The first round of qualifying is her best ever.

The second round is even better.

The tires are good and the home energy is incredible and the Apex has the pace on the straights like she can't remember it having at any other race in the season and it's surely not just her because at the end of the final round of qualifying Wendy breaks up the rumble of the engine to say, 'Okay, so it's a front-row lockout for the race tomorrow. A front-row lockout. Congrats on pole position.'

'Joy got second?'

'That she did.'

'What about Irene?'

Silence. Then: 'She got fourth.'

'Who's third, then?'

'One of the Renaults. Jennie.'

She pulls the car into the pitlane after the cooldown lap and hugs Wendy and Joy and it's all smiles and glee until she thinks of Irene starting in fourth and the concern begins to mount again. It's a strange and terrible feeling and she hates it. It's the nervous excitement at the prospect of being close to a championship win but it's also the worry for how Irene's doing, because if she's being honest for a moment, fourth is three positions too low. She's too good for fourth. And in all twenty races in the season they’ve battled on even ground a grand total of zero times. Seulgi tosses her helmet aside and takes a minute to calm down and catch her breath and then she goes over and talks to Wendy in the back.

'This is it,' Wendy says. 'The big one. The end point. This is what we've working towards for a whole year.'

'I know.'

'Feels unreal, doesn't it?'

'Always.'

'It'll feel more unreal this time tomorrow, when you're raising that trophy on the podium over there.'

'Don't say that. You'll just make me nervous.'

'You've got this. You know you've got this. First on the grid, fastest qualifying laps consistently, Joy helping you in second. You've got this.'

'It won't be that easy. I've only got fresh mediums. I could've done with another set of softs, just in case.'

'It won't matter.'

'It might, Wendy. It really might. I could feel them slipping a bit today.'

'And you still put in the fastest lap. Stop fretting so much. You're too talented to let something like that get to you.'

It isn't the tires and she knows it, but it's better if Wendy's in the dark a little. It's the thought of Irene letting herself down. She says her goodbyes to Wendy and Joy and catches a couple of the other drivers from Ferrari and Chamisul outside and then she hails a cab back to the hotel and goes to find Irene almost immediately after she's out of the shower and dressed and freshened up. She knocks twice on her door to no reply and goes downstairs again and finds her at the bar, sipping a Martini as she always does. She smiles when Seulgi sits on the stool beside her but it isn't her usual smile.

'Didn't know if I'd find you here,' Seulgi says.

'Where else would I be?'

'Good point. That a Martini?'

'Of course.'

Seulgi orders a strong beer and takes a pull on it with a grimace. A couple minutes later and they're already talking about the racing. What else is there to talk about? 'I heard you got fourth today,' Seulgi says.

'Yeah.'

'I thought you'd be first, honestly.'

'So did I. I blame you.'

Seulgi looks at her and she laughs. 'Relax,' she says. 'I'm kidding. Half kidding. But I wouldn't trade what I'm feeling for the world. It's new and different and weird but I kind of like it, you know? I don't know how to describe it, but yeah. You remember what I said to you months ago? About me not ever switching off? I wasn't exaggerating. Before it was just racing, racing, racing. And now it's racing, you, racing, you, racing. Etcetera. Weird as that probably sounds. I don't know. Was better in my head. Not that I've been going over it in my head or anything. But, yeah.'

'I'm sorry for distracting you.'

'Well, if it wins you the world championship, you shouldn't be sorry.'

'Even then.'

'You're not distracting me,' Irene says. She sips her Martini and puts the glass down and laughs. 'Okay, maybe you are. But whatever.'

'I hope you do better tomorrow. I really do. I mean, I want to win, but I want you to do well.'

'Oh, you don't have to worry about me.'

'But—'

'Monaco, I know. Yesterday and today, yeah, I know. But believe me, tomorrow is different. Tomorrow's where it all comes into play for the final time. It's the big one. And Wendy was right. I don't lose. Not when it counts, not like this.'

'I admire your confidence. Honestly.'

'You've got to be confident to be the best.'

Seulgi nods. She drinks her beer and taps at the counter. 'Listen,' she says, 'about what happened that night in Monaco—'

'Forget it.'

'No, I just mean—'

'I know what you're going to say. You're going to apologise for being so forward. For not even giving me time to finish what I was saying. Aren't you?'

'Sort of, yeah.'

'Well.'

