Her breath was white against the biting air and her cheeks were tinted pink; the falling snowflakes dusted her cheeks. As her boots crunched the snow beneath her, she left a faint trail that blended in with the footprints of the other residents. Shivering, Wheein stuffed her gloved hands inside her pockets as she strolled around the city. Since she finished her art project early, she took this opportunity to familiarize herself with the city’s infrastructure.

Realizing that she was now in the shopping district, Wheein was bewildered at the skyscrapers that towered over her. In Jeonju, the buildings were more quaint. She wasn’t used to the sidewalk being cramped to the point that she had to huddle together with complete strangers in order to weave through the dense crowd. She always knew that Jeonju was a fairly big town, but it was never to the point of overpopulation.

It was exciting in a way. Wheein felt that she was a part of something new, different from the routine she had in Jeonju. She was taking a step forward, unable to turn back now.

Wheein stopped in her tracks, turning her head to stare at the storefront windows. Thinking the dresses on display were gorgeous, Wheein tugged off one of her gloves with her teeth and took out her phone from her back pocket. She snapped the photo with a small smile, wondering how she would incorporate the outfits in her art.

Looking up, her gaze went past the mannequin models and landed on two young girls inside the store. They were laughing amongst themselves, in their own world as one of them buried her face in the other’s shoulder.

Wheein frowned slightly, letting her hand drop to her side. She wasn’t used to being alone. In Jeonju, there was always a friend she could rely on to be with her for both the good and the bad times.

She shook her head, driving away her thoughts. She was being silly, she told herself. Even though they took different paths, Wheein and her friend promised to be there for each other— it was their responsibility as best friends. They promised that nothing would change between them.

She felt her phone vibrate in her hand and she stopped reminiscing in favor of checking who was calling her. Her face lit up as she answered the call and held the phone to her ear. Speak of the devil.

“Hello?” she asked.

“Hey, Wheein. It’s Hyejin.”

Wheein gasped, placing her gloved hand over her cheek. “The superstar, Ahn Hyejin, is calling me of all people? Why, what an honor!”

Hyejin laughed, light and pleasant like the snow. “God, what’s wrong with you?” she teased. “I haven’t even made my debut.”

“Not yet,” she corrected while cramming her thick glove into her coat pocket. “This is just for practice. When you finally make your mark, I need to be prepared for situations where strangers ask me to ask for your autograph and I will accept out of the kindness of my heart.”  

Hyejin chuckled once more, evoking a grin to emerge on Wheein’s features. The latter walked away from the store, not minding the chill that flowed through her exposed hand. “How have you been, Hyejin?”   

Wheein listened to Hyejin’s stories of how her training has progressed. She was silent for the most part, only giving the occasional hum to show that she was paying attention, for she didn't want to interrupt her friend nor change the subject.

“Hey,” Hyejin said. “Can I ask you something?”

Wheein blinked, surprised with her sudden change of tone. “Yeah, of course. What is it?”

There was a beat of silence. Wheein lifted her head, observing the way the snow descended slowly. “Wheein, what would you do if I died?”

Wheein’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m asking what would you think, if I just died one day—”

“No, I heard what you said.” Wheein’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you asking that? Is everything alright?”

“Of course, everything’s fine,” Hyejin urged. Wheein pictured Hyejin waving her hand as a sign of dismissal. “I just want to know how you would feel.”

“Do I… really need to answer?” Wheein pursed her lips, reluctant.

“Oh, come on, Wheein!” Hyejin drawled. “Answer this, please? For me?”

“Ah, what’s wrong with you?” Wheein made a disgusted face.

She rubbed the back of her neck, relieved that Hyejin wasn’t with her for once. Otherwise, she would have pointed out how tense Wheein looked. Wheein sighed. “Shouldn't the answer be obvious?” she murmured. “How would I live without you?”

Hyejin didn't respond and Wheein was all too aware of the silence, her face heating up as the seconds passed by. “See? This is exactly why I didn't want to—”

“Me too.”

“Huh?”

“What do you mean ‘huh?’ Shouldn’t the answer be obvious?” Hyejin imitated Wheein, who huffed at the mocking gesture. “I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you either.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Wheein smiled in relief.

Hyejin hummed in agreement. There was a distinct pause. “Hey, Wheein.” she said nonchalantly and suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” It was the truth.

Wheein stopped in her tracks, as if the snow seized her footing. She opened , but stopped herself, thinking.

