit closer to Nayoung, and in a softer voice, “Are you able to control yours?”

Nayoung’s refusal to answer is her answer. Insun pulls herself back.

“The fire is your power. Your feelings are the fuel. It’s a concept perfect for the humanity. Can you feel the novelty of it all?”

Sejeong tries to lighten the mood. “We might have to take up your meditation session offer.”

“The door’s always open. Ignorance, however, closes it shut.” A beat, then Insun laughs heartily, in contrast to a wise sage image she’s been keeping. “But! Enough of the spiritualism talk. A heart-breaker is gonna give a speech soon and the girls will go wild.” She lightly knocks on the glass window with her left knuckle. “The scream might break this baby.”

As Nayoung bombards Insun with questions regarding who the “heart-breaker” is, a man walks into the stage, the crowd is sent into a frenzy, and the LED switches to a closer shot of the man in black suit.

“Nayoung! Isn’t that Taekwoon?”

“What the …?”

Out of all possible people in the government, it’s Taekwoon, and his mere presence sends Nayoung’s relaxed complexion into something more perturbed. The brother and sister don’t have the best history, and Sejeong’s the unwilling witness.

In a family that’s pretty much power personified, Nayoung is the designated black sheep. To only make matter worse, Taekwoon is the golden child. Naturally smart, naturally strong, naturally…

“Well, guess who’s gonna go scram.” Nayoung takes a careful step back, still not used to the limited mobility of crutched walking. She then turns right, and starts another trek of small walk.

Sejeong follows her, obligated to baby-sit. “Where are you going?”

“Downtown. I don’t feel like breathing the same air as that… Dog #567. He’ll probably be here here at least until afternoon, so I’m gonna hang in the town and come back later for the fireworks party thing, I guess.”

“Oh, wow, fantastic! Guess who wants to skip to the town too. Let me join you.” Sejeong makes sure to roll her eyes to indicate the sarcasm.

“You sure?”

“Someone here isn’t used to the crutches yet.”

Her goodwill is pre-paid with a dimpled grin. (The fire in her flickers wildly for a second). “Then, it’s a date.”
 

A fast-food joint isn’t an ideal place for a brunch, but they don’t have much choice, with Nayoung still struggling with the crutches and Sejeong getting tired of Nayoung bumping into things like the fire hydrants, legs of benches, or senior citizen’s walking canes. So they docked to the joint for an unhealthy fix of burger and soda. Naturally, Nayoung tripped the chicken mascot with her crutch, and Sejeong had to firmly apologize to the poor man manning the huge suit.

“I just realized we have a lot of time in our hands. It’s still ten in the morning.” Nayoung sips on her ten in the morning soda. “What should we do? Movie marathon?”

“Do the honors of paying my expenses?”

Nayoung glares at her, but it doesn’t last long before she muffles her laugh into her burger. A nod of her head sends Sejeong into humming a cheery tune. Her wallet is safe for the day, she doesn’t have to sit through speeches and seminars and more pointless shows back in the academy – today’s set to go well.

Sejeong munches on her burger too.

“Sejeong?”

“Hm?”

“You sure you’re okay spending the day with me?”

“We’re friends.”

“Ohhh, yeah, friendship. I at it, actually, so I offer you one last way out of this – “

“Nayoung, it’s too early for self-depreciation. Especially when we can fill the day with things like, movies, window-shopping, and… you mentioned something about wanting to buy Heehyun an apology gift?”

“Yeah. Mimi told me the Nerf toys line from last month is on sale ‘cause it doesn’t sell too well.”

“Yup. See. We have lots to do and no room for moping.”

“Sejeong?”

“No room for moping.”

“Doesn’t it tire you out, taking care of me and ?”

“No room for – argh,” Sejeong doesn’t really how to handle the softer side of Nayoung, because it rarely makes its presence known, “I don’t. We’re friends. Best friends. Bestest friends, maybe. Not a lot of “best friends” went through like death together. We’re waaay closer than that.”

Nayoung’s teeth sparkle in a huge smile. (Sejeong’s sure her burger has gone cold, but she feels warm nonetheless.)
 

Sejeong handpicked the movie herself, not out of impulse, but she had read a quick review about it, critically praising it with colorful word choices - fantabolous! - though it’s wise to do a bit more research, the film’s showing soon and they’ve tired their legs from going around the mall. Nayoung also mumbled about her armpits hurting from the crutches’ axillary supporters.

So they walk into the dimly lit theater and get into their seats. The intro has started, but the many empty seats around them are saying them otherwise, though there’s this particularly loud couple sitting three rows ahead of them. Loudly flirting.

Five minutes into the intro, Nayoung nudges her left arm. “You sure this movie’s worth it?”

