II

make tea and time for me and i’ll tell you my story

The coffee machine arrived just in time.

Seulgi, with her long but weak limbs, struggled with the box. Her lanky body was trembling – a sign that her body was pushed to the limit. Wendy cringed as Seulgi dropped the box in the pantry loudly, starting to worry if the people next door might start complaining about the noise. She was also worried that Seulgi’s rough handling might cause the machine to malfunction. Seulgi dusted her hands and wiped away the sweat on her forehead, sighing loudly.

“Wow. That was heavy. My arms are sore,” Seulgi complained, massaging her arms.

“I’m sure it’s a sign – of a lack of exercise, I mean,” Wendy commented wryly.

She wriggled her arms in an attempt to get rid of the muscle tension. Not forgetting Wendy, she turned to narrow her eyes at the psychologist.

“You’re a doctor who specializes in here,” Seulgi says, tapping her temple, “Not the body.”

“You don’t need a doctor to tell that you really lack exercise, Seulgi,” Wendy raised an eyebrow in disapproval.

“If you’re all about exercising, why didn’t you carry the box yourself?” Seulgi was still wriggling her arms.

“Because evidently, you need the exercise more than I do,” Wendy offered a lopsided smile, “And also because you’re my assistant.”

Seulgi scoffed in reply, “Why did you even ask me to get a coffee machine? I thought you liked tea.”

Seulgi’s question reminded Wendy of the patient who was due in a few minutes. She checked her watch, noting the time. Fifteen more minutes. That should be enough time for Seulgi to set up the coffee machine. (It should also be enough time for Wendy to get ready and solidify her own barriers.)

“Hello? Am I talking to a wall?”

“I’m still here.” Wendy knocked Seulgi’s forehead playfully, causing the latter to mock-glare at her.

“So why the coffee machine?”

“A patient didn’t like tea,” Wendy shrugged noncommittally.

“That’s rare.”

“What is?”

“You buying something just because of a patient.”

“I thought I make some mean tea. Guess I was wrong.”

“Your tea may be good, but some people just need something else other than your tea.”

But she didn’t even try it.

“Set up the machine for me please. The patient who doesn’t like tea is arriving in fifteen.”

Seulgi groaned, “Ughh, more exercise.”

“I’m going to drag you out for a run one of these days.”

“Please don’t.”

///

Irene stared at the steaming mug of coffee on the coffee table, before looking up at Wendy with questioning eyes.

“You said you preferred coffee,” Wendy said, the tone of her voice closer to an accusation than a statement.

“I did.”

“So I got you coffee,” Wendy concluded, figuring that it was more self-explanatory.

“But I didn’t tell you to change because of me,” Irene bluntly stated.

There was an edge to her voice that sounded like it was meant to cut and wound. Wendy bit her tongue, reminding herself that she really shouldn’t get angry at a patient. Irene Bae Joohyun was a mystery, with her ever changing facades. She couldn’t tell which was real. Wendy inhaled deeply, trying her best not to lose her patience.

“Do you want plain water then?” Wendy fixed a polite smile.

“Your tea.”

“But you said you didn’t want tea the previous session?”

“I need it.”

There was a difference between wanting and needing. This difference in diction did not go unnoticed by Wendy. This was one of Irene’s mystery metaphors again. She frowned, eyebrows furrowing at Irene. It felt like Irene wore a different type of makeup every time she saw her. Every flaw was perfectly concealed. She couldn’t even read the emotion in her eyes and Wendy usually prided herself on being able to read people well. Irene’s eyes always looked so dull and bright at the same time, like polished grey steel.

All Wendy saw in Irene’s eyes was her own reflection.

“Why do you need it?” Wendy asked, hoping that the question would at least shed some light.

The question seemed to have upset Irene, because Wendy thought she saw a fleeting expression of sadness before it returned to her usually stoic mask. Her facial features didn’t change much, but her eyes, Wendy saw the change in her eyes. It reminded Wendy of burst bubbles and wounded hearts.

It took a while before Irene finally mumbled an answer.

