Joohyun is a summer dream and Seungwan wants to sleep forever.
Pale and lithe; a goddess of the sand and surf, dragging Seungwan into the ocean foam beneath clear blue skies. There’s seaweed in her hair and laughter in her eyes and Seungwan has never been more inspired. Her hands dance, her soul sings, and her head is filled with music she’s never heard before.
(Her loft is filled with canvases of blue and gold. Her dreams are filled with sunlight and laughter and she never wants to wake.)

Joohyun occupies her  thoughts in the autumn.
Seungwan is lying atop leaves of red and gold, holding her hands against the sun, taking in how light and shadow contours flesh and bone. Sun-warmed hands drop onto her face and the world is reduced to fire-tinged shadows and windy thoughts. Many admire the talent of her fingers, but Seungwan is the only one who knows how inept they are. She can bring stone to life and mould glass until it’s worth more than diamonds, and all she wants to do is write a love song she can’t even sing but her hands won’t.
(There’s a disparity between the creativity of her fingers and the desolate condition of her soul, and Seungwan knows that she isn’t brave.)

Joohyun gifts her gloves in the winter.
Seungwan wants to hold Joohyun’s hand: wants to fill in the space between fine-boned fingers with her imperfect, clumsy ones, and drag her into a kiss beneath the streetlights with the star-soaked sky to witness that she’s brave enough for two. Instead, she kisses soft cheeks in thanks and slides soft gloves onto white knuckled-hands. They are warm but her fingers don’t stop shaking.
(They were never cold.)

Joohyun kisses her in the spring.
The cold is still bitter, the frost is still waning, and there’s not a hint of budding green but something still blooms between Seungwan’s ribs. There’s sunlight in Joohyun’s eyes and flowers in her smile and she feels braver than she’s ever been. Seungwan takes hold of Joohyun’s hands and laces their fingers together.
(She doesn’t let go.)