Breakbot - One Out Of Two

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“The evening's the best part of the day. You've done your day's work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it."

- Kazuo Ishiguro, The Remains of the Day

It’s dark, and the first time she’s there on the doorstep there’s a strangeness to it that Seulgi’s not sure she likes all that much. There’s no sublime morning sunrise or copper dusk or thin pale sliver of light smoothing down the trees at the bottom of the avenue. There’s just the warm and pooled glow of the streetlamps on the sidewalk behind her, but she’s not nervous. Sunrise Drive is a beautiful, peaceful place. There’s nothing to really be nervous of.

She’s already got a big beaming smile on her face. She stands holding her bike by the handlebars, very much aware that she’s allowed to put it by the side of the house and yet not having done so – it’s just one of those things, those habits taught over two-plus decades, to be polite with everyone at all times. Better that than risking rudeness, she thinks. Better to even the playing field. She stands and waits. It’s two full minutes before Irene comes to the door. She’s got her hair tied up and Seulgi’s never seen her like that before. And she’s wearing a proper suit, all black and formfitting and rather attractive, if she’s allowed a moment to gawp like a kid in a toy shop.

Irene giggles. Go on, she says. Put your bike away, Miss Kang.

When she steps into the house there’s something different and a lot still the same. The effervescent aroma of ground coffeebeans and candy and sweet, sweet chocolate. Irene’s already got one of the big glass jars out on the kitchen countertop. They don’t sit at the table though, and it’s the first time Seulgi’s been anywhere else in the house. There’s a sort of strange and delectable excitement to it that’s almost palpable, like she’s playing a part in an episode of Scooby Doo, searching out a new and alien place with a sort of idle childlike fascination.

They sit in the livingroom, Seulgi on the plush leather couch and Irene in the armchair across from her, and the TV’s not on. Neither of them wants it on. Irene flicks the switch on the lamp in the corner and immediately they’re showered in brilliant light, and for the first time Seulgi looks at Irene – properly looks at Irene – and likes what she sees very much. In her suit, her neat and presentable suit. Everything about her so organised and perfect. Everything the way Seulgi likes it best. And then that smile, and all is right in the world.

What’s up? she says.

What?

You’re thinking something.

It’s just…

It’s just what?

I’ve never been anywhere in your house before except the kitchen. I dunno. It feels kinda weird. Like an adventure.

That earns her a laugh that she adores. God, Irene says, you’re so cute I can’t get over it.

What?

Look at you. Blushing.

Are you just going to tease me all evening?

Do you not like it?

Seulgi shrugs nervously. It’s the first time she’s been there after sunlight’s hours. She checks her watch absently and finds that it’s almost ten already. Irene has only been home half an hour but that’s alright. She was the one that asked Seulgi to come around.

I’ll be right back, she says. She disappears into the kitchen and Seulgi’s left to sit with her hands awkwardly folded in her lap, scoping out this new and interesting place. A clock on the wall opposite, above the mantlepiece. A couple photos of Irene smiling with her parents and her sister. The old fireplace. Everything looks exactly as it should and there’s something about the tidy aesthetic of it all that’s remarkably pleasing. Something that puts her in a good mood. An even better mood, if such a thing is possible.

When Irene comes back a couple minutes later it’s with two cups of coffee on a tray with a plate of shortbread and a couple candycanes. She puts them down on the table in front of them and blows on her coffee and sips.

Help yourself, she says, and Seulgi just looks at the food hesitantly. Then she takes one of the shortbread fingers and stuffs it into and Irene laughs.

God, she says.

What?

That is so good. So good.

Right?

Maybe having a sweet tooth’s not such a bad thing after all.

You’re telling me.

Are you sure I’m not going to get fat from this?

Look at me, Irene says. Am I fat?

No. Of course not.

Well then. There’s your answer.

They sip their coffee quietly. It’s a rehearsed, learned silence, refined and honed through weeks and months spent doing the exact same thing in front of the window, watching the pink and incunabular dawn of a city with a thousand tales to tell, each special in its own sacred way. They listen to the ticking of the clock. Irene giggles to herself.

What? Seulgi says.

It’s nothing.

What?

I’m just…eh. Forget it.

No, go on. Please.

It’s stupid. It’s not like me at all.

What do you mean it’s not like you? What isn’t?

I’ve never said something like this before.

Like what?

She pauses. Giggles again, so much so that she has to put her coffeecup down and compose herself and still she smiles. Can’t help it. You, she says. It’s you.

