*insert surprise_bet_you_thought_youve_seen_the_last_of_me.gif here*

this was only supposed to be an outtakes and extras chapter (and that one scene inspired by grey's anatomy that i couldn't just not write), filled with scenes that didn't make it to any of the chapters in the story of us. but my friend-slash-beta said, "what if you connect the scenes, or you know, just write the whole thing?" and i said, "you know what, U RIGHT" lmao

so this happened, and kind of got out of hand (most of the outtakes i was planning to post didn't make it lmao). i hope you guys like it, as this may be on a totally different tone than the story of us, and i haven't written anything in a while so i'm feeling a little rusty.

and if you liked it or my other works, come yell your thoughts at me, or you can buy me ko-fi. :) 

---

 

my heart’s been borrowed and yours has been blue; all’s well that ends well, to end up with you

- lover, taylor swift

 

Seulgi’s world grows in a small, square room. Four walls and the lightest of blue, with full pounding beats in the background that she knows is her heart.

In between her hands is Irene’s, clammy and a little pale; while Irene’s tired smile feels like—will never stop feeling like—the second chance she doesn’t think she deserves.

Stepping carefully next to her is the bearer of Seulgi’s very core—tiny fists and reddened cheeks; the soft, delicate sounds escaping from a tiny mouth that has Seulgi’s heart making space—swaddled in the softest pink blanket and a striped cap to match.

“Would you like to hold her?” The nurse says, a warm voice that Seulgi is having quite the trouble putting a face to, between the lack of sleep and being jolted up from it by Irene’s startled baby, I think my water just broke at three forty two in the morning.

She feels more than sees Irene’s fingers squeeze the hand they’re curled around on, the cold sting of thin silver and gold bands an arrant contrast to the warmth of Irene’s touch that quietly urges her to.

It’s an unspoken testament of Irene’s trust and unwavering faith in her. Faith that Seulgi still deems a miracle, and trust that she will never take for granted ever again.

She nods in acquiescence, brushing a tender kiss to the back of Irene’s hand before letting her hold go. And then, she takes the second miracle she’s—they have been blessed with a heart bursting at its seams; cradles the bundle in her arms with the gentlest of touches Seulgi didn’t even know she was capable of.

Her eyes are stinging, is parched. But all Seulgi will remember is eyes looking exactly like hers unknowingly, finally, stitching her world that was once split in half back together, mending the broken parts with her tiny, little fingers.

The sound of her very own elated gasp that’s now permanently etched in her memory as it breaks into a watery laugh when she lifts her eyes up to look at Irene and say, “Joohyun, she’s so beautiful.”

And the soft look Irene sends their way when she meets Seulgi’s gaze. The same look that tells Seulgi that this, right here, is a memory Irene will never forget.

…

 

Later that night, when the fireworks have lit all their sparks and lost all their glow, and the only traces they’ve left are tendrils of smoke weaving through the smell of the brand new year in the air, Seulgi starts falling at the cusp of sleep.

Right in that part where everything is beginning to feel like a lucid, cruel dream. And as Irene nestles closer on her side, tucking her face underneath her chin, it just further cements the feeling.

(She’s only held Irene in her dreams the past months after all.)

But the contented sigh that hits her neck pulls Seulgi from the teetering edge of that spiral. And at the skim of gentle lips at the base of , she finds herself saying, “I meant what I said, Hyun-ah. About having kids.”

A second passes. Two. Three. An eternity. And though there’s yet any word to come out of Irene’s mouth, Seulgi is resolved to wait.

The hitch of her breath is the sign Seulgi takes. She lets Irene squirm out of her hold, lets her pull back just enough to meet Seulgi’s gaze.

It’s patient and understanding, and still shimmering with the disbelief that they’re now back here, pressed together and tangled in ways Irene once thought she’ll only ever get to dream about from then on.

Three words sit immaculate in between them, wedged solidly in the scant space. And yet, it’s spread wide open and all over, too; warm like the last kiss they’ve shared, and as raw as the first time they’ve ever said it. As irrevocable and as binding as the vows they’ve once exchanged and sealed by yes, I do.

And that, alone, is enough for Irene. So, she tells Seulgi, “We don’t have to talk about it right now.” She takes the hand curled around her waist, threads their fingers together and hums at the warmth that fills her seeing that they still fit in the most perfect of ways.

But that has never really changed, has it?

She feels Seulgi’s answering smile at the kiss pressed to the crown of her head; basks in it even as Seulgi construes, “I know, I know. I’m just—just putting it out there, I guess.”

Irene shifts back, closer this time so that she can slot her thigh in between Seulgi’s easily. “Baby,” she begins to say, but takes a conspicuous pause to marvel at how it feels so good to be able to call Seulgi that again; to not have to restrain herself and veer away from a habit she’s been trying—and failing—to unlearn.

