Chaewon scuffs her shoes, lips pursing thoughtfully. Her eyes flicks up to the closed door (and it reminds her of closed opportunities, of gaze averting away and rushed steps avoiding her, so she inhales deeply and looks down again.) She reaches for the phone inside her pocket and thinks of the messages she’s sent: Can I talk to you? It’s important. And the short reply received an hour later, Sure.

Which won’t be anything noteworthy had it not come from someone prone to send long replies.

tastes bitter. She imagines the person finally coming out to meet her, and perhaps Chaewon would say I’m done. Why have you been avoiding me? Or maybe she’d say, Hi, I heard from practically everyone else that you’re doing fine but you’re obviously not fine around me so what’s up with that? Or maybe she’d listen to the aching pulse inside her chest and say, Are you punishing me? Why are you punishing me? It hurts when you act like this. It hurts because I love you.

The door creaks, and Chaewon looks up. Honda Hitomi stands before her with an expression so guarded and there it is again; a spike of hurt in her chest, a heavy swallow in as words swirl and rush to be spoken, should they be spoken—

“Hey,” Chaewon chokes out. If pain were to be a word spoken, hey wouldn’t seem like a likely candidate but it sure embodies it a lot. “Hey. I’m in love with you.”

Wait.

Chaewon takes in a shuddering breath at the same time Hitomi does and she watches as the younger looks at her, silence thick and unresolved around them. She didn’t mean to say that (not right now; perhaps later, or tomorrow, or someday when she’s not hurting and feeling desperate.)

Hitomi takes a step back and Chaewon feels her stomach churn. The younger’s grip is on the door’s handle and Hitomi whispers,

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” It would be easier to go through this drunk, but the last time she got wasted Hitomi avoided her the day after—up until today. She doesn’t want a repeat. “No, I’m not.”

“Did someone dare you?”

She takes a slow breath. In any other situation, she could see herself being annoyed at the questions, but Hitomi talks in a tone that softly breaks her, eyes avoiding and posture drawn into herself. There is no anger or refusal, just—resignation. A resigned air as though there’s no way these words are addressed to her without some kind of a ridiculous scenario prompting it to happen.

So Chaewon brings herself to step forward. Her hands twitch, wanting so badly to reach out and touch Hitomi, to tell her (and herself) that this isn’t a dream.

“No.” Her voice comes out soft and she wonders if it, too, speaks of heartbreak. “They came from me and no one else.”

“That’s impossible.” A faint smile crosses Hitomi’s lips, the shake of her head stubborn yet painful. “I’ll wake up any second now.” And finally she looks up, catching Chaewon’s gaze, eyes tired and misty. “But thank you, Chaewon-unnie. For saying it here… I appreciate it.”

And there’ve been too many times she’s stood watching as Hitomi turns her back on her, way too many times she’s found herself frozen as Hitomi pulls away, smiles quiet and laughter rare around her.

So Chaewon reaches out, palms gently cradling the younger’s cheeks. Is this a dream, is she the one dreaming? Sometimes she dreams of this, of getting close, of confessing then waking up to another day without her. But this time it hurts too much, scalds too much, all too much, and when she leans in, Hitomi’s breath is warm and quick and—

She softly kisses her, eyes closing (because Hitomi’s eyes are closed, too, and when they are open so will hers, and they’ll both be there still, having kissed and holding onto feelings.

Wake up with me.)