What’s me?

You make me happy.

Oh.

Is that it? Oh?

What do you want me to say?

Irene thinks about it for a second. Then she says: I don’t know. I just never thought I’d say something that cheesy. I’ve never done it before. It’s like I’ve been transported into that TV or something. And I’m living out one of my dramas.

You’re a fan of dramas?

Oh, god no. Too cheesy for me.

But…

Yeah. Irene laughs again. I know.

Maybe being cheesy’s not too much of a bad thing, Seulgi says, shrugging shyly and finishing the last of her coffee. She points to the plate. Can I have one? Just one.

Have as many as you like.

Just one, she says, and takes three.

You’re as bad as me.

I’m getting that way, she says, only with a mouthful of shortbread, coming out as: M mhftng dat wur.

What?

She holds a hand over and chews and swallows twice.

Sorry.

For what? Eating?

For being rude.

You should be sorry. Very sorry.

For being rude?

For being so adorable, Irene says. It should be criminal to be that cute. Want some more coffee?

Sure. If you’re offering.

That’s exactly what I’m doing.

Then yes, Miss Bae. I’d love some.

She comes back a couple minutes later with two fresh cups of coffee. They can’t see the street from the livingroom but they can hear the occasional late-night car going past in a whir. They listen. The clock, the darkness. Comfortable and beautiful. Watching each other over the rims of their cups like little kids, giggling to themselves, newfound peas in a pod. Just about ripening.

Seulgi checks her watch. It’s already, somehow, about eleven. I should go, she says. I’ve got work tomorrow.

Half day?

Yeah. But still.

Am I allowed to send you some chocolates again?

I didn’t even eat the last ones you sent me!

What?

My co-workers did. Or…co-worker. Just Wendy.

Why didn’t you tell me?

I dunno. Sorry.

Maybe I should get you two boxes then, Irene says. One for you, one for…

Wendy.

Wendy. Cute name.

Uh huh.

Not as cute as Seulgi, though.

You think?

And there’s that smile again. Pursed lips full of their shared happiness. I don’t think, she says. I just kind of know.

What’s up? Irene says.

They’re sitting in the livingroom again, listening to the tick tick tick of the clock. It’s a new habit – a new idiosyncrasy. One of those little things. It’s evenings now. It’s mornings too, but it’s also those late nights, sat sipping tasty coffee and chewing on candycanes and talking about nothings and enjoying every second perhaps a little more than they should. Seulgi puts her cup down on the table and shrugs meekly.

It’s okay, Irene says. Tell me.

I was thinking about looking for a new job.

Oh. Cool.

I mean, not that I don’t like it at The Burger Van, but-

Irene giggles, and she stops.

What?

Sorry. It’s just…The Burger Van. Gets me every time.

Yeah. Can’t believe I’ve gotten used to it now. Guess that’s telling about me in a way.

Anyway. Sorry. Go on.

Okay, Seulgi says. Right. So, I love it there, but I think I want something new. I dunno. Maybe just something light for a bit, while I find my footing and stuff, you know?

Uh huh. So.

So…

Why do you look so glum about it?

Seulgi’s quite a while, looking down at the nice cream carpet, fingers picking with the zipper on her jacket. She refuses to take it off – she’s too polite for that, even when Irene says it’s okay. Maybe there’s something a little spooky about how nice she is – sort of like something in one of those creepy B-movie horrors, like she’s playing a role – but still. It’s how she is, and it’s how Irene takes her, so it’s all good in the end.

Seulgi.

I just…I dunno. I don’t think I’m good enough to get a job anywhere else.

What? Why?

I don’t have the experience.

You’ve been working there nearly two years now.

Okay, well. Yeah, I guess. But I don’t have the confidence.

You do. You just need to show it more.

I don’t. I really don’t.

Irene’s quiet a minute, and Seulgi thinks she might’ve won the little non-argument, but then she leans forward and folds her legs one over the other and says: Tell you what. Why don’t we practice right now?

Practice what?

I’ll be the interviewer, and you can be the fresh face looking for a new job.

But…

I mean, I’ve had a bit of practice. Kind of. I know what it takes to get published in the book industry. So…I guess it maybe translates? Anyway. Go on.

Go on what?

Never mind. I’ll start.

Seulgi just looks at her, hands at a nervous fidget in her lap.

Good morning, Miss Kang.

Uh…

Irene motions for her to continue.