(Seulgi simply lets her take that moment.)

“I know you do,” she presses on as it passes. “I believe you.”

Seulgi lets out a small laugh at that. “Yeah?”

(Irene doesn’t miss the tinge of relief that colors it, either.

And how the mere sound makes Irene’s heart turn over beneath her chest hasn’t changed, too.)

“Yes,” she assures. Perfectly sober despite Seulgi’s intoxicating heat, and the scent of citrus and something that’s always been uniquely Seulgi’s swimming inside her head. She leans up, attesting the truth with another kiss until she feels Seulgi return it, the hesitance she can see traces of on Seulgi’s face melting away completely.

“Yeah, okay,” Seulgi repeats. Her lips tug up to Irene’s favorite smile, coaxing one that Seulgi has always loved seeing on her in exchange.

And in that moment, whatever lingering doubt in between them fades, dissipating from their chests with an ease that hasn’t been around them in a while.

Because maybe, this time, it’s just as simple as that.

.

 

The clock on the nightstand dings to toll the change in the hour. But it’s the green lines flashing the shift on its digits that clues Seulgi in that it’s probably time to get some sleep.

Yet she merely spares it a glance, too entranced with watching Irene run a hand up and down her side. Or maybe it’s the tips of Irene’s fingers tracing the curve of her waist, in this delicate way that never fails to drive her crazy.

Whatever it is, it leaves her flustered enough that she almost can’t speak without rasping. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Irene’s lips curve into an impish smirk, knowing full well the effect her touch has caused. But she takes mercy on her and stills her hand, resting it on the dip of Seulgi’s waist. A tender touch that softens the half serious admonishment in her quip because Seulgi’s eyes are now starting to flutter and Irene surmises it has everything to do with fighting sleep. “We, Seul. We should be sleeping.”

She already half expects Seulgi not to agree; she knows her after all. But it still almost comes as a surprise when Seulgi quietly confesses, “I’m not sure I’d be able to.”

She is tired, in a way like she’s gone ten rounds in a boxing ring wrestling with all of her feelings and coming out scathed but victorious in the end. But it transcends into something that’s keeping her awake instead, something she can’t quite explain and has her scrambling for more words inside her head while a faint blush dots her cheeks in her inability to say anything else.

Irene catches sight of the pink hues despite the faint moonlight slipping through the blinds as their only source of light; traces them on the curve of Seugli’s cheek with the pad of her thumb as a breathless oh escapes .

She throws a quick disapproving glance up at the ceiling and nods in what Seulgi takes as a form of understanding. There’s still a rave going on upstairs after all. Three in the morning and yet the bass is still thumping like they’re just on their first drink of the night. “I forgot how long his parties lasted.”

“Yeah,” Seulgi agrees with a chuckle. Though the expression that settles on her face is nothing but earnest when she murmurs, “But that’s not it.”

Irene scoots even closer, if at all possible with the way she and Seulgi are already intertwined; accepts the light, chaste kiss Seulgi gives her with a soft smile. She lets nimble digits run on Seulgi’s temple, brushing the short locks away. “What then?”

It sends Seulgi’s eyes to a flutter once more, though it really has nothing to do with sleep this time and everything with the tender, gentle graze of Irene’s fingers.

And when Irene finally settles her hand on Seulgi’s chest, her palm feels the pulse of Seulgi’s admission beneath, sending a jolt she absolutely isn’t prepared for straight to her own.

“You.”

.

 

Waking up should feel different. Or so Irene thought it should.

But it only feels natural, when she opens her eyes and it’s Seulgi’s face that greets her first thing, not the barren white walls of the oncall rooms she’s spent most of her nights on, nor the bright yellow ceiling back in her sister’s apartment.

It feels right, akin to the sense of belonging that wraps around her as she lays right next to Seulgi, encased in her arms and cocooned in her immutable warmth.

That’s why she finds it so easy to give in; to let it wash over her until she sags further into the mattress and deeper into Seulgi’s embrace. To not think about what day it is, what time it is, or if she has a plane to catch that will take her to the other side of the country.

And as Seulgi grumbles in her sleep, shifting to lie on her back and pulling her along with, Irene doesn’t bother fighting. She goes willingly, closing her eyes once more as she settles on Seulgi’s chest.

Right above where Seulgi’s heart is. Drifting back to sleep to the sound of Seulgi’s heartbeat.

…

 

Wendy and Eunji get to meet her first: seven pounds, eight ounces, eighteen inches long, and taking the biggest space in Seulgi’s heart.

Seulgi greets them with a simpering elation that she only barely manages to stifle. But it seeps out to the lightness of her steps as she makes her way towards her friends; not a single trace of the apprehension Wendy still remembers filling Seulgi once, when she stumbled through Wendy’s hospital room door that day she first met Somi.