“Because it’s the only good thing for me.”

///

“Hey, Irene, will you answer me honestly if I ask you a very serious question?” Wendy asked, twirling her pen and leaning back against the black leather couch.

Irene tilted her head, “But I’ve been nothing but honest with you.”

The answer had Wendy narrowing her eyes.

“Cryptic, you mean.”

“But honest,” Irene insisted.

“So you’ll be honest?”

“Yes.”

“…Do you want to go get some ice cream?”

“…What?”

They wound up at an ice cream shop not very far from the clinic. Irene didn’t seem to mind that they were going to eat ice cream despite the cold weather, instead looking around the store. The ambience of the shop was bright, with its yellow and white stripes decorating the shop. There was some upbeat pop song playing softly in the background as well. It was the reason Wendy decided to bring Irene here. The times that she met Irene so far, Irene was much more at ease when she was outdoors. Besides, who didn’t like ice cream? Wendy figured this would be a good decision.

They pause at the front counter, studying the list of flavours they could choose from. Wendy just stared at Irene, smiling like a child. Her childish grin was met with a pair of curious eyes.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because we’re getting ice cream.”

“It’s just ice cream.”

“I’ve been craving it since god knows when so hurry up and pick a flavour!”

“Red bean.”

“Whatttt?” she dragged her words. “Are you an old lady?” Wendy teased.

Irene narrowed her eyes, “What flavour are you getting then?”

Instead of answering Irene directly, Wendy spun towards the cashier, “One red bean and one vanilla please. Thank you.”

“Vanilla. You got vanilla,” Irene stated flatly.

“Are you one of those people who would make a big fuss and go ‘so many flavours in the world and you had to choose vanilla’?”

There was a brief silence after Wendy’s question. The other girl went quiet and Wendy waited a beat to see if she would answer. She was about to move on when Irene spoke.

“No. It-”, Irene tried, frowning like she was searching for the right word. “It suits you.”

It wasn’t a compliment but Wendy found herself smiling at Irene’s words. It was probably the first time someone said something different regarding her ice cream preference. Seulgi or Yeri would have told her to go with chocolate or melon, often imposing their own preferences on her. She didn’t mind (most of the time) but it felt rather comforting and liberating, for someone to accept her preferences and not force their own opinion on her.

They grabbed their cups of ice cream and made their way to a cosy corner of the shop. Wendy pulled out her chair noisily while Irene lifted it slightly to make sure she made minimal noise. When they were both seated, Wendy scooped up a bit of her own ice cream, her hand stretching forward to offer Irene some of it. The girl looked visibly surprised before shaking her head. The hand stubbornly remained there and she had no choice but to open .

“Here comes the choo choo train!” Wendy sang before feeding the ice cream to her, making the girl frown as she tasted the white dessert.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a psychologist instead of a kindergarten teacher?”

“Can’t psychologists be fun?” Wendy wagged a finger in disapproval. “So how is it? Vanilla’s great, right?”

“It’s sweet.”

“All ice creams are sweet,” Wendy deadpanned, disappointed in her reply. She brightened up as she carried on, “But vanilla tastes kind of special, doesn’t it? The aftertaste is just… sweet, unlike flavours like caramel, which has a slight bitter tinge.”

The question went unanswered, which made Wendy look up from her white ice cream.

Irene was staring outside the window, hands wringed together on the table. There was a glazed look in her eyes, like she wasn’t focused on anything in particular. Those dark brown orbs were clear mirrors that gave nothing away. Her expression was solemn, like she was attending a funeral. She looked like she was mourning. Even so, the sunlight reflected off her pale skin at all the right angles, giving an ethereal quality to her beauty. She looked beautifully wistful, like a portrait of peace.

In that moment, it seemed like every other noise was drowned out. Warmth blossomed in Wendy’s chest at the image of Irene, accompanied with a clenching that had Wendy clutching her chest. This  girl – who made her get coffee for nothing, who offered an umbrella, who told her vanilla was sweet – seemed more broken than she appeared to be. Wendy wondered why she yearned to make this girl smile – and why she wished Irene would obtain all the happiness in this world (because anything short of that was not enough for the girl).