Good morning?

Can you tell us a little bit about yourself? Just anything you think is interesting.

I, uh. I’m good-

Irene makes a buzzer noise with .

What? What did I do?

Nothing. I’m just winding you up. Go on. Keep going. Actually, start from outside.

What?

The interview always starts before the interview. Keep that in mind. It’s not how you present yourself when you’re in there. It’s how you present yourself at all the other times, when you think nobody’s watching. So, start outside.

And do what?

Knock on the door. And make the noise so I know you’re doing it.

Seulgi sighs, and Irene stifles a giggle.

You’re just doing this to tease me, aren’t you?

Nuh uh, Irene says. I’m serious. Go on.

A sigh again. Then, with a little reluctance and a whole lot of embarrassment, Seulgi says: Knock knock knock.

We’re closed.

Oh, come on.

Sorry. Sorry. I’ll be serious. Go on.

Knock knock kn-

Come back tomorrow!

She glares at Irene, and Irene just laughs. Sorry, Irene says. Sorry. No more. Right. Composure.

All it does it earn her another little glare, and it’s so cute Irene has to take a candycane and pretend it’s a stressball to stop her from reaching over and giving Seulgi a peck on the lips. No. That can wait. Now’s the super-serious time.

So, she says. Miss Kang. Tell me a little about why you think we should hire you, and what you’d bring to this job.

Seulgi’s quiet a moment. Then she says, in her best I’m-a-Professional voice: I think what I’ve got more than anything is a passion for learning. That’s my number one trait. It doesn’t matter what it is, or what people ask of me – I’m always willing to learn. To put the effort forward to better myself. I was the same in school, and then on the track team – I beat my Personal Best every week for four months straight – and then in university. When I saw my average was 68, I put the effort in to learn and I bumped it to a 74. I’ve always had a love for all things learning. That’s always why I’ll love whatever I do. It doesn’t matter what the job is, just as long as I can learn something about anything along the way. And if you’ve got me on the team, you know you’re getting the best, because you’re getting something you won’t find elsewhere – the desire to learn. The energy to better myself, and those around me. That’s what you’ll get from me a hundred percent of the time.

Irene’s quiet a moment, smirking, sizing her up. Then she says: See? You’re amazing. Totally amazing.

You think?

You’ve just got to have that confidence more often. Let it out in the open.

I can’t. I don’t think that’s who I am.

Well. Alright then. Just make sure you bring that same fire to all your interviews.

Was it really good?

You could get into NASA with that.

Seulgi just looks at her.

Okay, maybe not. But still. You’re great.

Great?

Irene smiles. She takes a candycane from the plate on the table and snaps off the red end and pops it into and smiles a widetoothed smile. Now’s the time for those pecks on the lips. Now’s the time to treat her right.

The best, she says. You’re just the best.

It isn’t until they’re actually finished with their food that Seulgi realises it’s the first time they’ve gone for a meal together, and that in itself is kind of reason for celebration. They’re sat by the window of the restaurant across the street from The Burger Van, which is probably a sort of poetic irony, but Seulgi’s too distracted with the way Irene looks so incredible to pay any attention to it. She watches every bite, every sip of her water. It’s a Saturday evening, the sky’s as pink as bonbons, the streets are peopleless, and Seulgi’s booked the day off work so she can spend more time with her coffee girl. When you’re working shifts on a rota, a day together is a rare thing, and Seulgi’s determined to make the most of it.

Every glance, every steal of a stare, and then Irene’s giggling again. On one occasion she splutters while drinking and the water drips all down her chin and onto the plate while she laughs and dabs a napkin on herself.

Look what you made me do, she says.

How was that me?

Don’t know. Just was.

Sorry.

Irene giggles again. It’s a sound not quite fit for her, Seulgi thinks, and yet completely appropriate, almost paradoxically so. How she can be so demure and presentable and formal and then so opposite to that in Seulgi’s company, all wide smiles and cheeky grins and careful teasing. She wipes again and sips the water and pushes her empty plate aside, a thin film of gravy now moiling on the ceramic.

Why did you get water? Seulgi says.

Because.

Because what?

It’s less calories.

Really?

Uh huh. I’m saving my calories for dessert.

We’re having dessert?

Uh…duh. You think I’d come for a meal without having treats after? Do you know who I am?

I guess I just didn’t think about it. I mean, not that I mind.

Irene takes the dessert menu from the little wooden stand and gives it a lookover and then a second, just to be sure. Anything you fancy? she says.