'Sorry.'

'What did I say to you the first time I met you? All the way back in Bahrain, was it? China? I don't even remember. About taking risks.'

'You said you've got to be willing to take risks to get ahead out there on the track.'

'No.'

'No?'

'I never said out there on the track. I just said you've got to take risks sometimes. Could be on that track on race day, could be in a hotel hallway in Monte Carlo after you've just won a Grand Prix. Could be a lot of different things. That's what you did. You took a risk and it paid off for you. At least, I think it did. Didn't it?'

Seulgi breaks into a smile that lights up her whole face. 'Yeah,' she says. 'It definitely did.'

'See?'

'Sorry, though.'

'It's okay.'

'I know it was wrong of me.'

'It's okay.'

There's a silence where they both just sit drinking and admiring each other. Then Seulgi asks the question she's been wanting to ask the entire day. 'Are we, you know.'

'Are we what?'

'You know. Are we a thing? Like, a proper thing?'

'Are we dating, do you mean?'

'Yeah.'

'I don't know. I guess so. I never really thought about it. I don't really think about things unless they've got V6 engines and a thousand horsepower. I mean, I like you, you like me, I might love you, you might love me. That's all we need, no?'

'I guess it is.'

'Then yeah,' Irene says. 'I guess we are. Have there ever been two drivers on the grid dating before?'

'Probably not. In fact, definitely not.'

'Imagine that.'

'I don't have to imagine it anymore.'

'Best not to tell anybody, though. In case, you know.'

'In case they think we're collaborating or something.'

Irene nods. 'Don't get me wrong, I love you. But—'

'You love me.'

'Yeah. What?'

'Nothing. Can you just say it again?'

'I love you. Satisfied?'

'Yeah.'

'Anyway. I love you, but I love that car and that championship just as much. And I'm not going to let you win tomorrow, if that's what you're thinking.'

'It's not. Because I'm not going to let you win tomorrow either.'

'A fair race.'

'A fair race,' Seulgi says. She's still grinning. She takes a moment to reflect on how absurd her situation truly is, six points behind and madly in love with the person she's fighting for those points with. Just sat there, the three-time world champion, her three-time world champion, smiling at her and brushing her hair back and saying the words I love you and properly meaning them. She laughs involuntarily at the thought of it.

'What?' Irene says.

'Nothing. It's just, imagine telling one of us in China that we'd be here nine months later.'

'After you ran me off the track, you mean.'

'Yeah. Sorry.'

'The past is the past. No way to change that. No need to get bogged down in it, either. What matters is looking to the future, and the future is one of us raising that trophy tomorrow afternoon as world champion.'

'It's going to be me.'

'If I wasn't in first, I'd be cheering for you all the way.'

'But.'

'But I am in first,' Irene says. 'So, sorry.'

'What time is it?'

Irene finishes the last of her Martini and checks her watch. 'Just gone eleven.'

'I should get some rest. I think I'll need every minute of it.'

'Me too.'

She stands and pushes her stool away and draws Irene for a kiss and is smiling against her lips before she can help it. 'I love you,' she says when they pull apart. 'Never thought I'd ever say that, but here we are.'

'Stranger things have happened,' Irene says.

'I guess you're right.' She holds out her hand for a firm handshake. 'I'll see you on the grid tomorrow.'

'Yeah you will.'

'And then I'll see you in my rearview mirror.'

The laugh Irene lets out is the warmest she's ever heard. 'Sure,' Irene says. 'But only for a couple laps.'

'Oh, we'll see about that.'

She doesn't speak to Irene at all on Sunday morning. Doesn't even see her until they're both out of the garage and pulling onto the starting grid. Seulgi takes a minute to look at the crowd in the stands. The Korean flags everywhere. The mayhem of it all. One of them is going to be the champion in two hours and it's going to be her. She peers over at Joy in second beside her and then Irene in fourth through the rearview mirror and she knows it's going to be her like she's never known anything in her life.

'Okay,' Wendy says. 'Okay.'

'I'm good.'

'This is it. This is everything.'

'I know.'

'All I can is good luck. It's not going to be easy.'

'I wouldn't have it any other way.'

The safety car sets off and they're out for the formation lap to warm their tires before Seulgi can think about it. The crowd are on their feet and the race hasn't even started yet. Long grey slides of daylight go falling down the firmament and the globeshaped sun is pale and fleeting but there's no rain and Seulgi's glad for that because her last race in the rain was Belgium and she can't afford that here. She can't afford anything less than first.

