(slightly risqué)

“You said you could cook....”

A certain Wendy Son holds her breath.

“You weren’t lying. That was amazing.” Irene dazzles her with a satisfied smile as she pats the corners of with a disposable napkin.

Wendy visibly relaxes, chuckling in relief. “See, I knew you’d like it.”

“No you didn’t. You were watching my every move like a hawk every time I picked up a piece of salad.”

“Okay, fine. I was nervous. I’ve never cooked for anyone before! Besides Taeyeon. But she doesn’t count.”

Irene laughs at her remark about Taeyeon, and Wendy laughs along with her.

A smooth sailing first date – to Wendy’s surprise, she was more nervous than usual. It might really be Irene making her this way. She’s glad the dinner went ok. In fact, elated. She had thought hard about how to execute today ever since they haphazardly planned to meet for dinner over text some days ago. Irene had just returned and this the first time Wendy has seen her since she left for Jeju.

It’s nice to prepare something like this for someone else. And it’s nice to be excited about something for once. Wendy hasn’t felt like this in a while.

“More wine?” She asks, getting up to go to the fridge.

“Yes, please.” Irene finishes the contents of her glass cup. “I’m surprised you had wine prepared too. It’s vintage too. I didn’t think you would –

“Drink expensive wine?” Wendy counters, half joking, but she’s glad Irene is able to take the joke lightheardedly,

“I meant to say I didn’t think you would drink wine at all.”

“Don’t I look like a connoisseur?” Wendy came back with the cold bottle and attempted to pour it into Irene’s glass like, say, a butler would.

“Not in the slightest.” Irene smirks before lightly sipping the frosty beverage.

Wendy doesn’t drink wine. In fact, she strays far from it.

However, there just happened to be an unopened bottle of wine that probably would cost Wendy a pretty penny had she paid for it herself. She doubts Taeyeon would miss it, since she doesn’t even drink wine either. But the question is, where did it come from?

Irene asked the same question earlier, and Wendy didn’t have an answer. In fact, it was slightly bothering her that she didn’t know where it came from.

“Wendy?” Irene pipes up, bringing Wendy back from her deep thought.

“Hm?”

“Cheers.”

Right, there are more important things to think about right now.

Like this girl beside her, dressed in casual clothes, minimal makeup, and still looking like Heaven on Earth, who made plans with Wendy, is looking at Wendy, maybe wants to date Wendy and maybe sometime later on wants to be with Wendy.

Way more important.

Wendy clinks their glasses together,

“Cheers, Joohyun.”

----

After the dishes are done, (Wendy washed, Irene dried) and the kitchen is cleaned and sorted out, the pair reconvene in the living room, finishing what was left of the wine. They sit close, intimately close together, knees touching, with Wendy crossing her legs and facing Irene while the latter leans her body against the sofa.

“Is Taeyeon going to come home?” Irene asks, sipping her wine.

“I’m not sure,” Wendy hums, “I think she’ll be in the studio until late tonight.”

“Oh, she has a customer?” Naturally, Irene puts her glass down and reaches over to move a stray hair behind Wendy’s ear. Her fingers trail, and rest on Wendy’s knee, and as if out of habit, she can feel the soft side of Irene’s thumb, running a small line,

back and forth, in a calming rhythm.

Wendy almost visibly shivers, her cheeks warm.

From the wine.

And Irene.

Her soft fingers.

“Um, no.” Wendy shakes her head. “Some nights, she writes songs.”

If Wendy wasn’t holding her cup, which was cold and wet to touch, she could swear that her body was on fire.

“Oh, impressive.” Irene looks surprised, “Like to release them?”

Wendy chuckles at her reaction, “No. She just... writes and makes songs. For herself, really. Sometimes I listen.”

“And are they good?”

“Very. But she’s also my best friend so you’d have to hear them yourself.”

“Hmmm...” Irene hums, looking skeptical. “And do you write songs?”

“Yup. Sometimes great ideas come to me too, y’know.” Wendy replies.

Wendy’s eyes trail to the hand that is sitting on her knee (partially, her thigh) so naturally, like it was meant to be there. Her hand is need, fingers dainty and porcelain, she wears several small rings. Her fingernails are plain but clean and manicured. Even her hands are primp and proper.

Wendy reaches a shy hand that slips her own fingers in the spaces left by Irene’s, faintly brushing them against each other. Wendy doesn’t dare look at Irene, she feels like an amateur at this point.

Naturally, like she’s experienced, Irene continues the conversation, “And will you let me listen to those?” Irene asks, but Wendy notices that they’re both looking at their hands,

that are not really holding each other, rather, they brush sides, flirting with a nonexistent line between the two of them.