Seulgi rounds her wife’s bed and meets them halfway, lifting the elbow that’s cradling the newborn’s head once she’s near enough. She angles her other arm down so that they can have a clear view of her daughter’s face, then grins so wide even a two-year old Somi can’t help but return it with an excited squeal.

“Guys, meet Sunbin-ah.”

“Oh, Seul,” Wendy practically bleats. “She’s absolutely beautiful.”

The hand she presses over her chest trembles with the pure joy she feels for her best friends, spurred on by the notion that they’ve finally found the happiness they’ve been trying to chase together and once apart. While her chin wobbles with unbridled pride, witnessing Seulgi take to this new role as if she’s been doing it all her life; like it’s the most natural thing, nothing but meant to be.

“Isn’t she?” Seulgi replies, bites at her bottom lip to curb the way her voice shakes from the sudden onset of emotions that seizes . She nods eagerly to try and chase it away, but she can only feel it tighten more, knows she fails. “She looks so much like Joohyun, right?”

“She really does,” Wendy agrees, and if she hears the crack in Seulgi’s voice, she pretends not to notice. She tugs at the hem of the mitten that clothes Sunbin’s hand instead, securing it back into place.

Seulgi mumbles a quick thank you in return. But Wendy knows it’s more than Seulgi just feeling grateful for helping her out—can hear it in the way her best friend clears before asking, “Do you want to hold her?”

“Of course!” Wendy acquiesces. “Of course. I’d love to.”

Sunbin is handed off to her waiting arms willingly. And while Seulgi misses her daughter’s barely-there weight against her own right away, she gets her wife’s as a trade, with Irene shifting on the bed to lean against her side once she plops down on the empty space next to her. Seulgi welcomes her wholly with a soft kiss on her temple.

Eunji merely watches Wendy as she keeps her hold on Somi, looking far too amused with how tears seem to promptly fill Wendy’s eyes. They threaten to fall at the softest gurgle Sunbin makes, but quickly morphs into giddy excitement when the newborn yawns and blinks to awake.

Wendy’s gaze snaps up, her own eyes wide as she sends Seulgi a stunned smile. “She has your eyes!”

Seulgi can only let her lips curl up in reply, still not trusting her voice to hold steady enough and not break amidst the swell of emotions she’s trying so hard not to spill out.

But it’s Irene who answers for her. Though she doesn’t look at Wendy when she speaks; instead cups Seulgi’s cheek, the pad of her thumb brushing gently at the corner of Seulgi’s eye. “Figures. I carry her for nine months and she gets your eyes.”

She watches the way Seulgi’s throat bobs at the thickness the other woman tries to swallow down. But it breaks into a watery laugh halfway through, soft and hushed and mindful of not startling their child.

Seulgi dips her chin to hide the sudden wetness about to cascade down her cheeks, yet Irene’s hand has their gazes locked, pinned in place by Irene’s gentle smile. So she just curls her fingers around Irene’s wrist then, tells her wife in heartfelt blubbers, “I hope she gets everything else from you.”

The crinkle of Irene’s nose when she giggles. The quirk of her brow. The melody of her laugh. The fact that she jumps at the smallest sound. The way she loves, selfless and wholehearted.

Her head. Her heart. Her courage. And how she’ll stand up for herself and what she believes in despite knowing she’s going to hurt herself and the people she loves in the process.

“I hope she gets the best parts of us,” yet whispers Irene. Partly because she’s still aching all over and feeling the toll of a twenty-hour labor; hugely because she wants Seulgi to know she means every word. “But I pray that she’ll be more like you.”

.

 

Yeri meets her next, in sputters and looking like an even bigger mess than Seulgi already is.

(“I was right,” Eunji had told Seulgi then, as they watched Irene get rolled inside the labor room and Seulgi was told to wait to be called in before she could go scrub up and be with her wife. “You’re even worse than I was.”

She tugged at the hem of Seulgi’s top, snickering. “How is your shirt even backwards?”

Seulgi quickly dropped her gaze down to check, for what was perhaps the first time ever since she jumped in on their sleek, silver SUV and sped their way downtown. Her face pulled into a grimace at the sight that greeted her: white sneakers she’d only then realized was crimping her toes, the gray sweatpants she usually slept on with one of its cuff legs bunched up, and the indeed backwards shirt that she was now sweating the wrong side on.

Eunji snorted as Seulgi shook her pant leg free; almost choked in her laughter when all Seulgi could come up with was a grumble. “At least you wore the right pair of shoes this time.”)

Yeri’s face is blotchy—it almost matches Sunbin’s, really—eyes red and a little puffy. And Seulgi has to smother another sob suddenly bubbling up so as to not jostle her wife. Irene’s just starting to finally get some much needed rest after all.