“I don’t know. The review called it outstanding though… and it’s too early to judge anyway.” The screen shows an emergency landing of an airplane, the blaring noise rips through the mostly empty theater in high definition. It shaken her a little bit. “Your eyes, at the screen, please.”

“What’s this movie about anyway?”

Sejeong tries to recall the general summary of the movie, but she couldn’t pull much out. “You know those action-agent flicks.”

“White man with squared jaw fighting off conspiracies one time, sleeping with the hot female heroine the next?”

“Uhh, yeah. That.”

To be very honest, none of them are the type to go gaga over glorified undercover missions, white man saving The Great America by simply doing Hollywood White Man stuff, and the Bond Girl (an affectionate nickname for James Bond’s many, many heroines) wearing a skimpy red dress getting kidnapped by a group of terrorists. Nayoung makes low jabs at the movie throughout the first half and Sejeong humors her back with follow-ups, but it gets old fast.

The protagonist blabbers about the philosophy of the universe (she couldn’t even remember his name, as he goes by an unoriginal code name of ‘Zero’). Sejeong turns to Nayoung and finds the latter’s eyes droopy and unfocused as her head slowly dips lower.

Sejeong won’t blame her. The script is, simply put, bad, and she wonders why there are still people watching the thing as it’s still weekday and the film is horrendous.

To make things worse, Nayoung’s probably asleep by now and she has taken up their shared arm rest, the loud couple is ticking her off more than disgustingly moist gum smacking, and the film… at the very least, the protagonist is brusquely walking back to his apartment, and Sejeong expects some action to keep herself awake.

He goes in. The door clicks, and he locks it. Someone appears from the kitchen – the Bond Girl, clad in another skimpy dress. They talk. Sejeong’s beginning to nod off, so she doesn’t catch the subtitle.

The Bond Girl throws herself to the bed. The protagonist climbs on top of her while impatiently takes his Armani suit off, then his belt, but keeps it in his right hand. The woman flips herself around, her front now against the bed, dress now somehow gone (she’s skipping some seconds, she’s falling deeper into slumber anyway…), her rear raised… the protagonist smothers her from behind, but now his pants are pulled down too…

Once it clicks in her head, she’s quickly awake, and most of all, hyper-aware of the situation she’s gotten into.

As the sketchy scene goes sketchier, the banter dissolving into low grunts and moans of more, and the background music going full-on titillating jazz, Sejeong takes in her surrounding; nearly all of them are fast asleep, a man in the far right is fiddling with his phone, and the loud couple’s heads are reduced to one. Just the guy’s. But Sejeong’s sure she could still hear the girl’s obnoxiously loud giggles…

The guy’s seat visibly rocks. The girl’s seat is empty, instead, she notices something resembling head in the level of the guy’s knee, bobbing up and down…

“Oh my god.” Sejeong’s baffled, disgusted, and most of all angry at everything. She gently wakes Nayoung up by roughly shaking her arm.

“Whuh? Is it over yet?”

“Yes.”

Nayoung raises her head up, focusing her vision, squinting, before turning back to Sejeong with mouth agape. Perhaps it has dawned on her this time. “Is that ?”

“Oh, I don’t know? They look like they’re playing scotch to me.”

Nayoung takes another look at the screen, grimacing at the terrible camera work, cheesy dialogue, and the actress’ abysmal acting. Sejeong has to admit she’s a pretty face, but flopping around ruins the sensual mood… if there’s even one in the first place.

“Sejeong? This is still the same film?”

“The very same.”

“Is she giving her boyfie The ?”

“She is.”

Silence falls on them. And it bothers her, because she has no choice but to watch the movie, like it or not. The screen’s designed to be huge. The sound system is programmed to blast the volume enough to get her immersed into the happenings. Sejeong gulps at every of the actress’ short breaths, and moans, and mores.

The actor bites the actress’ nape and Sejeong subconsciously averts her eyes to her left. She gets a good view of Nayoung’s side-profile, eyes half-lidded and gaze towards the ongoing movie. The red and black tone casts light onto the tip of Nayoung’s nose (upon closer observation, her nose is rather pointy…). Sejeong’s gaze only goes lower… to her lips. To Nayoung’s lips.

The actor says, “Turn around, beautiful; I want to kiss you.”

Her heart says, back off, back off, not this kind of thought!

The worst thing is, Nayoung eventually notices her gaze. Eyebrows knitted, she sends Sejeong a question through a look. There’s a feeble prayer she non-verbally mutters: hopefully she doesn’t look flustered at all.

“Hold me…”

They still hold each other’s gazes, the actress’ sultry plea serving as the back sound. And maybe, it’s the way Nayoung looks at her – then again, the theater, as per theaters’ standards, is dimly lit and it might be her eyes playing tricks on her – but it instills something in her. Something Sejeong couldn’t put into words. (Her fire flickers in a way it shouldn’t be.)

