“You’re in love with her.”

  Noodles slip messily from Momo’s chopsticks and land in her lap, leaving a trail of sauce down her shirt. She tsks heavily, concentrating her face into a mask of annoyance and hopes that it’s good enough to hide the resolute fear resting lethargically in her chest. She grabs a napkin, begins to wipe away the evidence of her clumsiness and focuses all of her efforts on doing so to avoid looking at the girl burning two tiny lasers into her face.

  She keeps her head down. She knows that Nayeon will see through any performance she tries to put on.

  She risks a glance, can see the older girl staring defiantly at her through strands of hair that had fallen over her face and gives up the pretense that she actually cares about yet another stain on this old, faded hoodie. Shuffling uncomfortably, her hand moves to resume eating her noodles but Nayeon moves faster, stabbing a single chopstick into Momo’s bowl. The younger girl winces at the sound of the ceramic dragging across the table, eyes tracking it’s journey and she flinches again when she sees the resolute determination etched on Nayeon’s face.

  “Ignoring me won't change fact, Momo.”

  “Neither will ignoring her, you know that.”

  Momo keeps her head down, eyes scrunched tightly shut and facing towards the table.    Overwhelming shame is lodged uncomfortably in her chest, unsure whether it’s a result of being scolded like a child or the fact that her actions had bought Nayeon to a situation where she had to scold her like a child.

   (She knows it’s the latter)

  She doesn’t bother defending herself. She deserves this, they both know it. It’s why Nayeon dragged her to a cheap, noodle bar at 3am, away from curious (well meaning) eyes and ears, and it’s why her childish actions have caused her to hurt one of the people she holds most dear to her.

  “I’m not in love with her.” Momo says quietly, playing with the frayed edges of her sleeve. She wraps the loose strings around her finger, tighter and tighter until her skin turns white and she can’t feel the numbing sensation anymore.

  Nayeon doesn't even bother to humour her. There’s no snort, no sarcastic laugh or chuckle or even a surreptitious roll of her eyes that Momo had quickly learned was basically the oldest girl’s trademark as a trainee. And even now, it’s still very much a ‘Nayeon’ thing, although there’s usually a healthy amount of affection hidden somewhere behind the curt action.

  No, instead the older girl just stares. Nayeon stares, and her gaze is a little incredulous as she looks for any sign that Momo is joking, or that she truly believes in what she actually just said.

   She’s not going to find whatever it is she’s looking for - Momo’s known this since the start.

  “You… truly believe that? That you’re not in love with Sana?”

  There’s a dull pain somewhere beneath her ribs at the mention of her name. It sinks into Momo’s head that it hurts, but it’s not love.

  “I love Sana,” Momo begins, something wrapping tighter and tighter around her chest until she was afraid her ribs would snap, “but I’m not in love with her.”

  “I’d do anything for her, we all know that. She’s my best friend, and I love her, I really do.”

  Nayeon stares.

  “But…?” the older girl trails, hand stretched out as if to encourage more from Momo.

  “But nothing.” Momo shrugs. “There’s nothing more, nothing less. I don’t know why you’re so convinced that there is.”

  “I’ve known you for six ing years, Hirai Momo,” Nayeon hisses under her breath. It’s late, and Momo’s sure that they’re the only customers in this place, but their entire lives revolved around being cautious. “I’ve seen every part of you for the past three, and I know that you look at Sana like she’s the literal ing light of your life. How are you going to sit there and tell me that’s not love?”

  The thread unravels around her finger, blood rushing back to the numb digit as she brings her fist down on the dull table top. The sound shatters the quiet of the early morning, and Momo see’s the head of the cashier turn in their direction but there’s nothing more after. Nayeon’s watching her cautiously, and she clenches her teeth.

  “It’s not love, okay?” Momo hisses back, fist trembling with something hot and ugly coursing through her veins. She blinks away the angry tears, pulling the brim of her cap down further over her eyes. The shame in her chest is burning brightly on her face now, and she hopes that Nayeon wont see it in this lighting.

  “Momo…” Nayeon begins, hand reaching out tentatively to placate the other girl. Cool fingers place themselves over her clenched fist, and she wrenches her hand away, shoving it hastily into the deep pocket of her hoodie and pretends she doesn’t see the hurt that flashed across Nayeon’s face.

  “It’s not, okay?” Her voice is beginning to tremble, and she hates herself for it. “It’s not love, because this is ugly. I look at her, and I just feel ing awful, because that’s my best ing friend and you’re right - she isthe literal light of my life.”

  Momo brings a frayed sleeve up to wipe at the tears threatening to spill over. Her lips are quivering, and she knows soon that the tears will make her words indecipherable. So she doesn’t stop.

  “There’s nothing beautiful about this, about when I look at her. I feel so ing guilty,” Momo sniffs, voice breaking on a sob and Nayeon’s conflicted, she can see the older girls body itching to move closer and comfort her. She doesn’t deserve it, so she retreats further into herself and away from her friend. “This is ugly. And possessive. God I want her so bad, you don’t even understand!”

  “She deserves the world. She deserves someone who’ll love her and uphold her and make her feel like she’s the only ing thing that matters - not a childish baby who ignores her for something she can’t control.”

  Nayeon looks sympathetic, features clouded by concern and yearning and the familiar love that Momo had found herself surrounded in from seven other girls for the past few years. She pushes the bowls on the table aside, still full and noodles long since cold, hands outstretched to tilt the brim of Momo’s hat up. She stares at the younger girls face, streaked with tears and eyes rimmed red and puffy, and she’s searching again, looking for something, and Momo hopes she finds it.

  “Momo we make mistakes.” The older girl murmurs, thumb reaching up to rub against her cheeks, wiping away the evidence of distress. “They don’t make you a bad person.”

  “You saw her face.” Momo whispers hoarsely, vision blurred from fresh tears as Nayeon's hands still on her face. “When I told her that. You think I deserve to even look at her the way I do after that?”

  “ You don’t get to decide that.” Nayeon states firmly, brows furrowed sternly. “You were way out of line, that’s true, but apologise and apologise well. It’s up to her to decide if you deserve her.”

  Momo laughs, the sound devoid of humour.

  “You say that like I’d ever have her. Like I could even have the chance for her to be mine.”

  Nayeon opens to speak but Momo is faster, chest heaving erratically as she tries to stifle a sob when she speaks.

  “She doesn't love me like that. I’ll apologise, and we’ll go back to