Irene Bae Joohyun: leader of powerful girl group Red Velvet, muse of luxury brand Miu Miu, learned feminist and ardent supporter of women’s rights. She’s also currently hunched over her phone in bed, hair tied up in a ponytail and face void of make-up, trying her darndest to log onto Instagram. So far, she’s dropped her phone twice, forgotten the username to her private account, and then attempted ten different variations of the password she swears she uses for this cursed photo app.

When her eleventh try fails, she collapses onto her bed, exasperated. Her password isn't even that difficult - it's just one of the many names for her and Wendy's pairing, except she's now exhausted the list and has no idea where she's gone wrong. 

Yeri bursts into her room suddenly, a whirlwind of blond hair and obnoxious cackles. She plucks the phone from Irene and raises her eyebrows at the Instagram login screen. “She was right,” Yeri sighs, shaking her head in amusement. 

“Who was?”

“Wendy said you would need help with watching her Insta-live.”

“I don’t need help!” Irene refutes, indignant. She does need help, actually, but she’ll never admit that to the young girl.

“You sure?” Yeri rolls her eyes and points to the unresponsive screen. “What’s your password?”

Irene hesitates, but gives in when Yeri arches an eyebrow. “It’s w-e-n-r-e-n-e,” she mutters, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. Yeri snorts, but inputs the password into the box anyway. She plays around with the phone for a bit before sliding it back to Irene.

“Here.”

Irene goggles as Wendy’s Insta-live begins to load on her screen. “How did you even-”

Yeri waves it away and starts for the door. She turns back to grin at Irene. “Next time, check your caps lock.” Irene flushes red, thinking of her many futile attempts, foiled by such a simple mistake. Fine. So maybe she’s not the most tech-savvy person. No big deal. 

Focusing on the livestream, she smiles at the sight of the most beautiful woman in the world. It’s not an exaggeration, she thinks. She’s seen Wendy Son in the flesh every day for the past five years and everyday she only grows more and more gorgeous in Irene’s eyes. It’s not just the bobbed haircut that falls neatly around Wendy’s face, hair that flows in the breeze and hair that Irene loves to run her fingers through (it’s been affectionately dubbed as the ‘Wendy haircut’, and Wendy bemoans she’s forever stuck with the cut now); it’s not just the soft eyes Irene drowns in, eyes so expressive words don’t need to be spoken, eyes filled with wonder at the world around her; it’s not just the brilliant grin that splits her cheeks when she’s happy, the clever smirk when she watches Irene win a billion games just to feed her with whatever she wants, the understanding smile when she’s listening to their fellow members’ concerns - never interrupting, only listening.

It’s all of those, and so much more. Never has Irene met a more beautiful soul than Wendy’s. It’s something she can’t explain in words, no matter how much she tries. If she really were to describe such a beauty, she’d compare it to the full moon reflected upon the calm surface of the ocean, the delicate strumming of an acoustic guitar at three a.m. under the night sky. 

She hears Wendy babbling on the stream and tunes back in. Wendy’s talking about visiting dance studios and practising the whole day away - it’s a very Wendy thing, isn’t it? Wendy turns to the camera and asks for someone to help Irene with watching the Insta-live, not knowing that Yeri has already done so. Then, oh gods, then Wendy gives the camera this knowing smile, the same soft smile she gives Irene when it’s just the two of them alone together or when they think people aren’t watching. This smile is for Irene and Irene only, because they both know butterflies always find their way into Irene’s stomach whenever Wendy gives a look like that.

Then Wendy opens and honey spills from her lips.

Irene shouldn’t be surprised; it’s not the first time she’s heard Wendy sing. And yet every time Wendy sings, it sparks a new light in Irene’s soul. Over the years they’ve spent together, Irene’s heart has become home to a multitude of colourful fireworks blooming, fireflies waltzing across night skies, and the warm flame of a birthday candle. Irene sways along with the voice of her lover, drowning in bliss, feeling herself relax in bed.

Then her phone goes black. Irene freaks out. Did she press something by accident? Did her phone die? She tries everything to resurrect her phone and Wendy’s Insta-live, but nothing works.

