You twirl the baseball hat idly between your hands, staring at nothing really. The glaring white lights in the gleaming dressing room make your eyes water and your head ache dully. You pinch the bridge of your nose with your index finger and thumb, trying to rub away the growing migraine. The faint sounds of the performers outside catch your attention—no it’s not your group’s turn yet.

Not even close, you think.

Sighing, you lean back against the wall and prop your legs up on the low table in front of you, exercising extra caution in order to not knock over the cartons of uneaten food. You don’t feel like eating or rehearsing your rap. You don’t even feel like performing, if you’re completely frank with yourself. Actually, you probably did want to perform, but something about being in this room just made you feel listless and annoyed with the world.

The sudden shrill shrieks of thousands of teenage girls echo throughout the halls, making you wince and cover your ears.

Can’t they tone it down, you huff.

You hate always being the first one done with makeup and waiting for everyone else to finish. Well, no, you didn’t hate the waiting exactly. You just hated waiting alone.

If only she would come.

Grumbling, you close your eyes. Might as well take a nap. They’d probably need another hour to finish changing into their costumes, with the whole Santa Claus Christmas show KBS was putting on this year. You yawn and place your hat over your eyes. Maybe your headache will go away when you wake up, but you don’t feel hopeful. Allowing yourself to sink into the worn leather of the couch, you slow your breathing and relax.

You’re just about to nod off when you hear the door swing open quietly. Light footsteps dance across the hardwood floor, footsteps you’d recognize anywhere, even if you were deaf because you’ve become so attuned to their mere rhythm. Someone gently lifts the cap off your face and kneels beside you. You don’t open your eyes yet when soft hands caress your cheek, pushing back your heavily styled bangs from your forehead. Fingers carefully comb through your hair as someone starts humming the chorus of the first song you will perform tonight. You fight a grin and finally open your eyes to see an angel in white gazing down at you, a breathtaking smile lighting up her features.

Krystal.

Sitting up, you pull her into a tight embrace, burying your nose in her long brown hair. She smells of vanilla and sunshine--a fragrance you can get deliciously drunk on, but never enough of. She giggles and shyly kisses your neck, your cheek. You turn your head and give her a kiss on the nose, chuckling as she leans back.

“Amber you look so funny! I have glitter on!” she smirks, wiping your lips with the cuff of her sleeve.

“Do I look like I care?” you retort, pulling her in to pepper her face with more kisses.

“Fine. But when anyone asks why you have on pink glitter lipstick, don’t blame me.”

“What? It’s pink glitter? Ugh disgusting!”

You hastily use her sleeve to rub your mouth clean and she playfully smacks you.

“You’re making my outfit dirty! Here use this instead.”

She smirks and you realize exactly how very close she is. You gulp and blink quickly, hands gripping her shirt. She notices and bites her lower lip, smiling slightly as your eyes flick down.

“Babe, look at me.”

You slowly meet her gaze.

And she slides her hands up your arms and tenderly holds your face, regarding you like you’re the prize and she’s the winner, but that’s so wrong because you’re the ridiculously lucky one and anyone can see that. And you want to tell her what you’re thinking but she silences you with this burning look and you freeze, your heart thumping wildly in your chest as she leans in, her eyes fluttering closed, those long lashes midnight black against her pale skin, her nose brushing yours, her full lips slightly parted. She hesitates for a split second, waiting to see if you’ll pull away but you won’t, not now, not ever, and she knows that it’s okay, that it’s more than okay, that you want her to, so she swiftly closes the distance, pressing her warm, warm lips to yours.

To love is to receive a glimpse of heaven.

You have never stood further from hell.