Uncertain but certain at the same time is a paradox that enraptures her at this moment. She doesn't want it to happen, but she knows it needs to happen. Which will leave her more broken? She doesn't know. But either way, one will and, most importantly, must occur.

She leans on the door frame of their bedroom, observing the woman she knows has her heart, sitting at the foot of their bed, staring at their carpet in discontent.

When did having each other not be contentment in itself? When had their lives being lived together not been enough?

And in that moment, she accepts it. Something she's been ignoring since this rift between them first reared its ugly head. Seulgi comes to accept that somewhere along the way of all the I love you’s, Seulgi was not enough for Irene to be content.

Maybe it was something she did or didn't do. Maybe Irene finally got sick of her taking her socks off during the night and leaving them under the blanket.

Maybe, she hates to acknowledge, maybe it was just her.

Irene used to look at her like she invented jokes and charm. Her laughter used to trickle like rain, unstoppable but beautiful, something you wished to be caught in. But now her eyes can't hide the melancholy that Seulgi seems to be the cause of every time she looks at her. Her laughter comes out a little forced now, weak and tired from trying to appear interested.

And she'd be lying to say that it doesn't hurt her every time. That a little part of her doesn't ache inside, as if each fleeting glance, each sigh that's masked as a laugh doesn't rip at her heart.

Even through the uncertainty for her own future wellbeing, Seulgi’s certain that she can give Irene this last piece of happiness, by letting her go.

“It's okay.”

It's everything but okay. Especially when Irene finally looks at her, like really looks at her with eyes so mosaic from tears unshed that Seulgi can't help the chuckle that chokes through the tearful lump lodged in . Because Irene's finally looking at her again, eyes gleaming with gratitude, with sadness for a relationship that was written in the stars but burnt out prematurely.

“But it shouldn't be.”

Irene's wiping away at her tears now, her cheeks puffy and nose red and running, but wow, is she beautiful. The girl of her dreams, sitting in the bed they chose and bargained for, in their not so stellar apartment that they made work, crying. But Seulgi knows that this is the most relieved the woman's felt in months.

And maybe, that was enough for Seulgi. For Irene to feel content and not suffocated. Maybe that's all Seulgi can give her when her love had become something she didn't need.

She kneels at the foot of their soon to be old bed, grabbing the sleeves of her sweatshirt to help dab away at the tears that doesn’t seem to stop flowing down Irene's cheeks. The woman's hiccupping is absolutely endearing and Seulgi doesn't try stopping the smile that brightens up her features, even if she's also crying herself.

“If one day in the future when our paths cross once more, and love is still a possible option, I know of this really good coffee place.”

She knows she's being cheesy, quoting her awkward self from years back when she had asked out the girl who took the oxygen right from her lungs, but Irene's rolling her eyes and that laughter that sends tingles from her ears down to her stomach is back.

“May I have the honour of buying you a cup?” Irene is the one that closes the distance between them, fingers gliding over her jaw to keep her in place as she trembles in the kiss, hoping it doesn't alarm Seulgi enough to pull away.

It may be their last, but it still has her heart beating like it was their first.

Irene's crying again, but her eyes twinkle like stars and her wavering voice speaks hope back into Seulgi's heart.

“You may."