“Wow, what’s with that reaction?” Hyejin laughed. “You open up to me and I give you a heartfelt response, but when I open up, I get nothing. You’re so cold-hearted sometimes.”

Wheein’s throat felt tight and she found it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

“Anyway,” Hyejin continued. “Let me tell you about this new trainee my company has. Her name’s Byulyi and this one girl already doesn’t like her.”

The rest of Hyejin’s words became a distant blur as Wheein thought to herself. She didn’t take notice of the snowflakes that dusted her shoulders nor the uncovered hand that held her phone. She didn’t take notice of the people that walked around her, seen as simple silhouettes as she stayed still. She could only grasp the way her heart throbbed rapidly because she wasn’t supposed to be affected like this. She was contemplating, realizing.

Wheein stared down at the metal floor, her body swaying with the train and her hand lazily gripping the handle. The train was cramped to the point where there were no more vacant seats and she was forced to stand. On the plus side, she reckoned that it would help prevent her from dozing off and missing her station. She yawned, rubbing at her heavy-lidded eyes.

Six words. Ever since that day, six words filled up inside Wheein. It tried to drown her when she was alone and painting, it tried to drown her when she found herself distracted in class, it tried to drown her when she was alone with her thoughts at night and she couldn’t sleep. It threatened to spill over when she talked to Hyejin.

Her pocket began to buzz around the same time the train halted and opened its gates. She unlocked her phone, her stomach twisting when she saw who sent the message.

Have fun at school, you future Picasso, Hyejin wrote, followed by a smiling emoticon.

Pedestrians brushed by Wheein, but she failed to notice them filing outside. Nonetheless, she couldn’t move nor breathe.

Tell her the truth, she thought to herself.

Thanks Hyejin! Have a good practice, she sent instead.

Wheein drummed a beat against her leg, the rain being the only sound in the otherwise vacant studio. She neglected her unfinished painting in favor of going through her phone. She sighed, staring at the last conversation she had with Hyejin. Her thumb hovered over the screen. Just do it already.

She typed the six words that dwelled in her mind for weeks now, but didn’t send it. She pondered if it was more appropriate to call Hyejin. Because this was personal and out of the blue, even though the truth in the message wasn’t sudden for Wheein at all. The truth clung to her like water until it began pulling her down with every step to the point where she couldn’t deny its existence.

But she doubted that she would be able to tell the truth if she called Hyejin. Wheein preferred texting rather than having a one-on-one conversation on the phone. Then, she wouldn’t have to hear Hyejin’s laugh or teasing voice when they joked around. Wheein wouldn’t have to worry about leaving Hyejin with silence when failed to let words flow out. Wheein wouldn’t be forced to listen to the dead air when she told the truth and Hyejin didn’t know what to say.

Before Wheein could make a decision, she caught sight of three dots in the corner of the screen and she stopped herself from pressing send. She wondered what was on Hyejin’s mind. Unlike Wheein, she usually favored to communicate through voice.  

Hey Wheein… do you ever wonder if you made the wrong decision? Like in attending art school.

Wheein’s eyes widened slightly. She glanced down at her own message, immediately erasing the six words and replying with something else.

Not really, no. Um… are you okay Hyejin? This doesn’t sound like you at all.

When Hyejin sent her answer, it took a long time for Wheein to respond. Not because she didn’t know what to say, but rather because she couldn’t believe Hyejin’s words.

I just feel like all of my training is for nothing. I think I made a mistake when I came to Seoul.

Wheein frowned, questioning what caused Hyejin’s rare uncertainty. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. She had to snap Hyejin out of it. Do you still love singing, Hyejin?

Huh? Well, yeah, of course I do. More than anything. I don’t see how that has to do with anything though.

What Wheein said was anything but a lie, coming straight from the heart. Well, that’s exactly why going to Seoul wasn’t a mistake! I know that you might be struggling right now, but it’s all going to pay off. When you debut, everyone is going to love your singing as much as I do. You shouldn't let anything hold you back.

The fidgeting of her fingers ceased then, her hand stilling. Her hand curled up into a fist, her nails dragging across her leg. Wheein read over her message slowly, letting the words sink in. You shouldn’t let anything hold you back. The truth splashed on her like freezing water. She felt like she was dropped in the frigid ocean waves she walked by most of her life, her heart thudding out of realization, drowning.

