Sometimes, Heejin mulls over the boundaries of being friends, and being something else entirely.

In a relationship between a man and a woman, the barriers are a bit thicker—a bit more tangible. It’s something as simple as wanting to feel someone’s lips against yours, to feel their touch on your skin, writing muted promises of passion and more. It’s easy to understand. Most of the time as well, you don’t even have to think about the limitations of human relationships because society’s there to do it for you. There are rules engraved in everyone’s mind, some identical, some different, but they’ll judge things all the same, and in the end, you just end up going with whatever it is that people shove into your head as you grow older. It doesn’t matter whether you initially wanted to or not.

But when it’s about having unspoken desires aimed towards someone who is both a friend and of the same gender category, the gray areas are a bit more, say, spread out. They’re everywhere, and the worst part of it—you never know where exactly they lie.

“Heejin,” she hears Hyunjin say her name, just as she starts inking her most recent work. It sounds different from the other times Hyunjin’s called out to her. More often than not, Hyunjin speaks her name in a way that’s reminiscent to the image of paper flitting in the wind; gentle and natural, but with a vague crisp to it, as if it’s meant to be that way but it could be more, as if there could be a bit more flavor along the edges. This time, she says it like it’s forced out of —so painfully casual that it seems more strained than relaxed.

What comes out of the following second rolls over her tongue in the same stiff, hesitant manner.

“You know,” Hyunjin pauses, and the room’s quiet enough that Heejin hears her breathe out. “Every now and then, I just sort of think about how it feels like to kiss someone.”

It’s one thing to be physically attracted to someone who belongs to the same , Heejin thinks, and another to be so helplessly weak to anything they say or do that you just end up ignoring everything else whenever they try to take up as much as a fragment of your attention.

Her hand sways to a stop, lifting from the paper after tracing a line just a centimeter too crooked, and she looks up to meet Hyunjin’s awkward gaze.

“Well, no—uh, that came out a bit weird.” Hyunjin turns away, fixing her attention on a poster of some random girl group plastered on the wall of her side of the room. “I just… want to experience it once, I guess.”

For a moment, Heejin’s mind is vacant, and the next, it’s overflowing with incomplete trains of thought deliberately cut off to prevent herself from sinking deeper into the quicksand that is her—to prevent herself from spiraling down even faster than she already is. It’s within this instant that Heejin somehow manages to simultaneously raise her heartrate and get her mind into that familiar whirlwind of unwanted emotions that has been eating away at her insides for years now—all because of a sentence that probably doesn’t even have that much depth beneath it.

It's easy to pretend it doesn’t affect her as much as it does. Heejin feels the heat trailing up her neck, and it’s easier to play it off as her being sick because she knows Hyunjin wouldn’t touch her just to make sure she’s all right—it’s easy to do a lot of things under the pretense that they’re friends and she’s only maintaining an appropriate distance because, well, that’s what friends do, isn’t it? Friends don’t have late-night conversations about growing old together surrounded by cats and dogs and even raccoons sometimes, friends don’t pull each other into tight spaces and corners to hug them and talk about how priceless these moments are; to have the other’s body pressed comfortably against them, friends don’t rub letters on each other’s  bare skin while they’re sleeping—

Friends don’t imagine kissing each other and whispering honeyed confessions into their ears.

Going about it the normal way doesn’t complicate things.

It’s plain, it’s easy, it’s what people do and it hurts a lot more.

But Heejin likes to pretend like she’s numb to it, and through the years, she’s gotten fairly good at painting smiles on her lips and glazing her eyes with either light or darkness to mask the words they might let slip.

Heejin knows the easy way is the best choice. Choosing it only means that she’ll go along with her life doing what she’s used to until it fades away like all her other feelings have—it’s what time does to everyone. She only has to wait for a while. Heejin’s waited for three years, what’s a bit more going to do, right?

But maybe it’s that same stubborn streak that made her pursue the arts regardless of how risky it was, or her mess of a mood, or that almost negligible part of her brain that’s constantly screaming at her to drive herself into corners—she doesn’t know why or how but the words rush out of her lips coated in something strong—something strong and provocative and clear and utterly unlike the frenzied pulse in her veins.

“So, like,” she begins, and maybe it’s that teasing tone to her voice, but Hyunjin turns to her quicky—almost too quickly—with eyes betraying the surprise she’s most likely feeling at the moment. “Why don’t you?”

Hyunjin stares at her with an expression Heejin’s never seen her wear before and in an instant, the sudden boost in her nerves deflates, just as fast as it took over her words.

It’s one thing to fall for the only person who’s ever been close enough to touch her whenever they wanted, Heejin thinks, and another to crave more of what she’s given—more, and more, and more of it until she simply finds herself unable to pull her mind completely out of the countless alternate universes of what-if’s, of every decision she could’ve made, of every line she could’ve crossed, but didn’t.

Sometimes, reality weighs down on her shoulders almost as heavily as her dreams, and—if only for a moment—Heejin suffocates.

Heejin opens to speak, but the words (lies) don’t lay themselves bare to the world as easily as they always have.

