Taeyeon had known something was wrong the moment Tiffany excused herself to the bathroom. The black-haired girl, as cool headed as she’d ever been, remained wearing an unnatural smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, shutting the door behind her with a tenderness that was calculated. Taeyeon recalled the drone of the bathroom’s overhead ventilation fan as she sat up against Tiffany’s bedhead, forgotten papers hanging from her hands, breaths still shaking out from between her lips and her underarms warm and moist. Within her pounding heart, conflicting sentiments - remorse, self-hatred, arousal, and exhaustion - had swirled and frothed like whitecaps on the crest of a waterfall.

Now, as she lay in bed, staring up into the darkness of her own bedroom, those emotions had subsided, settling down into a steady flow of cold, stark sadness. When Tiffany had come out of that bathroom, things had been different. The younger girl’s innate vibrance had felt artificial and stiff. Her words ceased to drip with the honey that they always did, a characteristic that Taeyeon had only recognized when it was no longer present, leaving her with a bottomless longing. In fact, they’d made no physical contact for the remainder of the day, which Taeyeon somehow missed even more than Tiffany’s lovely locutions; the younger girl’s touches carried a security about them that served to alleviate much of the blonde’s anxieties, and without them, she experienced a hollow vulnerability.

Taeyeon rolled over, wrapping her arms around her pillow and burying her face in it. Somewhere to her left, her mother grunted in her sleep.

Though her mind was free of errant thoughts, her body refused to allow her to slip into unconsciousness. Leaving her head pressed against the pillow, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand beside her bed and opened her messaging application. She clicked on the name “Tiffany”, the little heart emoji beside the name giving the impression of a cruel joke rather than a display of affection. She scrolled through their conversations, wistful half-grins forming on her lips as she reminisced on the stupid jokes and comments they made to each other. On a few occasions her fingers danced over the keys of their own accord, typing out simple, reply-evoking statements such as “hey”, or “hi”, or “how’s your night”. Each time, she erased the message as embarrassment splashed over her.

I want to talk to you. I want to make sure everything’s okay.

The thought came with a wave of energetic possessiveness that made her hug her pillow tighter, shutting her eyes as she pretended it was Tiffany. She thought of all the things she would say, things that didn’t make sense but things she wanted the younger girl to hear, to mend whatever wounds or damages she’d taken today.

Taeyeon remained in that position for a few minutes before getting up (under the guise of wanting a glass of water) and tiptoeing her way through her apartment, plopping down at the kitchen table with her phone in her hand, texting app open to Tiffany’s messages, cursor of the input box blinking in its mocking matter-of-factness.

It was 1:47 when she sat down. She made the call at 1:50.

Her phone rang once before there was an answer. It came in an alert, composed tone that all but stated what Taeyeon expected: she wasn’t the only one lying awake that night.

“Taeyeon?”

“Hi, Tiffany.”

A pause.

“Hi… is something wrong?”

For the first time since they’d become friends, Tiffany seemed nervous. More nervous than Taeyeon.

The blonde’s heart swelled with fondness.

“Nnnn… yes, but… we need to talk. About what happened today.”

“Okay. Right now, over the phone?”

Taeyeon shook her head twice before realizing that Tiffany wouldn’t see her answer.

“No, I think it needs to be in person. Are you able to meet up tonight?”

The blonde didn’t know what her plan was - in truth, she had no plan - but she let herself be carried away by the rainbow of emotions within her.

“Yeah, I can,” Tiffany’s pitch shifted upwards and her words came faster, “Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“Mhm.”

I want to see you. I need to see you.

“I’ll leave in five minutes, then.”

The shuffling noises of quick movement had already started to come from Tiffany’s end.

“Drive careful.”

Taeyeon hung up and continued to sit in the dark.

***

    During rush hour, route fifty-seven was a honking, sweltering nightmare of metal death traps and disgruntled business people crammed into a measly three-lane stretch of cement. Late at night, however, Taeyeon found it quite beautiful. The cars zipped by, dots of light shooting down the highway like fluorescent bullets, intermittently buried in the radiance of passing clusters of buildings, all overlooked by shadowed slopes of purple-green. Under any other circumstance she would have allowed the night to take her away, allow herself to get lost in its surreal brilliance and rushing air.

    Instead, she sat in the passenger seat of Tiffany’s Mercedes, “Rocket Man” by Elton John playing low in the background as they coasted along at a smooth sixty-five miles per hour. Besides a strained greeting, the pair hadn’t spoken since they’d left Taeyeon’s house five minutes ago. Unlike their usual silences, which were content and relaxing and as swe