God, it doesn't make sense.

Byul has been your best friend since the four of you started training as a group. Still is, two years after debut. So this nervousness around her,  this flutter in your stomach, this feeling deep inside your chest, none of these make sense. Not when you know her like the back of your hand.

When you know that whenever the members gang up on you, she's the ringleader.

That when interviews scare her she grabs your hand and squeezes until you lose sensation in your fingers.

That she gets stinky after practice.

That she’s too annoying. Too greasy. Too… female.

And yet.

And yet you feel like this. Whatever this is.

You’ve never really thought about it. Never had to because well, it’s simply… not possible. You’re not---

“...ssi. Solar-ssi!”

Your musings are interrupted by the make-up artist waving her hands in front of your face. “Solar-ssi, I said you were ready. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You remember where you are and immediately vacate the chair, frantically apologizing and assuring the makeup artist that you’re fine. She chuckles at your antics and then calls Byul over for her turn. Byul taps you on the shoulder, and you jump. She laughs at you, telling you to “get your out of the way”.  You hate that such a simple interaction flusters you. You tuck yourself into an unobtrusive ball on the couch across the makeup station and watch Byul get her makeup done.

The sight captivates you. She’s always beautiful, of course, but makeup transforms her into a different person. She draws strength from it, makes it some kind of armor. You love that it shows you a different aspect of her identity, that even though makeup doesn’t change who she is fundamentally, it still distinguishes Mamamoo’s Moonbyul from your Byul.

“It’s the concert, isn’t it?” she asks, eyes closed as the makeup artist applies color on her eyelids. She never could ignore you, no matter how much you tried. When she opens her eyes and sees your confused expression in the mirror, she clarifies, “A while ago. You looked nervous. You were thinking about the concert, weren't you?”

“No, I was thinking about you,” you want to say. You’ve always been an honest person, but ever since that night in your living room, that’s become increasingly difficult. Byul’s not completely wrong, though. You are nervous about the concert and now that she brought it up, your anxieties resurface.

Two weeks. What if you screw up? What if the fans aren’t satisfied? There’s still so much to do, so much to worry about. You really can’t afford to get distracted now.

You tell Byul that she’s right. She grins at you, twirling her hand as if to wave your worries away. “You’ll be fine. Everyone loves you.”

You wonder if “everyone” still includes her.

And then you wonder why you think of that.

Surprisingly, you figure it out the following week.

Byul makes a habit of rehearsing for her solo stage until early morning. You worry for her, but you know that she’s overcoming one of her biggest insecurities so instead of berating her, you join her. You practice the high note that you used to always miss in “I Will Always Love You”, and you practice the choreography in “y Back”.

Sometimes, you catch Byul staring.

That’s fair, you think because whenever Byul practices her dance solo, you can never take your eyes off of her. You wish her performance was longer, but you guess having to write her own lyrics and sing in front of 7000 people alone is stressing her out enough.

“Don't forget,” she sings, and you know that you could never.

“I only act pretty for you,” and god, you wish.

“We've been in love since since June,”  and no, it’s definitely been much longer than that.

And then it finally makes sense.