“I…” Hyunjin starts off instead, slowly, her eyes b with uncertainty and a bit of fear, if Heejin’s seeing it correctly. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

Heejin isn’t really all that sure about it either.

Forget about it, Heejin begs silently as she exhales. Please forget it.

She shrugs, feigning nonchalance, like there isn’t a bitter taste in her tongue that gradually buries itself in the base of . “You tell me.”

The words somehow make it taste even more bitter, and Heejin wants to get out. She wants to breathe and run and scream into the wind and come back with a heart that isn’t rotting by the minute, with veins clear of self-induced poison, and a voice that isn’t always laced with promises that want to crawl out every waking moment.

It's been years of painstaking effort to hide every scar tissue and every cut that carves itself in her eyes and the flesh of her mind and her heart, and it becomes too much to handle sometimes.

Just a bit too much.

Snow white hands flitter to fabric just as pure, and Heejin takes a moment to think about the bitter irony before she stands, stuffing her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. She feels the faint trembles running down the length of her arms, and she sniffles, giggling hoarsely as she turns to Hyunjin.

“I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about, Hyunjin,” she says, a small grin playing on her lips. “It’s you we’re talking about here. If you asked anyone for a kiss, they’d agree in a heartbeat.” Heejin laughs, bending down to gather the materials on the table. “You could even just up and kiss people and they’d thank you for it."

It's supposed to be easy. It's supposed to be too easy, even. 

"It's not a big deal."

Shaky fingers tighten their grip, and the sound of paper crumpling reaches Heejin's ears. She curses under her breath, adjusting her hold on the materials in her hands, and turns to Hyunjin, beaming. "I'll leave this here for a bit, okay? I'm just gonna—" 

"You."

Hyunjin says it while looking straight at her. Unblinking. 

The smile on Heejin's face wavers. "I, what?" 

One corner of Hyunjin's mouth twitches, and she rubs the back of her head, sitting up slowly. Then, she slides out of bed, and Heejin finds herself unable to move an inch as she watches the other girl close the distance between them. They're only a few steps apart when Hyunjin stops. 

"I, um..." Hyunjin trails off, grimacing as she shifts on her feet. Her shoulders are tensed, and her arms sway awkwardly along her sides, hands looking almost as if they want to reach out to something. "God, this is so... Is it okay to say it like this?" 

Heejin feels closing up when Hyunjin looks at her, and she stares into hooded, dark chocolate eyes simmering in what seems to be a medley of anxiety and excitement and everything else Heejin couldn't quite comprehend. 

"Heejin?" 

She gulps, parting her lips to say "Yes," only to feel her own breath against , a warm hand covering the area of her face that's below the bridge of her nose. Heejin heaves a shuddering breath when she sees—and feels—Hyunjin's hand sliding down her arm. It stops at the part just below her elbow and wraps around it, a bit tight, but not uncomfortable, just—hesitant. Pleading. 

"Don't—Can you please not answer that for now?" Heejin nods, and Hyunjin lifts her hand, pauses, and presses her thumb against her lips. Her touch slowly slides up the length of Heejin's jaw, her ear, and down the curve of her neck, and settles on her collarbones. Hyunjin's gaze flits from Heejin's neck, to her lips, then to her eyes, and she speaks, her voice cracking as she softly the shallow dip just above her collarbones, "I just—I'm kind of trying not to kiss you right now. But in case I do, I don't want to know if I'm doing this right or... or whatever." She breathes in, shakily, and Heejin thinks she feels her touch a little more. "You. I want to kiss you. And I'm not sure I'll take no for an answer."

Sunlight seeps through the windows and when Heejin sees rich brown orbs coated with a lighter sheen closely resembling maple leaves, her lower lip quivers and she feels it from within the cages of her ribs—she feels it against her chest, hammering with fervor matching that of blazing fire, and she thinks—

Slender fingers loosen their hold on her when she leans in. 

It happens quickly, softly, but Heejin feels soft lips murmuring against hers and the taste of something more, of something just a touch too hot, fills and her mind and cuts through her thoughts like promises of changes and dashes of hope and yearning. 

It tastes like everything Heejin couldn't ever begin to describe and she doesn't ever want to let go. 

But moments like this flash through reality like shooting stars, and Heejin's scared it won't leave anything but another set of scars. 

Heejin pulls away first, and she only takes a single, shallow breath before she asks—whispers, more than anything. 

"Please stay." 

She says it like it's new, her voice low and breathy and fragile—delicate. But it's been on her mind for years, haunting her in her sleep and remaining unanswered—she's never wanted to ask. Right now, though, right now might be the only chance she gets and she doesn't say all of it, she doesn't pour her heart out, but this, Heejin thinks, this is all right. 

Hyunjin's eyes glimmer in various shades of gold underneath the faint glare of the setting sun, and it's not an oath, it's not a promise, but it leaves a mark and that's all Heejin needs. 

"Okay."

This time, when she smiles, she tries to hold it back so hard it almost hurts, but it's real and raw and it's everything. Just—

Everything.