Before she can dash off to Yeri for help (Yeri would endlessly, but pride be damned, this is Wendy’s Insta-live she’s talking about here) the screen flickers back to life. A sheepish Wendy grins at her. “Everyone, my phone got too hot and died,” Wendy explains, her hand covering half her face as she laughs in embarrassment. “Can that even happen?”

Irene has no idea. She didn’t even know how to properly input her password, after all. What would she know about how phones work?

Wendy goes on about how the phone shutting down is a sign that maybe she should take a break. Irene thinks it’s a good idea. Take a break , she wants to say, and come home to me . Then Wendy says she’ll be back live in 20 minutes, and encourages everyone watching to check out the new teasers for their latest mini-album in the meantime. 

The video fades to nothingness.

Irene gets a call two seconds later.

“Hey, did you get to watch?” Wendy asks. Irene can hear faint music in the background; Wendy must be looking up songs to sing later.

“Yeah.”

“My phone overheated, can you believe it?” Wendy rambles on about anything and everything, and Irene absorbs all of it like a sponge. Wendy can go many miles a minute when she talks about things she’s passionate about, and Irene understands that it can be quite overwhelming when people first discover this quirk of Wendy’s. So Irene takes her time to listen to every single word she says, noting them down in her mind with an imaginary purple pen. Sometimes Wendy’s thoughts are scattered. She can take a very roundabout route to get through one story because her mind is in a million places at once. Irene likes that too, because more often than not these seemingly random thoughts come together to make a cohesive whole - but only if you listen, and listen well.

“Irene?” Wendy calls her name softly. “Are you sleeping?”

“No, I’ll wait for you to come back.”

Wendy hums worriedly. “You sound tired though. You should just go to sleep, no need to-”

“No,” Irene insists. “I’ll wait.”

“Alright.” Wendy is more than familiar with the tone of voice Irene uses, and knows it’s impossible to win the argument. “But promise me you won’t force yourself to stay up.”

Irene hums noncommittally.

Wendy sighs. “I love you.”

Sunflowers bloom in Irene’s chest, butterflies dancing in her stomach. “I love you too.”

--

True to her word, Wendy’s Insta-live starts again at exactly ten minutes past midnight. By now, Irene is curled up in bed, lying on her side with her phone propped up against a pillow. In her sleepy haze, Irene watches Wendy jog off-screen to lower the air-conditioning temperature. 

Even the way she runs is cute, Irene thinks, amused. She giggles when Wendy runs back with flailing arms. It’s very reminiscent of when Irene returned to the dorm after a well-deserved holiday back in their early days. Wendy was alone in the dorm then, she remembers, separated from her family by countries and oceans. Irene had come back earlier than planned once she learnt that Wendy had no one to keep her company. The surprised smile that appeared on Wendy’s face and her arms windmilling in excitement when she met Irene at their door was clear enough proof that Irene had made the right decision.

Wendy introduces her first song, ‘Love You I Do’, and asks her viewers whether they know the song. Irene nods. It’s an upbeat song that Wendy likes to sing when she’s in a good mood. They’ve danced to it once, Irene and Wendy, in the morning when it started to play in one of Wendy’s morning playlists. Wendy had pulled her up from her seat mid-breakfast, twirled her around, and belted out the lyrics before quickly kissing her. Wendy had tasted of sugar and whipped cream and maple syrup, and Irene’s had a penchant for pancakes ever since then.

Wendy starts the next song by giving viewers a quick disclaimer: she’s not sure whether she can do the rap in ‘Only Wanna Give It To You’, but she’ll try anyway. Irene knows Wendy can do it. She loves the way Wendy speaks English, sings English - the language just rolls off her tongue so well. Besides, Irene can attest to all the times Wendy secretly (and not-so-secretly) practises rapping just for fun. She swears Wendy’s got all their rap parts for all their songs down to a T. As her leader and her lover, Irene was impressed; and listening to Wendy’s smooth flow as she raps now, Irene can feel pride rising in her again.