The trance was broken when the bell rang, signalling the arrival of a new customer. Wendy blinked, watching as Irene was pulled out of her thoughts, turning towards her ice cream and picking up the spoon again.

“Is the red bean any good?” Wendy asked out of curiosity, shrugging at Irene’s inquisitive expression.

The psychologist noted that Irene’s eyes remained the same, empty and lifeless. She could only see her own reflection clearly. Wendy wondered if her armour had any chinks, wondered if Irene’s heart would ever be unlocked even though the key was missing.

“You can try it,” Irene offered, pushing her cup nearer to Wendy.

The latter scooped a generous portion (to which Irene ignored) and fed herself. The taste of red bean dissolved on her tongue and she only grinned at Irene, who looked at her expectantly.

Wendy’s grin only widened, “It tastes like… old age.”

Irene didn’t say anything, silently grabbing her cup and sliding it back to herself. There wasn’t any change in her facial expression but Wendy knew she was sulking. The action had Wendy bursting with laughter, holding her sides and throwing her head backwards. Her laughter soon subsided into a chuckle.

She wiped a tear, still holding her sides, “It still tastes good. Don’t worry about your red bean.”

“…Okay.”

They fell into an easy silence after that, but there was a brooding question that remained on Wendy’s mind, one that she wanted to ask.

“Irene, can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to stop coming to my clinic?” she blurted.

Irene looked surprised at first, asking, “Why are you asking this?”

“Because you looked like you didn’t want to be there.”

It seemed like asking the question was a wrong decision because Irene did not react well, pressing her lips into a thin line. Her hands balled into fists and she looked like she might throw her cup at Wendy.

“You’re discontinuing my treatment before you’ve even started?”

“No, it’s not that. I-”

Irene stood up abruptly, the chair clanking loudly against the wall. The noise had Wendy flinching as she watched Irene. She had her arms by her side, hands clenched into tight fists. The psychologist looked up, lips parting in shock.

“I am disappointed, Dr Son,” Irene gritted her teeth, marching out of the shop.

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Wendy hated this feeling – feeling like she had screwed up. She had wanted Irene to stay, but the words had not come easy to her in that moment. She hung her head in shame, looking at the lone red bean ice cream. The sides of the cup were stained red. The ice cream looked pathetic, now that it was abandoned and melted.

Cursing under her breath, she ran out of the shop hurriedly, eyes desperately searching for Irene. The brunette had not walked far, Wendy noticing a black figure just up ahead. She quickly caught up, stopping right in front of Irene.

“Irene, wait.”

“For what? I’ve done enough waiting to know that it’s useless,” Irene spat.

Her eyes were narrowed but Wendy did not see rage or anger in them, despite the malice laced in her words. They were strangely empty for someone who sounded so enraged – perhaps reminiscent of a kind of dreadful hopelessness, the kind that cannot be saved.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for giving up before even trying. I promise I’ll try my best,” Wendy spluttered, trying to salvage the situation.

“Which person would want to be there at a psychological clinic? It’s only a reminder that I’m sick and I need help.”

Wendy could say a lot of things, like how a patient is allowed to refuse treatment despite the consequences or how patients usually come willingly or at least, convinced by their relatives. She could say a lot of things but even Wendy knew that none of those things was what Irene wanted to hear. (If she did say them, Irene would probably say that she sounded like a textbook and leave.)

“I’m sorry. I’ll try my best.”

The black-haired girl averted her eyes, focusing on whatever that was behind Wendy.

“An hour’s almost up. We should get back to the clinic.”

Irene merely turned to leave, not waiting for Wendy to catch up. She walked stiffly, and Wendy knew that this was Irene’s subtle way of saying that she could forgive, but she could not forget; that even though she was forgiven, it did not make things okay.