What have they got?

What haven’t they got, would probably be quicker.

What about sundaes?

Oh, they’ve got sundaes. They’ve got sundaes out the wazoo. I didn’t know you liked them anyway.

I love them. I just don’t have them often. They make my mouth feel funny.

Irene laughs again. A laugh almost of disbelief. They make your mouth feel funny? What’s that supposed to mean?

Seulgi shrugs. Dunno, she says. Sounded more reasonable in my head. Can I have a strawberry sundae, please?

You can have whatever you like, sweetheart. It’s on me.

What? Oh, no. I mean-

Relax. I’m offering.

I can’t, Irene. I can’t let you.

Can’t let me pay for a milkshake?

It’s, uh…

What?

It’s a…it’s a sundae.

Irene looks at her, vague amusement playing on her lips. The lights are low, and pink, and she’s rather unreasonably attractive posted against the mute neon glare. You’re right, she says. It is a sundae. Silly me. Still. The point stands.

I can’t.

Well. to be you then, because it’s happening.

The waiter brings their drinks five minutes later. Two tall glasses, shaved ice around the bottom, the strawberry milk bubbling over the top in a sort of confectionery curd, the icecream already melting. There are four chewy sweets half submerged in the thick of the liquid and chocolate sprinkles peppered over the swirls and a big crimson cherry perched neatly on top. The straws are red and white striped. Like candycanes, Seulgi thinks, and suddenly her newly developed sweet tooth is aching like nothing has ever ached before.

Man, she mutters, thinking Irene can’t hear her and being sorely mistaken.

What?

It’s nothing.

Seulgi.

I’ve got this craving all of a sudden.

For what?

For candy.

A giggle. Followed by: Maybe it’s true what they say.

What?

You start becoming your partner once you spend enough time with them.

Your partner.

Irene looks at her. She says nothing, and it’s a nice and reassuring nothing, a warmth to the placidity of silence. A telling emptiness. She sips her sundae and winks at Seulgi and Seulgi coughs into her head and checks the heat of her cheeks with a subtle rub of the knuckles against the side of her face. One that Irene notices but won’t tell her. One she thinks is as adorable as can be.

When they’re finished Seulgi dabs at and sits patiently, arms folded, waiting for Irene to say something. She doesn’t want to seem too forward, too much like she’s appropriating Irene’s minor gesture of goodwill for her own satisfaction. But she’s also dying for something even sweeter, and Irene knows it. She smiles. Doesn’t even need to check the menu again. The waiter comes over and Irene offers him a polite welcome and says: Can we have a pack of the candycanes, please?

On their own?

On their own. If that’s okay.

He nods, and three minutes later he’s back with a little china plate and about a dozen red and white candycanes neatly displayed in a circle. It’s almost comical to look at – their meal-after-the-meal, devoid of nutrition and yet so, so good. They spend a good fifteen minutes on the candycanes in silence like children, stealing teenage glances and watching the way the world moves and turns and sleeps. Irene puts her hand on the table and Seulgi notices it almost instantly.

Six weeks ago she’d have no courage to do anything but something’s changed, a sort of boldness that comes only with the knowledge of confidence in what you’re about to do, knowing there’s absolutely no chance of anything going wrong. Slowly she reaches out – it’s a discreet movement, a slight shift of the elbow so she can extend halfway across the table – and then she grazes the side of Irene’s hand with her thumb. Then she does it again, and a third time, like a dog cautious of some newfound object of great interest, and it’s only a few meagre seconds before Irene turns her hand over and locks her fingers with Seulgi’s, soft and gentle and without even looking, and they turn and smile their content smiles and share in that silence a mutual appreciation for the way the world is, the way it has become, and the way it will soon be.

Hey, Wendy says, opening the breakroom door and peering in, mug of coffee in her hands. There’s someone here to see you.

What? Where?

Out front.

Who?

How should I know? Some woman.

She knows who it is already. Naturally, of course. So she puts down her things and goes out a little too fast and already she’s smiling and a little confused but nothing can get in the way of the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Irene’s there by the window, watching the turning of the early afternoon. She’s not in her suit or her nice dress clothes, just a shirt and jeans, and her hair’s not tied back, and Seulgi thinks she likes it better like that – there’s something comfortable in it beyond the ease of the clothes themselves, something more profound, a sort of connection felt in the mere wearing of them. As if it brings them closer together. Stand for something else.

