momo’s morning walk is a sacred ritual. she wakes up before the birds, and takes her time to stroll down the familiar path into the woods and to the lake.

she groans, stretching her arms over her head, relishing the morning breeze. she sniffs, the unfamiliar scent reaching her sensitive nose, before the source comes into her line of sight. it is vanilla, and vanilla never grows in that area.

momo follows it with careful steps.

on a large rock near the lake sits the foreigner, eyes lost in the serenity of the view; the sun peeking from behind the mountains, its orange rays rend against the surface of the water, gently disturbing the flow.

she is dressed in black from head to toe, and momo wonders if the girl is mourning the moon.

her red hair falls perfectly down her back, and the former doesn’t realize that she’s been staring for too long until-

“like what you’re seeing?” asks the red-haired with a playful tone, approaching her.

“usually people go here for the view, but i guess i’m quite a view myself,” she jokes, chuckling at her own words, and momo is too fascinated to disapprove, or agree.

she stops when she notices the unresponsive girl standing a few steps away from her, eyes on her.

“this is my first time seeing you here,” momo finally manages to utter.

“im nayeon,” the stranger introduces, offering a handshake.

momo stares at nayeon’s hand, before she looks up at the girl again.

“hmm,” she hums, “hirai momo,” says the brunette, her hand rubbing her nape, as her gaze falls on nayeon’s hand again.

hesitantly, she reaches for the stranger, tries to shake off the thoughts at the back of her mind telling her not to shake her hand.

as if gravitated to the beauty in front of her, no warning sign succeeds at convincing her that it reeks like a mistake she would regret in the future.

all of her alarms go off at the physical contact that comes to a halt at the speed of light, by both of them, the two pulling their hands abruptly. it’s not the cliché “she felt electricity,” nor “the fireworks of the new year coming to life the moment they touch,” it is something dangerous, morbid, destructive.

im nayeon’s touch is colder than the christmas snowfall. hirai momo’s skin is warmer than a hot summer day. locking eyes, they both realize that their meeting should have never happened.

momo is the first to step back, im nayeon’s touch lingering strangely warmly. the latter flinches, momo’s skin poke hers like a frostbite.

“you shouldn’t be here,” momo scoffs before she hurries down the familiar path, and disappears into the woods.