'Good luck,' Wendy says again.

'Thanks.'

They pull up again on the grid and the first light comes up bright and enormous on the board ahead and Seulgi's revving at nine thousand and so are the other nineteen cars. She can feel it in her bones. Only when the second light is on does she realise her entire life has culminated in this exact moment, years and years and tens of thousands of hours training for this specific thing. So close. Just reach out and grab it.

'Good luck,' Wendy says a third time. The next two lights come up and Seulgi holds her breath. The world becomes a silent shell outside and nothing else matters. Just the gas pedal and the feel of the car and the fifth red light and then no lights at all and they're away.

She gets a blistering start. It's good enough to propel her a good second ahead of Joy already by the time they're at the second corner and turning onto the long straight leading up to corner three. In her rearview someone at the back of the pack spins out across the gravel in a plume of dust and stones and is out of the race and the Renaults are fighting with one of the Ferraris for position in the midfield and Irene and Yeri in the two Samsungs are tussling for third and fourth and Joy is right there, right behind her. The tires feel so very good and they have to because the next set are mediums and she doesn't want them at all.

'Okay,' Wendy says at turn six. She's as nervous as Seulgi and it's obvious. The crowd are the loudest they've ever been but all Seulgi hears is the mighty beating heart of the engine and the brakes when she cuts across the apex at turn nine and takes the sharp right-hander at turn ten. When she peers into her rearview mirror coming onto the straight to start lap two she realises the next three cars are Joy and then Jennie in the black and gold Renault and then a Samsung and it isn't Irene's. It's Yeri.

'Hey,' Seulgi says. The gap between her and Joy is up to nearly two seconds already. She's running away with it. 'Hey.'

'Yeah. Talk to me.'

'Where's Irene? What happened?'

'You didn't see?'

'See what?

'She spun out back there at turn twelve.'

'What?'

'Yeah. Clipped one of the Renaults and paid for it.'

'God.'

'Keep your head up. Focus on your own race.'

'Yeah,' Seulgi says. 'Yeah, I will.'

On lap six she's three and a half seconds in front of Joy and the gap is only increasing. Something doesn't feel right. There's a pit in her stomach that is terrible and it's equal parts excitement and profound disappointment. 'Where is she?' she asks Wendy.

'Who?'

'Irene.'

'You should focus on your own race.'

'Please just tell me. I need to know.'

'She's in fourteenth.'

Seulgi curses under her breath. She thinks briefly about what must be going through Irene's head knowing how much she's given for this. How much she's willingly sacrificed. Black paint on her helmet and no socks and fad diets and for what? To spin off like a rookie and watch helpless as the championship slips through her fingers.

'Keep me up to date on how those tires feel,' Wendy says. 'We're thinking box in fifteen laps or so. Maybe twenty.'

'Yeah. Will do.'

Twelve laps later her tires are still feeling fine. She doesn't think about Irene at all. Only each corner as it appears seemingly out of thin air. The straight-line speed feels incredible. As if the car has gained an extra fifteen kilometres an hour since Monaco. Or perhaps she's just driving it better. They're twenty-nine laps into the fifty-five lap race when she pulls into the pitlane and switches to the mediums and is back out again in three seconds. It isn't the best stop in the world but it's good enough, and when she looks back the other cars are all still a blur somewhere down the far end of the straight, far out of sight. She passes turn one and the fans in the grandstand jump to their feet to watch her go like a mythical hero.

'Wendy,' she says. 'Wendy, you there?'

'Of course. What's up?'

'The tires have no grip. I need to get them warmed up.'

'You're fine. Just keep going.'

'How's the rest of the field looking?'

Silence on the other end.

'Wendy?'

'Okay,' Wendy says relucantly.

'What? What is it?'

'Just focus on getting those fast laps in.'

'Wendy, tell me. Please.'

'Well. Joy's in second.'

'Yeah. Which Renault's in third?'

'Neither. It's Irene.'

'What? She's made up eleven places just like that?'

'And she's pitted onto a fresh set of softs. She's only four seconds off Joy and gaining. And she's just set the fastest lap of the race.'

'Jesus.'

'Keep your head down.'

'Yeah. I will.'

'Don't worry about her.'