Seulgi sits across from her without a word and already they’re both smiling. She’s got nothing in front of her. Wendy’s taken her order and disappeared into the back.

Why are you here? Seulgi says.

I can go if you like.

No, no. I mean, uh…no, of course not. Stay.

Irene giggles.

I just thought you were at work.

I took the day off. Booked it.

Why?

So I could come and visit you.

Really?

Irene nods. Why? What’s up with that?

Nothing. I just…you know.

What?

I didn’t think you’d waste a free day on me.

It’s not wasting, Irene says, leaning forward and linking her fingers with Seulgi’s on the table. That’s something else that’s become natural to them. Hands on tables, interlocking fingers, soft and tender thumbs brushing against palms. If it’s with you it’s not wasting time at all.

Don’t you have housework to do?

Do you want me to leave?

But Seulgi just smiles shyly. Of course not, she says. No.

Good. I’m hungry anyway. Haven’t eaten since breakfast.

I’m sorry but we don’t do candy or chocolate.

Wow. Is that what you think of me?

Only a little, Seulgi replies, grinning ear to ear, hand still in Irene’s. When Wendy comes out with Irene’s slider and fries and her drink they’re still holding hands, and she takes one quick peak and shoots a wry smirk at Seulgi with a glance that says: Woo-hoo! You go, girl! Then she’s gone again, and Irene’s got her hands wrapped around the burger, holding it up, inspecting it in the warm light, trying to make something out of it.

How do I fit this in my mouth?

Well.

Why’s it so big?

It’s American style.

Do Americans eat burgers this big?

Seulgi shrugs. I guess so, she says.

She takes a bit and eats a couple of the fries and pushes the plate so it’s in the middle of the table. Go on, she says. Help yourself.

I’m not supposed to.

Go on.

How much?

How much what?

How much do you want?

I don’t understand.

I mean how much did it cost.

Then Irene’s laughing again, hand over this time to stop bits of burger bun from flying all over the table. Oh my God, she says. I don’t think I can handle much more of you.

What? What do you mean?

When she’s finished giggling she wipes and swallows and stares at Seulgi across the table. It’s a stare Seulgi’s never really paid much close attention to before, for whatever reason, a smile of genuine adoration, a smile that tells the world just how head over heels Irene really is, how full her heart is, bursting at the seams with tales of candycane evenings and morning coffees and quiet conversations on Sunrise Drive.

You’re my favourite person in the world, she says.

What?

She eats a couple more fries and washes it down with her drink, and – surprise! – it’s a strawberry milkshake with a red and white candycane straw.

I didn’t know we did those, Seulgi says.

Did what?

Sundaes.

Ah. She puts the drink down. It’s not a sundae. It’s a-

Milkshake. Right.

See?

Seulgi grins a mischievous grin. I learn quick, she says.

Quickly.

What?

You learn quickly, dear. Quick is an adjective.

You sure?

Uh, I work in publishing.

Oh. Yeah, I guess you kinda do. I never realised that before.

Well, Irene says. She takes the straw in and sips and puts it down. You do now. What are you doing later?

What?

When you’ve finished. What time do you finish?

Half seven today.

Rough days, huh?

It’s a rota, Seulgi says nonchalantly. I’m used to it.

So, what are you doing?

Nothing, I don’t think.

Don’t think.

Alright. I’m doing nothing. Why?

And before Irene can reply she says: Coffee date?

Nuh uh, Irene says, wiping a fry in the little dollop of ketchup she’s poured out.

Oh.

For a moment Seulgi’s a tad disappointed. Then Irene smiles, and that disappointment is a relic of the past. Not a coffee date.

What, then?

Coffee plan.

They’re side by side on the waterfront path, and it’s cold in the world without but the world without is somewhere far away and they’ve got each other, hand in hand, enjoying the simple things. The things they never normally enjoy. Sound of the cars on the street. Lights going haywire in the reflections on the water face. The pale and distended cityshape stencilled across the night skyline. The glare of the moon against their raw faces. They breathe, and their breath is right there – touchable, real, reminding them that their happiness is something in the proper world and not a fathom of a dream.

They walk for a long time. It’s a Saturday evening and neither has work in the morning and for that both are silently thankful. They smile, they’re quiet. When they stop it’s on the end of a makeshift pier with nobody around to see them and nobody to care. They’re both very cold even in their coats. Seulgi looks like something come up from the river itself, shivering and windbitten and beautiful and hilariously adorable.