She was never going to tell Hyejin the truth. Wheein can’t— she couldn’t do it.

Wheein blinked when her phone buzzed once more, her heartbeat decreasing while her goosebumps lingered. She glanced down. Yeah, you’re right Wheein. I was disheartened at first, but like you said, I can’t give up! Thanks for not giving up on me.

Wheein wrote a reply, but stopped herself from sending the message. She realized she subconsciously typed in the six words she told herself she would never say, instead of a simple “you’re welcome.” She decided to not reply at all, thinking it was best to erase the six words from her mind first.

Taking her paintbrush from her easel, Wheein stuffed her phone in her front pocket. She continued painting as the rain fell harder, hoping to forget.

Wheein switched on the television, watching Hyejin’s debut. Hyejin’s smile was radiant, her movements natural as she basked in the audience’s reaction.

Wheein was happy for her. When the performance was over, she turned it back off, the silence filling the room. She turned to look at her phone that laid on the countertop. She thought of congratulating Hyejin and let her arm reach out, but let it fall short when she remembered that she couldn’t do that. She scowled and leaned her head back on the arm cushion, closing her eyes. She was exhausted.

It was dim outside and the only thing Wheein could see through her window was the way the rain pelted the glass. She huffed, frustrated as she pushed her blank paper to the corner of her table. She decided to listen to the rain as if it were a melody rather than mull over an idea for a drawing that she was probably going to hate later. However, her concentration was broken when she heard a chime resound from her phone.

She lifted an eyebrow, grabbing the device as she lit up the lock screen. Her stomach stirred, dread filling her like water that was in danger of overflowing.

Hyejin’s name was plastered across the screen, the notification of ‘Thirteen unread messages’ displayed underneath. Wheein knew that the messages weren’t all from one occasion, but rather from the different attempts Hyejin tried to start a conversation that Wheein ignored. Wheein frowned, speculating why Hyejin texted her all of a sudden. Hyejin’s last text was a month ago.

Wheein set her phone down and was about to ignore her for the thirteenth time, but spotted the clock on her phone. She realized it was one in the morning. Why would Hyejin text her so late?

Wheein felt herself worry, her eyes repeatedly sneaking glances at her phone when she tried to take her mind off Hyejin. Maybe she’s in trouble. But even if she was, why would she tell me and not call the police?

Though she had her suspicions, she found herself unlocking her phone and checking the message thread. Wheein just needed to check, to ease her mind and move on. She won't tell Hyejin.

She read the first message. Hope you have a good day at school! She scrolled down to the fourth message. Hello? Earth to Wheein? She looked over the sixth message. Hey. Are you okay? You haven't been responding. The ninth message. Wheein, did I do something? The eleventh message. I'm sorry.

Wheein read the latest message. Her body tremored, her hands gripping at her knees tightly. I miss you.

Rain streamed down Wheein’s face and she put a hand over , hoping to muffle her sobs. She doubled forward, her head leaning against the edge of the table as she clutched at her chest. She wanted to tell her the six words— the truth, but knew she couldn’t. It was too late anyway.

A knock resonated from behind her, Wheein snapping up in shock. “Hey, roomie?” Myung-Hee tapped on Wheein’s door a few more times. “Are you okay in there? It sounds like you’re crying.”

Wheein wiped at her eyes with her long sleeves, turning around to face the entrance of her bedroom. “I’m fine,” she said. She flinched, hearing the stuffiness in her own voice.

Myung-Hee must’ve heard it too, for she didn’t say anything and instead opened the door and peeked her head inside. Her brown hair was styled in a high ponytail that fell in waves; it bounced slightly as she looked Wheein over with a concerned face. “I’ll be right back.” Myung-Hee shut the door.

Wheein watched her leave, groaning as she slapped her hands over her face in embarrassment. She wasn’t that close with Myung-Hee. They were on friendly terms, but only to the point where they greeted each other in the morning and if they happened to cross paths between classes. And now she witnessed Wheein crying like she was a middle school girl over her best friend. Just perfect.

Myung-Hee came back with a box of tissues and a bottle of water, handing over the items to Wheein. “Here you go.”

“Oh, thank you,” Wheein meekly said. She took the items and set them on the table, her eyes downcast and looking away from the other girl. She wished that Myung-Hee would leave, lest she embarrassed herself even further.

Instead, Myung-Hee sat down in Wheein’s bed, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and her hands supporting her head. “Are you okay?”