I can't help it, Seulgi wants to say, for reasons other than the obvious. There's that dichotomy twisting inside her again, the desire both to see Irene succeed and to want her to just fall at the last possible hurdle, to just slip aside and let Seulgi take it. But she never would, not for all the world and more. Four laps later coming back down onto the main straight Wendy interrupts her to say, 'She's just set a new lap record.'

'What? Are you kidding?'

'By about three tenths of a second. And she's not slowing. You're going to have your work cut out for you.'

'When will she catch me?'

'At this pace?'

'Yeah.'

'We think about lap fifty, fifty-one.'

'.'

'Just—'

'Keep my head down. Yeah, I know.'

It takes her a while to process it fully. Her hands are shaking on the wheel again. At the tight hairpin turn thirteen she misses the racing line and the back end slides out and it's the closest she's come to spinning in ten races.

'Focus,' Wendy says.

'Yeah. I am.'

It isn't possible. That's the first thought that goes through her head. She started in fourth and slipped to fourteenth and pitted for tires and now she's only seven seconds behind and gaining half a second every lap and it isn't possible. It just can't be. But then she thinks about what Wendy told her and what Irene herself had so casually let slip and she thinks perhaps there's some truth in those mythologies after all. Either that or she's some sort of demon.

The gap by lap forty-eight is less than three seconds. She can see the enormous white glare of the Samsung in her rear view and every time she brakes it's there just a little larger and a little closer and faster than she is. Seulgi gives it everything. She's faster than she was in Monaco, faster than she's ever been, but it isn't fast enough. Irene is faster still. Irene has that X factor. On lap fifty Irene is close enough to have DRS on the straight and she realises Wendy was right. They'll be wheel to wheel in less than a lap.

'Come on,' Wendy says. 'Come on, Seulgi. You've got this.'

She glances at the looming shape of the Samsung's front wing and begins to think she doesn't have it at all. The person she's driving against isn't even human. Everything about her in that car is impossible and yet there she is, growing by the lap, about to overtake, about to wrench victory away from Seulgi at the last possible moment. She attempts it for the first time halfway through lap fifty-two and Seulgi manages only barely to cut her off on the inside line. On the next two corners she manages to bump the gap up a tenth of a second but even that is telling in and of itself. The Samsungs are supposed to be four tenths of a second slower in the corners. Irene's not even a quarter of that.

'Seulgi,' says Wendy. She ignores it. Irene tries once more on lap fifty-three and the crowd all hold their breath and Seulgi weaves across the apex and cuts her off just in time again. The sweat pours from her. She can feel it everywhere and her hands are like ice and her visor is fogging up and her heart is going like no heart ever should. She crosses the main straight to begin lap fifty-four and Irene is almost alongside her again.

'Seulgi.'

'Yeah?'

'You've just done a one minute forty-one. Dead on. That would've been an all-time lap record a few laps ago.'

She doesn't bother asking why it isn't because the answer is obvious. The answer is that Irene's just done a one forty point seven and she's still gaining speed. The crowd in the oval grandstand at turns eleven and twelve watch her go by like something out of a storybook fable. They've never seen anything like it. The entire championship is less than a second apart. The rest of the field are so far back it doesn't even matter. It's just Seulgi and Irene. She glimpses the front wing of the Samsung pull alongside her on the straight and DRS kicks in and Irene slides ahead and when she slows for turn one Seulgi takes the wide line and powers out and retakes the lead. On the long straight before turn three Irene has the pace and then on turn three itself Seulgi's back in front again, like two gladiators back and forth. The Samsung on the straights, the Apex in the corners. Wendy is silent in her ear. It's the very last lap. It's her life and Irene's life and it's all she's ever dreamt of and more.

I can do this, she says.

There isn't a person for ten miles still sitting down. She's back in the lead going into turn nine and suddenly her teeth are chattering and she can't sit still because she knows that means there are only two small straights left. Irene can't get past her on the corners. The Samsungs don't have the grip for that.

I can do this. Just two more straights.

The white and blue of the Samsung grows and shrinks and pulls alongside and disappears behind her. All the world begins to slow to nothing. Turn ten, turn eleven. Turn twelve and she's still ahead by a car's length. They veer about and battle for control and Seulgi comes out ahead and there's only thirty seconds to go. The main straight is almost in sight now.

'Come on,' Wendy mutters. She's almost crying.