Wendy shakes her head, “Hmm.. I don’t think so.”

At this, Irene looks up, “What? Why not?”

Wendy eyes glance at hers before returning to playing with Irene’s fingers, “It’s embarrassing.” She looks back down because she’s blushing,

and also, because the feel of Irene’s hand in hers,

occupies a lot of thought in Wendy’s brain,

that it’s hard to think.

She notices Irene scooting even closer, as if there was any space left between them.

“I’ve heard you sing.” Irene’s tone tells her that she’s serious, “And you’re really good.”

When Wendy looks up,

she realizes how close Irene really is.

She was too busy looking down, to not realize that Irene was practically within centimeters.

Wendy lets out a small laugh, “Thanks.” She smirks, “But I knew that.”

Irene lifts an eyebrow, amused. Wendy is smiling now too, and their air between them is warm and comfortable.

Wendy is comfortable. With Irene. Next to her. Close to her.

Their hands are perfectly intertwined now, and for a moment, Wendy contemplates what to say next.

If there is anything to say at all.

Without saying anything at all,

Wendy puts her glass down on the coffee table beside them, and reaches her (slightly more confident) hands to gingerly hold Irene’s cheek, who closes her eyes to Wendy’s touch.

Irene leans into Wendy’s hand, “Hm?” As if asking Wendy for something.

Wendy leans in,

so close now.

“I think I really like you.” Wendy says, her sudden confession surprising both her and Irene,

who opens her eyes in reaction.

Without waiting for a reply, Wendy brings their lips together,

finally.

Her other hand reaches, and now she is cupping Irene’s cheeks in her palms, her lips opening up like an envelope.

They do not crash,

they’re dancing, easily, hotly,

it takes a moment to click, but it’s like a light switch is and all Wendy can think about is Irene’s lips on hers.

How soft.

How perfect.

Wendy can feel Irene’s hands flirting with Wendy’s waist,

and all of a sudden, they are lying on the couch,

Wendy’s body parallel to Irene’s,

and Wendy just cannot get enough of Irene’s lips.

She hears Irene moan ever so slightly against her lips, which only makes Wendy’s heart race.

Oh God, she’s like a drug. The worst kind.

They’re bodies press together, and now all Wendy wants is to feel Irene’s skin under hers,

and Wendy assumes Irene is thinking the same,

because the older girls hands are running up her back, lifting her shirt up from behind in the process.

They break apart for mere moments to catch up their breath, looking at each other. Wendy sees her flushed cheeks, eyes slightly wet, and lips, plump and red.

She likes this look on Irene. It might be her favorite.

Irene, disheveled and hot, under Wendy.

Wendy grins when Irene turns away, blushing,

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re beautiful.”

Irene looks back again at Wendy and smiles, “And you’re slick, aren’t you.”

Wendy’s mouth lifts into a confident smirk.

Irene leans up on her elbows and kisses Wendy, albeit a little more tame and controlled than just moments before.

“And what was that before?” Irene asks suddenly, so abrupt that Wendy actually has no idea what she’s talking about.

“What?”

“I’ve been working so hard and all I get is ‘I really like you’?” A soft chuckle erupts and Irene’s fingers reach and brush against Wendy’s hair before settling and caressing the back of her ears. “I don’t think I’ve worked so hard trying to flirt with someone until I’ve met you.” Irene giggles, “You should be honored.”

Wendy blushes but stays firm, “You should be honored. I don’t think I’ve ever... confessed to anyone like that before.”

“Oh, believe me,” Irene’s voice is almost seductive, “I’m very honored, Miss Son.”

Wendy bites her lip, not wanting her smile to be too obvious.

She’s practically showing all her teeth.

“What?” Irene of course notices, “does that make you happy?”

“Yes,” Wendy breathes, sitting them up, “I’m very, very happy.” She wraps her arms around Irene’s neck, who nestles her close.

She easily moves onto straddling Irene’s lap, who receives her just as easily.

Irene’s eyes follow her like they watch a baby taking their first steps,

with love,

excitement,

and underlying anxiety.

“Did you say Taeyeon was coming home soon?” Irene asks, to which Wendy shakes her head.

“Sooner or later.”

“Should we bet on later?” Irene grins.

Wendy her head to the side, before realization sets. She smirks, tying her hair up into a messy bun.

“Ah, sh...” Irene almost swears, “You’re a crazy girl Seungwan, and you’re driving me crazy.”

Wendy can’t help but guffaw a laugh out, surprised at Irene’s honestly.

She can feel Irene’s ears warm under her probing fingers,

and she can feel Irene’s heart echo,

when she leans in,

to place a soft kiss,

on the base of .