Wheein nodded, twisting the bottle cap open. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Myung-Hee hummed. “I can tell you’re lying by the way you refuse to look at me,” she joked.

Wheein winced, her eyes squeezing shut, and the other girl noticed.

“Wait, sorry I wasn’t trying to be mean!” Myung-Hee straightened her posture, rubbing the back of her neck. “I was trying to make the situation lighter.”

Finally, Wheein directed her gaze at her. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean any harm,” she whispered. A tense moment passed. “Do you mind telling me what happened?” Myung-Hee asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

Wheein bit her lip, uncertain. “I… had to break it off with a friend,” she admitted. “My best friend actually.” She hoped that would be a suitable answer for Myung-Hee. It wasn’t.

Myung-Hee gave a sympathetic frown and reached forward to pat Wheein’s shoulder, careful to not put too much force. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I—”  Wheein stopped herself. “No,” she forced out. It was the truth. “In fact, I’d rather just forget the whole thing.” Sighing, she leaned back on her chair. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Myung-Hee’s eyes widened. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because you’re trying to comfort me,” Wheein said. “And I’m giving you a hard time.”

Myung-Hee chuckled then and Wheein shot her a confused look. “You’re going through a hard time,” she said. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for being honest.”

“But—”

“If anything, shouldn’t I be the one saying sorry? After all, I barged into your room without asking for your permission.”

Wheein paused, thinking. “Technically, you should,” she said. “But you already apologized for something else. I’ll seem like a jerk if I make you do it again.”

Myung-Hee scoffed. “That’s your only reason?”

A small smile creeped up on Wheein’s face, Myung-Hee’s banter rubbing off on her. Trying to keep it cool, she shrugged. “Pretty much.”

They stared each other down until Myung-Hee’s facade crumbled and a giggle spilled out of her lips. Wheein followed her example, her smile wider and more genuine.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Myung-Hee leaned back on the mattress, her arms supporting her weight. “By the way,” she piped up suddenly. “What’s your favorite food?”

Wheein’s eyebrows raised. “You know,” she said as she propped her arm on the back of her chair. “You’re kinda weird.”

“Asking for one’s preference is weird?” Myung-Hee asked.

“Asking what someone’s favorite food after they just stop crying is weird,” she elaborated.

Myung-Hee held up her hands in mock defense. “Hey, you’re the one that said you’d rather forget about the friend you were talking about. I’m trying to help.”

Wheein thought of retorting, but figured that she had a point. “I really like liver,” she answered instead.

“Liver?” Myung-Hee’s mouth fell open. “Did I hear that right?”

“Don’t knock it til you try it.”

Myung-Hee made a curt grunt. “Oh, I’ve tried it,” she said. “Have to admit, not the best taste.”

Wheein gasped, placing her hand over . “Wow, I didn’t know I was living with a connoisseur now.”

Myung-Hee rested her hands on her hips with a cheeky grin. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

For the rest of the night, they asked each other trivial questions ranging from their childhood to their aspirations— anything that came to mind. Wheein smiled softly as she watched Myung-Hee laugh over a joke Wheein couldn’t even remember now. Myung-Hee’s laughter made her unable to hear the sound of the rain behind Wheein. For just a moment, Wheein forgot.
______________________________________________________________________________

“Hello, Wheein? Did I lose you?”

Wheein was brought back to her senses and was the one to break eye contact with Hyejin. She fumbled for her phone and held it close to her face. “No,” she said. “I’m still here, sorry about that.”

Myung-Hee sighed with relief. “It’s fine,” she answered. “I was beginning to worry for a second there.”

“Yeah,” she said hesitantly, feeling Hyejin’s gaze bore into her. “Um— Myung-Hee…Myung-Hee I have to go.”

“Oh, already?” she asked. She paused. “Is it because she’s there?”

Wheein’s blood ran cold because Myung-Hee was still on speakerphone. Wheein knew Hyejin could hear everything and Wheein knew that she knew who Myung-Hee was referring to. “I-I’ll talk to you later, Myung-Hee!”

“Wait, hold—” Wheein ended the call, letting her phone settle on the mattress once more. The silence in the room was heavy and tense. She gulped, turning around to face Hyejin.

Laughing awkwardly, Wheein tucked a hair strand behind her ear. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you earlier. I was busy talking to Myung-Hee.” She cringed as soon as the words left . She already knew that stupid, she was there. She hung on to the possibility that Hyejin wasn’t listening to her conversation the entire time.