They come out of turn thirteen onto the very last place Irene can overtake her before the main straight but Seulgi's still ahead, still there. She can't control her hands and her feet are cold and shaking and she's in tears and it doesn't matter because she's ahead. The stands break into violent thunder as they pass heading down to the tight corner at turn fourteen.

Holy , she says, and she's not sure if it's aloud or in her head. Holy I've done it I've won I'm the champion holy .

They slow for turn fourteen and she's got the lead and the strong line and Irene's great but she isn't superhuman. She isn't that good. But then Seulgi checks her rearview mirror and sees the Samsung shift to the inside line and brake far too late and lock up and cut on the inside and force Seulgi wide and she has to give up the position. It's the most dangerous thing she's ever seen and the crowd are in love and it takes Seulgi a good two seconds to process everything. The exact same move she pulled on Joy in Bahrain. That she tried to pull on Irene in China.

'What the ,' she mutters, because there's nothing else really appropriate. It's a move she knows will go down in history almost immediately as it happens. Turns fifteen and sixteen roll ahead and she gains a good two tenths again on turn seventeen and an extra tenth on the very final turn but it isn't enough. The Samsung pulls away. Irene's hand is already pumping the air in victory. She sails past the chequered flag and the fireworks erupt from the stadium stands and paint the afternoon and are lost in rolling streams of hot glycerine against the cold and Seulgi crosses the line in second place and none of the other cars are anywhere to be seen. She takes the cooldown lap slowly. By the time she's back at the main grid line the fireworks are still exploding.

It's the best and the worst day of her life.

'I could've had it,' she says to Wendy in the garage. Before Wendy can reply she excuses herself and hugs the mechanics one by one. Then Joy, then the Apex boss. Then Wendy again. 'I could've had it,' she mutters. 'I was so close I could ing taste it.'

'You did your best.'

'I could've won, Wendy.'

'You're second place in your first ever season. Nobody's ever done that before.'

'God. I messed up.'

'No, you didn't. You drove the best race I've ever seen.'

'And she just drove better.'

Wendy doesn't reply. Seulgi hugs another mechanic and thanks him and the cameras are already gathered outside for the final podium celebrations. 'I could've had it,' she says again. 'Did you see what she did?'

'Exactly what you did in Bahrain.'

'Yeah. And it worked.'

'Of course it worked.'

'She told me it was reckless.'

'Yeah, she did. And now she's a four-time world champion.'

'I could've had it,' Seulgi says again. She wipes the tears from her eyes. The best and the worst day of her life. Then she sees the joy in Irene's face when she steps up onto the podium and searches out Seulgi in the crowd and suddenly it's the best day of her life all over again.

They don't get the luxury of being alone until very late that night. In the bar the boys from Ferrari buy everyone a round of drinks and even Wendy and Joy are there to toast to a great season and Irene's all smiles and laughter and drinking beer out of the lid of her trophy while Seulgi watches from the side. They even take a moment to dance. By the time the bar's cleared and it's just the two of them it's almost midnight. Irene sits at the front counter and orders a Martini and Seulgi sits beside her and taps her fingers on the desk.

'You okay?' Irene says.

'Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just bummed out, is all.'

'Naturally. You drove amazing today.'

'Thanks. But you were better.'

'I just got lucky.'

'You divebombed me on the inside.'

'Yeah.'

'You said that was dangerous.'

'It is.'

'And you still did it.'

'What was it I said to you? The advice I gave.'

'Be willing to take risks.'

Irene smiles and toasts. 'And now I'm a four-time champion,' she says.

'Maybe I should've done the same.'

'Maybe.'

'How did you do it out there? How did you pull it back?'

'I don't know. I honestly don't. I just told myself I had to do it because I'd be letting everyone down if I didn't at least put up a fight. I couldn't let you run away with it like that. So I drove like I've never driven before and I guess I had all the luck on my side today.'

'It wasn't luck and you know it. You're just being modest.'

The smile on Irene's face is tired and beautiful and a little guilty. 'Sorry,' she says quietly. 'For today.'

'You've got nothing to be sorry about. It's a competition.'

'Still. I wish one of us didn't have to lose.'

'I didn't lose. I got second, and I got you.'

'I suppose having me is even better than winning the trophy, to be fair.'

Seulgi giggles. Maybe it's true, she thinks. There's a good chance of that. 'Do you want to go for a walk?'