Irene loves ‘Best Part’. It’s the song Wendy sings when they’re alone - it’s their song. Wendy has taught her the lyrics so they can sing the duet, and Irene loves the way their voices meld into a perfect harmony. It’s the kind of song they dance to at three in the morning, when the rest of the members are asleep, when they stand in the kitchen sharing a pair of earphones and shuffle around and giggle. During that time, it feels as if the world belongs to them and them only, and nothing else matters.

When Wendy sings ballads (like ‘Ordinary People’, the one she’s singing now) Irene wonders where she finds all these emotions, how well she expresses them in her voice, in her facial expressions. More importantly, Irene wonders who would ever dare to break Wendy’s heart. (Not her.) Wendy sings about arguments and taking it slow; Irene would argue that that’s part and parcel of being in love. It’s not as if she and Wendy never fight - they do, very occasionally, about little things here and there, but both of them know it’s because they care about each other. And that’s what love is all about, isn’t it?

Wendy is a couple of lines into ‘Ribbon In The Sky’ when her video cuts off again. Irene swallows a chuckle; looks like she’s not the only one with tech-related problems. She gets a text from Wendy as she waits for her girlfriend to set up yet another livestream.

“I think my phone hates me,” Wendy says. Irene can only imagine the petulant tone Wendy is using.

“Nice to see both of us have phones that hate us.”

“When people say that lovers start to resemble each other, I didn’t expect it to be… like this.”

“Too bad,” Irene replies, “you’re stuck with it now.”

Wendy sends a voice message which just contains a five-second audio of her sighing. “At least we’re stuck with it together, I guess.”

--

Irene nearly falls asleep to the next song. ‘Welcome Home’ is soothing and dreamy, and Wendy’s voice is like a mother’s as she tucks her child into bed. It’s the song Wendy sings when any of their members have insomnia - like Seulgi, for example, who’s been struggling with sleep for the past few weeks. Wendy and Irene will pry themselves away from the warm comfort of their bed to comfort Seulgi, to sing quiet lullabies to her until she falls asleep, and then Irene would tuck her in before she and Wendy head back in for the night.

Halfway through ‘Love Is’, Irene sends Wendy a message through the livestream. She’s fighting sleep now, despite not being sleepy at all an hour ago. Before she caves in to her closing eyelids, she types out her message.

“Come home safely. I love you.”

It’s quickly swallowed up by a billion other comments, and for a moment Irene fears that Wendy didn’t see it. But then Wendy’s gaze flickers from the comment section straight into the camera. No words are needed when the soft look in her eyes says it all. Wendy inclines her head in a slow nod.

Irene falls asleep.

When she wakes up a while later, her phone has been set aside on the bedside table. An arm is wrapped around her waist, a pair of s pressing into her back. Shifting, Irene turns to face a sleeping Wendy, her short hair splayed messily on the pillow. Irene traces Wendy’s features with a finger, grinning when Wendy instinctively shakes her head.

“Stop,” Wendy whines. She opens her eyes, dark with exhaustion, warm with love.

“When did you come home?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” Wendy brushes long hair away from Irene’s face and rests a hand on Irene’s cheek. “I’m glad to see you’ve gotten over your insomnia.”

“Your voice makes for a great lullaby, you know.”

Even in the darkness Irene can see Wendy begin to blush. She finds it endearing, how easily Wendy blushes whenever she receives a compliment. Wendy snuggles closer, hiding her heated face in Irene’s shoulder. Irene puts her arms around Wendy in a tight embrace, breathing in the scent of cinnamon and cookies.

“I love you,” Wendy whispers, her breath tickling Irene’s neck.

Three simple words. Three simple words that incite different reactions in Irene every time, all of them of adoration and affection and all the kinds of love there are. She doesn’t hesitate to press their lips together, kissing in the way she knows Wendy likes, gently nibbling and . Their bodies move as one, hands roaming to parts familiar. Irene rides on the high Wendy gives, reciprocates with her own form of pleasure.

Satisfied, Irene slots herself into Wendy’s front, cuddling into bare skin. Wendy slings an arm over Irene, thumb drawing circles in the small of Irene’s back.

“Goodnight, Joohyun.”

“Goodnight, Seungwan.”