Hyejin didn’t say a word, crossing her arms over her chest. Wheein squirmed under Hyejin’s scrutiny. Her eyes weren’t filled with hatred but rather as if she expected Wheein to say something. This made Wheein feel worse. She had to break away from this predicament.

“Did my mom ask you to come fetch me?” Wheein stood up from her bed. “We should hurry then, before she gets upset.” Wheein stepped towards the open doorway, but stopped when Hyejin seized the doorknob.

“No,” Hyejin finally said. She shut the door, her back turning away from the other in the process. Wheein’s eyes widened, watching her only way of fleeing become closed off by the reason she needed to escape. Wheein wrapped her arms around herself and clutched onto her elbow.

Hyejin sighed, the rain outside making up for the frigid tension between them. “I want to talk to you,” she said, turning to meet Wheein’s eyes. The grip on Wheein’s arm tightened. “We both need to talk.”

Wheein found it difficult to breathe, struggling to maintain her gaze towards Hyejin. She tore her eyes away in favor of looking at the floor.

Hyejin frowned. “Why did you never mention that Myung-Hee confessed to you?” she asked. “You said she was just a friend.”

Straight to the point, like always. “She is a friend,” Wheein defended. “Her… confession was recent.” She rubbed circles on her arm to remind herself to calm down. “I haven’t given her an answer.”

“How long ago was that?”

Wheein thought that there was no reason to lie about Myung-Hee. “Before I left for Jeonju.”

Biting her bottom lip, Hyejin fixated her gaze to the window and watched the raindrops for a while. “Is that why you rejected me in the photobooth?”

Wheein’s mouth was dry and her face was burning. “No,” she blurted out. “I wasn’t thinking of Myung-Hee at all.” It was the truth.

Hyejin swiveled her head towards Wheein. “Then, why?”

The hold on Wheein’s sleeve balled up into a fist. “I don’t want to tell you.”

Hyejin scoffed, her voice higher. “You don’t want to tell me?”

Wheein refused to respond, scowling. She wanted this to end. She wanted to leave Jeonju already. She wanted to forget.

A bitter laugh flowed out of Hyejin’s lips, causing the other to lift her head. Hyejin ran her fingers through her hair, hurt gleaming in her eyes. “You don’t want to tell me,” she repeated. Her hands raised in a shrug. “Of course you don’t,” she whispered. “You never want to tell me anything.”

That wasn’t true. “Let’s just drop this, Hyejin.”

“You want me to—” Hyejin rubbed at her eyes, her jaw clenching. “I’m not ing stupid Wheein!” she spat.

Wheein froze, staring at the fists that trembled at Hyejin’s sides.

“Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you wait for time to pass when you’re with me? As if you can’t wait to leave? I pretended that everything was fine because I thought things would go back to normal, but I can’t anymore. Not when you push me away everytime I try to get close to you. Not when you run off to that —”

“Leave her,” Wheein gritted through her teeth. “Out of this.” She shouldn’t be talking. She shouldn’t be giving Hyejin a reason to continue this conversation. She shouldn’t be with Hyejin.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Hyejin jeered. “You probably do it all the time. I bet you tell her about how much you can’t stand me when I’m gone.”

“That has nothing to do with you.”

“Has nothing… what’s wrong with you?” Hyejin asked. “It has everything to do with me! I’m supposed to be your best friend, Wheein. We promised each other that nothing would change between us! And now you won’t even look at me.”

She flinched at the mention of their vow. “You were Hyejin!” Wheein yelled. “You were my best friend.”

It was Hyejin’s turn to be speechless. Her fists loosened, her fingers drooping.

Wheein didn’t want to do this anymore. She wanted to forget and it could never happen if Hyejin kept insisting on returning to her side.

“You say you’re not stupid, but then why do you refuse to see the obvious?” Wheein took a deep breath. “Can’t you take a hint? I don’t want to be with you anymore.” It was a lie. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I ignored you— your texts, on purpose Hyejin. What made you think it was going to be any different when we met in Jeonju?” She didn’t mean it. “Things can’t go back to the way they were. They just can’t!”

Guilt brimmed over her, but it didn’t stop Wheein from checking Hyejin’s reaction, from checking the damage she caused. Wheein was horrified at the ambiguous look she was given. The lack of anger, the lack of hatred towards her— the lack of anything of what she was hoping for. Hyejin’s eyes scanned her up and down, as if she could find a fault in Wheein’s statement.