“Hold me close and tell me you love me; my husband doesn’t need to know…”

“Sejeong?” And Nayoung leans a little bit closer, just a digit of centimeter, but Sejeong couldn’t deny the loud thumping against her ribcages. Could be hers. Could be Nayoung’s.

Whatever it is that pulls Nayoung closer to her… she deems it as gravitational pull. That would be the only logical explanation.

Nayoung’s voice is a tad lower when she asks, “What are you thinking of?”

“Please make love to me.”

And she burns. “N, no, definitely not that.”

The taller girl looks taken aback at her answer. “Well, yeah. I mean, um, why would you… yeah.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Her own shaky voice echoes in her head longer, reminding her of the sheer embarrassment. With both of them muted by confusion, the only sounds left are the movie playing on its own and the obscene slurps from the loud couple.

“Should we, um, ditch this place and buy some fireworks? For the party.”

“Wise choice! Let’s.” She raises to her feet first and helps Nayoung with the crutches while the latter talks about types of firework would be fun to light on the occasion. All Sejeong could think about is the fireworks going off inside her, but Nayoung doesn’t need to know that.
 

Sejeong isn’t really fond of loud places and Nayoung’s old soul automatically crosses out blaring festivities out of the things she’d like to be in, so the two of them sneak out of the mess in the courtyard and climbs the ladder to the top of a small cube-shaped storage building a bit far from it, but still enough for them to have a clear view of the June night sky.

Correction: Sejeong climbing the ladder while she uses her own shadow to pull Nayoung and her crutches up.

It’s 7 in the evening and student council members are preparing the fireworks. The president especially – one stern-looking Im Nayoung. Instead of making the others her henchmen, she’s the one getting down to work, mingling with the other volunteers.

The two of them are seated cross-legged next to each other with plastic bags littered around them: small fireworks they bought for personal consumption, small snacks to stock in her dorm, and the Nerf toy gun for Heehyun. Nayoung makes a move, pulling the big plastic bag containing the small-scale fireworks close to her, and she starts rummaging it for something.

They haven’t talked much ever since. Sejeong understands; Nayoung is probably thinking about something. She, herself, appreciates the silence. However lonely she’s beginning to feel. Which is, just a tiny bit.

“Sorry for the totally disastrous date.”

Sejeong isn’t sure whether Nayoung said it ironically, unironically, or just something offhanded to fill in the sequestered gaps between them. “Why the sudden melodrama?”

Nayoung takes out her findings, small tube-shaped shells in various colors. Then she faces Sejeong, with a wry smile, and a fleeting glimpse of gloom. “You deserve an apology for sticking with me, Expert in Attracting Bad Luck. Through thick and thin. Health and sick.”

“Aww, the apology’s ten years overdue though?”

“Never mind. You deserve nothing good. Just coals. Even coals couldn’t rival the black of your soul.” To her mocking chortle, Nayoung adds, “If you even have one.”

The laughter dies down bit by bit, disappears under bout of thoughts, getting buried by a whole lot of things unsaid.

“Hey, question.”

“Shoot.”

Nayoung doesn’t look up at all as she works on the firework. Sejeong has her eyes on Nayoung’s side-profile; there’s something attractive about watching her work over something. “I’m not keeping you away from Chungha, right?”

“Nope. Just because I’m dating someone doesn’t mean we have to be joined at the hips.”

“Ew.”

“Metaphorically, pssh.”

“Okay. Good. I don’t want to ruin anyone’s relationship.”

“Believe, I really love her. She’s cool. But I’m sure she’d like some space too.”

“You really love her,”

“I really, really love her.”

They’re interrupted by the explosions coloring the sky; swirls of red, orange, yellow, green, colors she couldn’t name – rivers of neon green glide along the black canvas, splitting sky in half, in quarters as more fireworks are launched to the sky. Though a lot vanishes soon after, the redder ones linger behind, creating an illusion of a giant fire crown. Sejeong watches the sky burn.

“Okay. It’s ready – let me get this baby lit.”

“Nayoung?”

“Yeah?”

Perhaps, she’s high off the heat, the red bruising the sky, or the burn, she quotes the cheesiest line she could muster from her memory, from the horrendous movie they ditched halfway. “How bright would your fire burn for me?”

The Roman candle Nayoung has been working on goes off, spitting fountain of fire, intensely, and at the implication, Sejeong burns along.

At Nayoung’s smile, Sejeong is set ablaze. “This bright.”
 

Notes: [1] And the plot thickens.

[2] Thanks for sticking with me so far ;; and welcome; the real starts now :-)