'Sure,' Irene says. 'Where you thinking?'

'Wherever. Out into the night.'

'Poetic.'

'Oh, you know me.'

'Not as well as I'd like to.'

'Is that right?'

Irene nods. In that gaze Seulgi tries to find something other than absolute sincerity and can't. 'Well,' Seulgi says. 'I think there's time for that now.'

'Yes there is. If that's okay with you.'

'I think that's just fine. Hey, I just realised something.'

'What?'

'I don't even have your number.'

'No?'

Seulgi shakes her head.

'I could've sworn I gave it to you. Sorry.'

'It's okay,' Seulgi says. 'Like you said, we've got time.'

They buy a couple beers before they leave and go walking along the side of the Han River like pilgrims lost in the night. The moon's paleness hangs like a candled skull from the ceiling of the world and lone stars arc across the firmament forever and are lost like wisps in the changing of the dark and reappear at will and are gone again, phantoms in the artistry of all things. They walk in shadow and under lamplight hand in hand and the silence they share speaks louder than any words could. It talks of Seulgi winning in Bahrain and their crash in China and it talks of Japan and Monaco and Seulgi spinning in the rain in Belgium. It talks of accidents in America and fireworks decorating the night sky over Brazil and her battle with Yeri and the Renaults in Britain and Irene losing it in qualifying in Korea and the championship lap. It speaks where they cannot. They walk for more than an hour. The night draws on. Cars southward along Jamsil Bridge descend columnar into the violet dark like pieces of a dream and the round face of the moon wilts and slants and melts on the river face.

'You know what?' Seulgi says when they stop. They're still hand in hand, sat on a bench watching the slow turning of the world.

'What?'

'This has been the best year of my life.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.'

Irene looks at her. Her own hand resting in Seulgi's lap. 'Mine too,' she says.

'Yeah?'

A smile. 'Yeah.'

She lets Seulgi lay her head against her shoulder. 'You know what?' she says.

'What?'

'Thank you.'

'What for?'

'For teaching me there are other things in life than racing. Things I want. Things I probably need. For saving me, in a way.'

'From racing?'

'From myself. Racing is my number one passion and it always will be, but the obsession I had with being the best was unhealthy. Very unhealthy. It was killing me. It was ruining my personal life, my professional life, everything. And then you come along out of the blue and voila.'

'Just like that?'

'Just like that.'

'You still won, though,' Seulgi says.

'I know.'

'Maybe being so obsessed with it was detrimental all along. Maybe you just needed to let loose a bit.'

'You could be right.' She looks at Seulgi again. It's smiles and smiles all the way down. They share a tender kiss Irene never wants to break and the silence following is sacred and beautiful and unlike anything she's ever felt before.

'Hey,' Seulgi says. 'I've just had a thought.'

'What?'

'When I win the championship next year, that'll make us the first ever couple where both partners are Formula 1 world champions.'

Irene lets out a little laugh. 'What?' she says. 'What sort of a thought is that?'

'It's accurate, no?'

'I mean, sure. Minus one part.'

'What part?'

'You said when you win the championship.'

Seulgi nods.

'Sorry. I mean, I love you and all, but that's not going to happen.'

'No? Why not?'

'Because Five-Time World Champion has a nice ring to it, don't you think? I do.'

'Well,' Seulgi says, 'whatever happens, at least it'll be fun.'

Irene holds up her beer. 'I'll drink to that,' she says.

They clink bottles and drink. Seulgi hums in content.

'What?'

'I liked Monaco the most,' Seulgi says.

'I knew you would. Most people do.'

Seulgi holds up her bottle again. 'Here's to Monaco.'

'To Monaco.'

'And here's to Japan. For the cherryblossoms.'

'Here's to Bahrain as well. And Brazil.'

'Here's to Korea.'

She waits for Irene to say it but Irene doesn't. 'What?' Irene asks.

'You were supposed to say Here's to China.'

'Not a chance.'

The pout on Seulgi's face has her giggling again. 'We need to toast to something big,' Seulgi says.

'Like what?'

'I don't know.'

'How about: Here's to the best year of our lives.'

Seulgi smiles. She runs a thumb across the back of Irene's hand so gently and holds her bottle up and clinks it with Irene's. 'To the best year of our lives,' she says.

'And here's to a hundred more.'