You’re a bit red, Miss Kang.

Sorry.

You’re sorry for being red?

I mean…I dunno what I meant.

Irene chuckles. It’s a light laugh in the back of , a momentary hiccup of satisfaction at the antics of her hyperpolite coffee date. They stand there for a long time saying nothing, Irene smiling, Seulgi looking at her expectantly and a little nervous over the rim of her woolly scarf, wrapped twice and then half a third time around the bottom of her face. So that Irene has to stifle a giggle when she looks at her.

What?

Nothing. You just look funny in that scarf.

Funny how?

Cute. It suits you. Are you quitting at The Burger Van?

Seulgi shakes her head. I like it there. I get on well with everyone. I’m kinda used to it by now. I think I’m gonna give it another six or nine months and then see how I’m feeling.

Yeah?

Yeah. I’m not in any rush to get anywhere.

Irene with a smile. I like that, she says. That’s a pretty good saying. Think I’m going to steal it.

Just credit me.

Uh, I work in publishing? Crediting’s what I do. Sort of.

Yeah. Maybe I should become a writer.

Maybe you should.

Make the big bucks.

Uh huh.

I’ve already got the industry connections, Seulgi says, and Irene has to laugh at that. She’s about to say something when they’re interrupted by a flurry of light exploding in the world behind them, somewhere across the distant reaches of the Han River, a burst of pink and gold in the oblique dark, searching out vague patterns in the night and drawing across the clouds in a brilliant glimmer and fading across the rim of the world, becoming just another light in a sea of them.

Fireworks, Seulgi says.

I wonder what for.

Maybe it’s a party or something. Or someone’s birthday.

Must be a real important someone.

I’m not complaining though.

Nor am I.

They stand watching them in silence. Three and then six, tinny pops punctuated by showers of hot glycerine rolling down the sky like pastel oils and diffusing in the greater void of the world. Hollow noises and great lights. There’s beauty in it like no other, a simple and unspoken beauty that people take for granted. They’re standing watching, hand in hand, breath catching in the cold, eyes alight, images of twilight displays twinned in their welling eyes, smiling like idiots at nothing and everything. Pop pop pop. They burst and are gone and all is dark and they’re alone, alone and good.

That was beautiful.

Yeah, Seulgi says. Really beautiful.

A quiet between them. Looking at each other, words playing on Seulgi’s lips, anxious to come out and anxious to be out.

What is it? Irene says.

It’s…doesn’t matter.

Go on. Please.

Are you happy?

What?

Are you happy.

Irene doesn’t have to think about it. Not even for a second. Yeah, she says. I’m happier than I’ve been in a very long time. Why? Are you not?

I’m happy. And that’s the problem.

What? Why?

I keep waiting for something to go wrong and for it all to come crashing down.

That doesn’t sound like you.

I know, but it is.

Irene cups her face gently and places a single kiss on the end of her nose. You look like Rudolph, she says.

I don’t want this to end.

It’s a good thing it’s not going to then, isn’t it? It’s not like you to be cynical.

I know. I just…I dunno.

Life’s not always like a movie, Irene says, and when Seulgi glances at her in confusion she continues. You watch a movie, right? And you get the beginning, the middle, the end. And in the middle there’s normally always some big thing. Some big event. Doesn’t matter what type of movie it is, but there’s almost always an obstacle to overcome. Could be a death or something going badly or whatever. And then they’ve got to resolve it. Sometimes they do, sometimes it ends bad and they don’t. Well.

Well what?

Well sometimes life’s not like that. There’s no obstacle. Nothing in the way. There’s nothing to impede that little happiness. There’s just that – just the joy on its own. And it doesn’t have to end. Doesn’t have to be ruined.

Is that what you think?

Sure. I’ve always believed it. And it’s never let me down before. Not even once.

Maybe you’re right.

Maybe I am, Irene says, smile playing on her cold pink lips. Maybe if you can hold onto that happiness, you’re lucky. Maybe you’re lucky for ever having it in the first place.

What about you then?

What about me?

Do you think you’re lucky?

Lucky? Irene giggles. I think I might’ve hit the lottery.

It doesn’t occur to her for a long time that neither of them have ever said it. Perhaps it’s one of those things that needn’t be said. Perhaps there’s enough of an unspoken thing to have it voiced for them. But Seulgi’s determined to say it regardless, even if it’s a little awkward and she’s unsure of herself – there’s no reason to be, because she’s almost certain Irene feels the same way, but that’s just Seulgi to a tee. Always fretting, always nervous about something or other, this or that, sugar or candy, coffee or tea, mornings or evenings. Or both now.

