Irene wins like it's her lifeline.

It’s almost as essential as breathing: when she dunks the thirty-ninth ball into the hoop for an arcade basketball game, snatches the answers to quizzes like they were already written on her tongue – she bleeds for competition and the thrill to win.

She knows what people say. Most are compliments, of swirling pride "As expected of Red Velvet's Leader," but not without its backhanded narratives, "She's too pretty, of course they'd let her win," as if their value of vanity could cancel out her capabilities.

She's not weak. She's not fragile. She's not a poster girl for men's fantasy – even if she knows that's exactly what her company makes her out to be.

So she'll keep winning. Again, and again, and again – until there's no more doubt. Until all they can say is "Of course. It's Red Velvet's Irene," and "I knew she could do it."

But when she's won so often and there's still that deep-rooted doubt wedged in people's heads, no matter how much she hammers the nails in, proves that she's succeeded all on her own – again and again and again, Irene wonders if there's any point at all.

She wonders if it's okay to lose. Just once.

But Irene's already lost once. She lost the moment she sunk in a mesh of alabaster skin, listened to the musical repetition of Seungwan's, "Hyun-ah..." when they make love.

Irene's memorized the touch of dancing eyelashes and soft glides of skin; how Seungwan always giggles when she draws circles along Seungwan's hips. The spots where Seungwan moans the loudest have been tattooed into Irene's hands, instinctive like x's marked on a map.

"You don't have to win all the time, unnie."

Seungwan doesn’t know and Irene doesn’t tell her, but whenever Seungwan looks at her, Irene knows she's already lost, and more than once: between brief glances during performances, stolen kisses when no one's looking, amidst chopping vegetables in their kitchen, and beneath the sheets where skin meets skin.

Seungwan's smile wins her heart; and that's why she'll always lose.

Just not in games where several pairs of eyes and cameras record their every movement.

True competition comes in bed when Seungwan’s breathless and shivering beneath Irene's fingertips. She smells of gentle lilac that nestles in Irene’s lungs, intoxicating like sweet poison.

Music to Irene is pleasure leaving Seungwan's lips – of stuttered breaths and how “Hyun-ah” folds over her tongue.

There was never any doubt, but Irene still finds it amusing how Seungwan remains a loyal main vocalist even in bed.

Irene kisses , feeling Seungwan's moan tremor against . She can’t compete against her heart when all it wants is to listen to Seungwan say her name.

"But don't lose to anyone else, okay?"

Irene etches her answer with fingers into Seungwan's soft heat; her nails clawing ecstasy down Irene's back, scarring love into her skin as a reminder when morning comes.

I won’t.

Her heart's never been much of a winner when it comes to Seungwan, anyway.