Wendy realized, with a sinking feeling in her heart, that Irene would forgive and forgive and forgive but she would always remember, and that she would always wear her scars. The memory would stay at the back of her mind like a stubborn stain, or it would bleed like a fresh wound that could not heal with time.

The realization made Wendy feel like she had just been doused with cold water. The cold burned through her like ice on her skin and she clutched at her chest, suddenly feeling a painful throbbing behind her ribs. She watched as Irene walked away, half-expecting Irene to stop and wait for her.

Irene didn’t.

Instead, she got further and further away, until she melted into the crowd, merging with the sea of people.

Wendy had lost her.

///

When Wendy got back to her clinic, Yeri was giving her weird stares while Seulgi was busy typing away at her laptop. Wendy dismissed the weird stare with a wave, frowning as she entered her office.

Irene was already seated on the couch, with her back straight, head bent down. She didn’t look up despite Wendy noisily entering the office, purposefully making her footsteps heavier to announce her presence. Wendy cleared as she sat in front of Irene, rather uneasy with the silence (especially due to the events that had transpired earlier.)

“Irene,” she began cautiously, like she was walking on eggshells.

“Wendy,” she replied evenly.

“How about keeping a diary?”

“Sorry?”

She had thought about it on the way to her office. She had decided that the best way for her to get to know Irene more was reading whatever she wished to write on paper. It might even be easier for Irene, for she did not seem like a vocal person. She wished for Irene to express herself better and perhaps, words on paper would help.

“Is it too much of a hassle?” Wendy asked fretfully.

“Do I have a choice?”

Irene wore a polite smile, the same one Wendy had seen at their first meeting. She wanted to sink into her seat. They were back at square one again – and it was all her fault. She blamed herself and forcefully refrained herself from slapping a hand against her forehead.

“You do, but I hope you make the choice that benefits you most,” she tried earnestly.

“…Okay. I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to write it every day. Any time you feel like writing, just write. You don’t have to show it to anyone. I just think it might be good to express your feelings in that way."

“Okay.”

“Great. Thank you for coming. Shall I see you out?”

She expected a rejection when she asked but she was greeted by a meek agreement by Irene and she nodded, standing up and ushering Irene out of her office. She walked Irene to the entrance of the clinic, waiting to see if Irene would say anything. The patient merely nodded, murmuring a goodbye and leaving, not even turning back to see Wendy’s sheepish wave.

It was the second time she saw Irene walk away and it made her sigh, rubbing her nape exhaustedly. Yeri bounded up to her, her expression showing that she was bursting with questions.

“Did something happen? You didn’t come back with Irene. You two went out together, didn’t you?”

“I said something wrong.”

“Are things okay now?”

“I was forgiven,” she paused, taking a second before adding, “not because I deserve it.”

“So what did you say that made her angry?”

Seulgi placed a gentle hand on Yeri’s shoulder, catching the latter’s attention. She shook her head slowly and flashed an understanding smile at Wendy.

“Wendy’s tired. Let her rest for a while. She still has a few patients to see later.”

It was one of those rare times when Yeri didn’t snap back at Seulgi, instead nodding obediently and going back to her work. Wendy felt very thankful to Seulgi, who seemed to know the right words to say at times. She could feel her own emotions weighing her down and she just wanted to sit in her office and take a break. She managed a small smile before staggering into her office.

She collapsed on the couch where Irene sat earlier and took a deep breath, massaging her shoulders lightly. Every encounter with said woman always left her feeling rather raw, bruised and battered. More than that, she always felt lost, like she was grasping at the straws of her own emotions. Dealing with Irene was diving headfirst into the abyss knowingly, fully aware that she would only sink deeper and deeper into the unknown void of blackness.

Irene was like the night sky – sometimes she was decorated with twinkling stars, other times she was this black nothingness that Wendy struggled to stay afloat in.

She closed her eyes, wishing that sleep would cure this weariness even though she knew it wasn’t possible – this exhaustion seeped into her bones.

///

a/n: so i realized that my previous chungha x sunmi draft was in my other laptop. and this other laptop is now broken and takes a huge amount of money to fix. an utter devastation :(