Hyejin took a step forward. Wheein took two steps back. Blinking, Hyejin refused to take heed as she approached the other. Wheein thought nothing could be worse, make her heart beat faster in fear than the day in the photobooth. She was wrong.

The back of Wheein’s legs hit the bed frame and she fell backwards, landing on the mattress. Hyejin bent forward, her leg fitting between Wheein’s as her hands were placed between Wheein’s head. She was trapped. Wheein closed her eyes, bracing herself for a slap, a blow— anything that would hurt her because that’s what she deserved.

A drop of water splashed onto Wheein’s cheek instead. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the sight of Hyejin’s facade falling into pieces. Rain cascaded down Hyejin’s cheeks and a wave of regret washed over Wheein. “You’re right,” Hyejin whispered. Wheein realized the arms encasing her were slightly quivering.

“It’s not like I forgot about the texts,” Hyejin continued. “I don’t think I can ever forget about how lost I was. I just kept wondering how I messed up. I thought… I thought seeing you in Jeonju was a chance for me to make things right. For things to go back to normal.” She sighed, sounding defeated. “I guess I am stupid after all for thinking that.”

Wheein’s eyes shook, begging her to stop. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to blame Wheein, not herself. Hyejin couldn’t see the plea because her gaze was clouded with rain.

“Can you at least tell me why?” Hyejin asked. “When did I make a mistake? What did I do?”

Words failed Wheein. You didn’t do anything.

Hyejin chuckled when she knew that Wheein wouldn’t answer like always. Her head bent down, her hair covering Wheein’s view of her face. “Forget it,” she said. “You don’t need to tell me.”

She stood and separated herself from Wheein, finally stepping away from the bed, and Wheein felt the cold rush from Hyejin’s absence. “It was probably because you felt like I was neglecting you,” she concluded. “It must’ve been because I made you feel ignored when I left for Seoul.”

Wheein lifted herself up with one hand, just enough to look at Hyejin. The latter was staring out the window, her expression hidden from Wheein.

“I won’t bother you anymore,” Hyejin decided. Wheein felt her heart stop. “When I leave Jeonju, I’ll stop trying to contact you.”

Dread was spilling over Wheein. “Hyejin,” she forced out.

She ignored her. “I’m sorry. I need a moment to clear my head.”

Turning around, Hyejin opened the door and walked out of the room and left Wheein behind. It was quiet, even the roaring of the rain failed to reach Wheein’s ears. She should be relieved. Hyejin claimed that she was letting her go. Wheein would finally be able to forget for good.

What did I do wrong? Nothing. It wasn’t Hyejin’s fault. It was hers.

Wheein sprung out of her bed, her mind flooded with thoughts as she went out the door and descended the stairs at the end of the hall. She looked around, her eyes spotting practically every person in town but Hyejin. Just when she was about to check the dining hall, she felt a tug on her arm. She turned around to find Hyejin’s manager glaring at her.

“What did you do?” she asked.

Wheein looked around the woman, trying to catch Hyejin instead of answering. “Where did she go?”

“She left,” the manager hissed.

“What do you mean she left?”

“I mean—” She pointed to the front door. “She ran out without an umbrella. When I tried to call her back, she just ignored me and went down the street.”

Wheein’s eyes widened. She wasted no time as she snatched a random umbrella from the rack and unlocked the front door.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the manager asked, watching Wheein struggle to put on her shoes.

Pausing, Wheein turned to her. “I’m going to get Hyejin back.” She unfolded her umbrella and dashed out to her front porch.

The manager peeked her head out of the door. “Wait!” she called out. “Do you even know where she went?”

Wheein paid no attention to the woman’s words as she hurried down the street. She sighed. “What is wrong with those two?” she muttered to herself. She narrowed her eyes at the rain. “Should I go after them?”

The rain rumbled, suddenly plunging with greater force. She blinked and immediately shook her head. “I trust that they’ll resolve their conflict by themselves.”

Wheein’s clothing wasn’t fit for the weather. Her sleeves were long but thin. She had forgone wearing a jacket because she didn’t picture herself outside in the heavy rain. She gasped when she saw a silhouette walking ahead. Without an umbrella. “Hyejin!”

The other girl turned, widening her eyes. She ran down the street, attempting to widen the gap between them.

