The sky outside is coloured in dark when two figures step out of the lift in an apartment building, somewhere in South Korea. Fatigue slows their movements, heavy footsteps merely becoming more pronounced by the silence that envelops the hallway. Wearing a mask over is Miyawaki Sakura, white hat tugged low it’s almost covering her eyes, the swing of her legs a little dragged compared to her companion, Honda Hitomi. The latter wears a jacket made out of leather over her shirt, long dark parka draped over her arms, and her steps are curt—almost challenging an elusive enemy to try stepping into her way.

Does it paint a gangster image for you? If so, we are sorry to disappoint you because they are not. Gangsters, that is. They’re just a part of a girl group, IZ*ONE. Have you heard of them? Check them out, they’re pretty cool. Twelve people who, against all odds, were united through an exhausting process known as Produce 48—and if you’re not in for their music, there’s their variety, or their chemistry, or their ever-growing story of how they come to live and work with each other—

“We’re here,” Hitomi says, and Sakura blinks, broken out of her reverie. Her surprise must have been evident because Hitomi snickers, “Were you deep in thought again, Saku-chan?”

Sakura smiles. It took a while for the younger girl to get used to call her Saku-chan like everyone else, but she has grown more comfortable, now, and it makes Sakura happy. She wants the twelve of them to grow even closer—perhaps even the one who wants it the most.

“Was just thinking a little about our group,” she says, choosing to omit the part where thinking involves making up monologues about how to introduce the group to some imaginary audiences.

“When aren’t you?” Hitomi rhetorically asks, punching in the password to their apartment. Sakura hums, letting the younger girl to open the door. She only replies when they’re finally inside,

“It’s hard not to, when there’s always a lot to think about.”

“True,” Hitomi amends, giving her a small smile.

They take off their shoes, arranging them neatly at the entrance by the door. The living room immediately connected to the entrance is dimly lit, and Sakura has half a mind to just go to the room shared by four, perhaps forgoing a bath altogether. She’s so, so tired, and a prompt rest sounds like a piece of Heaven at the moment.

But it isn’t even halfway across the living room when she pauses in her tracks, eyes catching the sight of a figure over their couch. The warmth of Hitomi’s presence lurks behind her, and so she isn’t caught off guard when the latter muses,

“Ah, Chaeyeon-unnie is sleeping here again?”

“I know, right? What is she thinking, she will catch a cold—our comeback is near…”

Hitomi snorts, a palm gently pushing Sakura towards the direction of the couch. “Only you could coax her to go to bed. Good luck, Saku-chan. I’ll go wash up first.”

Sakura hates that she’s right.

“Mmm,” she mumbles, waving a hand away. She hears Hitomi’s faint footsteps first, the sounds of feet against the floor growing fainter, then she looks at the sleeping Lee Chaeyeon—and the world around her fades.

It’s a little scary, how easily Chaeyeon commands the focus of Sakura’s attention, even without the girl knowing.

The quiet, almost secretive steps that she takes to approach the couch feel like a long road back to a place she associates with warmth. A warmth she associates with Chaeyeon. She holds in a breath, descending into a crouching position before the couch, head dipping slightly to come down to Chaeyeon’s eye-level—closed though the sleeping girl’s eyelids are.

She slowly exhales, taking in the sight in front of her, the gentle features of Chaeyeon’s sleeping face and the content warmth that flutters inside her, expanding more and more and more—to the point that it feels like her heart is bursting—

(She would have let it burst.)

She lets out a quiet sigh, gingerly raising a finger—then softly tapping the unguarded cheek of the sleeping girl, a smile blooming on her lips when the latter doesn’t stir. Unbidden memories rush in, as they always have whenever Chaeyeon is involved. Like a slideshow scenes flash inside Sakura’s mind, swaying her up and down, sinking her deep in the sea only to fly her high in the sky in the next breath.

“You really make me feel all sorts of things, huh,” she whispers to the pair of ears that aren’t listening.

She slowly descends from the short escapade her memories had taken her through, back to her place—here, just in front of the couch, before a sleeping Chaeyeon—

And that somehow warms her more than the Sun ever could.

It feels, it feels like. It feels like something she has all the knowledge to describe but at the same time she doesn’t, and it’s only because she hesitates to call it coming home—because really, what kind of home will slip away from you in two years time?—and yet it’s damn close. It’s damn close and if only she could admit it out loud, in words, without laughing it off a moment later as though it’s a joke and not at all the sincerest song her heart has been singing for long—

She shakes her head, taking in a deep breath.

It’s of no use, thinking like this, Sakura.

She smiles to herself, one tinged with the bitterness of unsaid words and unspoken feelings, and continues to gently tap on Chaeyeon’s cheek. Because she needs the girl to wake up—what is she thinking, the weather’s been getting colder and she’ll catch a cold like this and does she really think Sakura’s not going to get worried—and yet, at the same time, she also wants this small moment to last.

So she taps, as her mind chants.

Just a little longer.

END.
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