------

Taeyeon taps the eraser-end of her pencil on the edge of her sound board while leaning back on her chair that’s rocking a little bit too much because the screws holding it together are loose. It’s eerily silent. She can only hear the lull of the music making devices around her that tell her that they’re on, but not in use. She sighs heavily.

The notebook in front of her, bound in leather and worn beyond it’s time, is open to a page that is half filled with words scratched on and scribbled off. There are some doodles on the right most margins, indicating where she lost herself in her thoughts and let her mind wander.

Her finger tips and the edge of her palm are shaded with the tint of lead – she’s been down here the entire night and she’s been writing, which usually happens when she leaves herself in recluse like this.

She has a lot of thoughts.

She retraces them.

She contemplates.

She overthinks.

And then she repeats the process all over again until it spills onto the paper in front of her into the form of some sort of cohesive lyrical mess.

That’s usually what happens.

Except, tonight, she’s being especially picky with the process because she needs to kill time.

She left the apartment earlier while Wendy was cooking and well.. y’know, she caught vibes that she shouldn’t return until later tonight or maybe not even at all to give them some privacy.

Damn it.

That little better not move onto Taeyeon’s bed.

Because that’s gross, and even Taeyeon has a little bit of decency.

Taeyeon spins around in her chair to look at the wall clock above the entrance.

How long should she wait?

She weaves the pencil through the tips of her fingers and around again. Her other hand fidgets with the edge of one of the pages in her note book. She leans back and stares at the ceiling.

Taeyeon can sit like this for minutes at a time, sometimes hours.

To the point where life becomes numb.

And right now, it’s been a couple of hours.

What a life.

She reaches for her phone which lights up to her touch. Her screensaver smiles back at her and for some reason, this time, Taeyeon smiles back.

She stares at it for awhile before unlocking it with her patented numbered password.

Four 0s.

Although she is not one to invest much of her time in it, she does partake in the casual social media platform every now and then. Especially if she has a funny picture of Wendy to share.

This time, Taeyeon just wants to do something, anything really, to fill her time.

The familiar Instagram news feeds pop up, with various pictures of different events. She notices she only follows a few people.

“God, when was the last time I was on this...” she mutters, running her thumb up and down the screen.

She moves to her own profile, which has no profile picture or description, and only a handful of photos. The only one that she’s included herself in is of course the one picture she has with Jessica – her phone wallpaper.

“Apparently it’s been awhile.” Taeyeon muses, clicking over the photo in question.

Why is this photo still on her Instagram profile?

Not that she cares really... but things should be consistent as it is in real life. She deletes it promptly. Nobody would notice anyway. She only follows like 7 people.

She nibbles on the bottom of her lip, a nervous tick, before clicking her list of followers.

She knows, definitely, that Jessica is one of the 7. Before she can change her mind, Taeyeon surfs onto Jessica’s profile, which, in contrast, is plastered with photos, followers and social buzz.

Sooner or later, she’s going through the entire feed, clicking on each individual picture and reading the captions and various comments, all the works.

“My goodness, how does she have the time for this....” Taeyeon purses her lips before moving on to the next photo, which is a work headshot.

Jessica’s hair is perfectly done as it always is, with head held high and her arms crossed like she was in one of those confidence inducing power stances.

Taeyeon leans back further into her chair and holds the phone above her head, staring at the photo with the ceiling light brightening up her surroundings. She finds herself sighing, like she only gets to experience this kind of leisure once and awhile, where she willfully allows herself this small grace period.

Until,

her phone vibrates abruptly from a text message received, startling her.

So much so, that she drops the phone flat on her face.

The phone bounces from her nose to the chair arm to the floor, face down.

“Ow- !” Taeyeon curses, “Son of a...” She squeezes the bridge of her nose like her life depends on it, the pain almost warranting tears – a kneejerk reaction when one gets hit in the nose.

Taeyeon gets up from the chair, still pressing her fingers as if she’s trying to thwart a sneeze.

“Ugh....”

She trudges over to pick up her phone, and the hell that awaits her reveals itself.

“Oh, shi –

She can’t even formulate a sentence, because her jaw is so slack.

She accidentally liked the photo.

Quickly, she looks for the date it was posted.

“4 months ago?!” Taeyeon can’t hide her grimace.

Great.

Just GREAT.

Her mind slowly spirals into chaos.

What the HELL is she supposed to do now.

She could unlike it... but that would just make her a creep.

She could pray and hope that Jessica is sleeping or ignores it or even better, doesn’t even recognize Taeyeon’s username. Except that it’s her first and last name with her favorite combination of numbers...

She could delete her profile, break her phone and run for this hills in embarrassment. This seemed like the most viable option of the three.

As if ri