“Hold on!” Wheein felt her heart throb rapidly in her chest. Her breath was freezing as she panted. “Wa—”

Her feet slipped and she tumbled down, crashing into the asphalt as her umbrella dropped from her hand. She groaned, clutching at her knee. She peered up in time to watch Hyejin turn right, leaving Wheein behind.

“No,” she whispered. She brought herself to her knees. She didn’t care about the rain that soaked her clothes and hair through and through. She wiped away the water that attempted to spill from her eyes and wiped away the stray pebbles that stuck to her cheek.

She grunted as she stood and picked up her umbrella. She wasn’t going to leave Hyejin. Not again. She made a break for it, following the path that Hyejin took.

Halfway down the block, she found Hyejin. For some reason, she stopped running in favor of staring at a building. “Hyejin!” She didn’t react.

Wheein slumped forward, her hands on her knees when she caught up to her. She was gasping for air, hastily lifting the umbrella over themselves. It didn’t really help either of them. She didn’t realize that Hyejin was looking at their middle school until she protected themselves from the harsh climate.

Hyejin turned to Wheein, her eyes widening when she saw the other’s attire. “What happened?”

She didn’t answer. Her breathing slowly became even as she studied Hyejin’s features. Rain— no, no it wasn’t rain. Hyejin’s eyes were full of tears, spilling down her already wet cheeks.

The moment Hyejin cried, Wheein knew she made a mistake. She thought that she was helping Hyejin by distancing herself. She thought she’d move on if she forgot about her. But it was useless. She was wrong. There was no point if Hyejin couldn’t forget about her.    

“It wasn’t your fault,” Wheein said. “It’s mine.”

Hyejin stared at her, confused.

“I never thought you abandoned me or ignored me when you went to Seoul. I ignored you because I…” She thought back to the day she told herself that she was never going to tell the truth and it was almost as if she was in the art studio and Hyejin was in Seoul. But she wasn’t. She was here with Wheein. “I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“You what?” Hyejin frowned. “How would you hold me back?”

Wheein took a deep breath, her hand over her chest. “When you told me that you thought going to Seoul was a mistake, I knew you were just doubting yourself. I knew that if you decided to give up and come back to Jeonju, you would only regret it. Because I know that you love singing more than anything.”

She trembled, the hold on the umbrella slightly wavering. Six words rang in her head, threatening to break out. “But I… I wanted to tell you something that was in my mind for so long and I knew that I couldn’t. If I told you, it would have only given you a reason— an excuse to give up on your dream.”

Her vision turned unclear and Wheein realized how terrified she was, realizing how much she shook and realizing that she was breaking down in tears. Hyejin reached out to wrap her hand over Wheein’s, steadying the umbrella. “What was it?” she asked.

The six words filled up Wheein and she finally let them out. “I missed you,” she whispered. She gulped, shutting her eyes as more tears fell. “I love you.” It was the truth.

Wheein felt so exposed. Before attempting to let Hyejin go, Wheein dreaded the idea of telling Hyejin over the phone. It was nothing compared to this. She had nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

She flinched when she felt a hand caress her face. She opened her eyes, witnessing Hyejin wipe away her tears. Six words. “I broke our promise,” Wheein said. “I’m sor—”

Hyejin leaned forward, pressing her lips against Wheein’s. Wheein gasped, not daring to push away. With her free hand, Wheein clutched onto Hyejin’s arm.

Hyejin pulled away and Wheein felt herself lean closer to her on instinct. “I love you too,” she said. Closing the distance between them, Hyejin traced her fingers on Wheein’s cheek as they kissed again.

Wheein held herself back that day in the art studio, Wheein held herself back that day in the photobooth, but not now. Hyejin’s lips were soft and the way Wheein pressed back was desperate.

Despite the umbrella protecting the duo from the imposing rain, Wheein felt like she was drowning. Her grip on Hyejin’s arm tightened and she sighed into the kiss. She was drowning and Hyejin was her life support.

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[Author's Note]: Hi guys! Sorry I was really late with this update, I actually ended up with more scenes than I planned. I sure hope what's in this chapter makes up for it though.

Also, the next chapter will be the finale of this fic! Are you guys excited?

P.S. The quotes "What would you do if I died?" and "How would I live without you?" are real quotes they said to each other. Hyejin shared that conversation in a radio interview. Fun Fact, it was actually what made me ship Wheesa in the first place.