Sitting on the park bench and waiting for Irene to arrive – it’s almost half nine and she should be here any moment now – is when she first realises just how much Irene means to her, and it’s alarming in how sudden it comes on.

It’s when she’s trying to think on old memories in the way she’s done so many times, placing objects and smells – things, tangible things – to events, people, times. Except this time, it’s different, because it all comes back to Irene. Orange was the spring hills behind her grandma’s house, but now it’s sat at the kitchen table telling Irene that orange was the spring hills behind her grandma’s house. Car horns was her dad stuck in traffic on the way to the seaside, telling them to Get out of the way! in much harsher words. Now it’s hearing the distant blare of a car from the table, stirring her coffee in the morning, smiling at nothing in the way they both often smiled at nothing, knowing how quizzically full of meaning each of those empty smiles was, how content they had become.

Everything was Irene, and nothing was wrong with that.

It’s three minutes later she turns up. Seulgi’s been counting. She’s wearing her coat but there’s something different about her – not the way she’s dressed, or her makeup, but the vibe, and Seulgi feels it immediately, knows before anything else that something about tonight is going remain with her for a very long time. Spring hills, car horns, dust after rain, and tonight. Memories and memories of memories.

They walk, they talk little. They talk about Irene’s day and about something Wendy remarked at breaktime at The Burger Van and they laugh over the name again – that’s something they’ll never not laugh at – and they walk hand in hand through the park and the cool of the windswept streets and then along the waterfront again. That’s their new ritual. They’ve shifted from the livingroom candy retreats to riverside strolls, and if Seulgi’s honest it’s a slight of an upgrade, minus the lack of that undeniably strong coffee smell she’s come to enjoy so much.

Just after ten they stop by a van selling all kinds of sweets and treats and buy two bags of candyfloss and a bag of freshly sugared donuts, the kind with holes in the middle. They do very silly things, the sort of mischiefs kids would laugh at for a while. Seulgi holds up a donut to her eye and pretends the hole in the middle is a telescope and Irene laughs. Irene sticks a furry piece of the candyfloss on Seulgi’s nose and jokes she looks like a circus clown. Things like that. To look back on with wistful nostalgia absent longing.

They stop on the pier again. It’s the same pier as when they stood three weeks ago watching the fireworks and nothing’s changed, except this time Seulgi feels it, the humming in the air, the different in the atmosphere, something urging to be spoken. Irene smiles contently at the world. She’s not even looking at Seulgi. She doesn’t have to. Seulgi decides it’s best not to deliberate over saying it so she just blurts it out.

I love you.

Irene looks at her. Maybe there’s a solitary second where Seulgi’s regretful and cursing herself and wondering how Irene will react – will she laugh it off, or ask her to repeat it? Or what? But then her lips purse into a smile and she says softly: I love you too.

You do?

Duh.

Huh, Seulgi says, not quite knowing how to react. Then she looks at Irene again.

Can I-

Yeah. You can kiss me.

I was actually going to ask if I could borrow some of your coffeebeans. I ran out yesterday and those Fair Trade ones are so expensive and I figured you’d have a bunch spare I could take.

Oh, Irene says, and they’re silent.

I lied, Seulgi admits shyly. Sorry. I was going ask if I could kiss you.

Thought so. You don’t need to keep asking.

I-

But I know you will, and it’s really cute, so I don’t mind.

Okay, Seulgi says, not knowing what else there is to say, and then she closes the gap and kisses Irene on the lips and cups Irene’s face gently and kisses her again. She tastes like coffee and lipstick and all the sweetness of every candy and she tastes like buttered toast and late nights on Sunrise Drive and morning coffee dates and finger paintings in the clouds, she tastes like American sliders and fries at The Burger Van and hazelnut swirls in silk bows and discarded post-it notes, she tastes like fireworks and cold nights and park walks and all the world aside. When Seulgi pulls back she has to catch her breath.

I love you, Irene says.

I love you too.

Thank God I’ve developed quite a habit for candy and chocolate.

Why?

Irene smiles. It’s that same smile Seulgi wishes she could capture in a screenshot and pin to the walls of her mind for the rest of time.

Because, Irene says.

Because what?

Because you’re the sweetest thing of them all.