Joy is rooted quietly on Yeri’s side, letting Yeri have her moment with her new niece; ever the supportive half that both Seulgi and Irene can only ask for their younger sister to have. She only hunches over when Yeri draws in a long breath to steady herself, happily giving her that respite and taking the same second to officially greet Sunbin with a soft tap on her tiny nose.

“Oh my God,” Yeri can’t help but gasp, the sound sandwiched between a giggle and a whimper she sniffles in. “I think she’s smiling.”

“She is,” answers Irene, somewhat surprising Seulgi at the same time, thinking that her wife has already fallen asleep. “She’s been smiling at Seulgi and I whenever we hold her.”

“That’s one happy baby,” Wendy chimes in with an approval that bolsters the pride Seulgi already has for their child.

(Though, she’ll always be perfect in Seulgi’s eyes, even if she came into the world kicking and screaming her tiny lungs out.)

Wendy then turns to coo at the toddler bouncing on Eunji’s lap, tickling the underside of Somi’s chin. “Just like you, huh, Somi-yah?”

Somi just claps her plump hands, grins back at her mom, seemingly to agree.

.

 

And then it’s just the three of them, after Yongsun comes in and begrudgingly shoos their friends away as soon as the clock hits seven, declaring that visiting hours are over.

Sunbin is perched comfortably on Irene’s chest while Seulgi hunkers beside them with an arm curled loosely around Irene’s shoulders. Her other hand is rubbing slow, tender circles on Sunbin’s belly, and the string of gurgles she gets rewarded with has her heart constricting right on the spot.

“Bin-ah,” Irene calls softly when Sunbin lets out another yawn but doesn’t stop squirming. She presses a kiss to the tuft of hair that peeks out of the striped cap, hoping to settle her down with the contact. Yet it only serves for Sunbin to fuss even more excitedly. “We love spending time with you too. But you have got to go to sleep.”

Sunbin’s mouth twists as if wanting to reply. Irene feels her own curl up, shaped by that part of her that can’t wait till she starts talking—can’t wait to hear all the things their daughter has to say.

“Can’t say I blame her, Hyun,” Seulgi utters, the lightest shrug rolling off her shoulders. But her gaze is fixed on the hem of the blanket that tickles Sunbin’s nose, tucking it back in. “I’d stay up every night with you, too.”

Irene twists—gingerly, carefully—to shoot her a glare, one that Seulgi meets head on with a teasing smirk. (And she knows by the purse of her wife’s lips that she’s more shy than anything, even after all these years.)

She frees the hand that’s supporting the other in carrying Sunbin, reaching past the barely-there gap to trap Seulgi’s nose in between her thumb and a knuckle. “Stop it.”

Seulgi only laughs in answer, which only grows when Irene tugs her down with a pinch and doesn’t let go. “What?” She says, her words muffled by the digits still holding her nose hostage. “I’m just telling the truth!”

“Yah! Stop it!”

“Gotta set a good example for our baby,” Seulgi continues, titters at the disgusted crinkle that pulls across Irene’s face. “‘Coz we’re model parents!”

“Why are you like this?” The other woman whines. She pries her fingers open, relinquishing her hold on Seulgi only to push her still giggling wife’s face away.

Seulgi just lets herself be jostled in turn, even makes a show of almost stumbling backwards and affecting offense. But she covers her wife’s hand with her own to pin it in place, her laughter tapering off to a tender smile at the warmth of Irene’s fingers that her jaw.

While the arm that’s still wrapped around Irene’s shoulders she slides down, until her own fingers come to rest on Irene’s hip. She gently pulls them close together, leaning in to press a kiss on Irene’s temple that she lets linger. “You love me like this.”

Irene’s eyes flutter close at the feeling of those words against her skin, making her in a lungful of air before voicing out a truth that she’s long admitted to herself: there simply isn’t a part—a version of Seulgi she’s not in love with.

So she says—professes, “Yeah. I really do.”

In any and every universe.

.

 

Sunbin, as it’s starting to turn out, is really her mother’s child—tiny, steadfast, and full of staunch resolve.

(It’s just wanting to stay up, for now. And while she knows it’s still a little too early to even be thinking about it, there’s already a part of Irene that’s not too keen of the things she could be tenacious about in the future.)

Irene’s arms are admittedly beginning to grow tired. She tells Sunbin this, but her daughter only gives her a gummy smile in return and Irene finds herself powerless, disarmed and completely unable to do anything else but coo Sunbin’s name and pull her close.

“Oh gosh, she’s the cutest,” Seulgi gushes, echoing Irene’s sentiment. But she can see her wife shifting for the umpteenth time too, and knows she needs to do something about it soon. They all really could do with some sleep, so she offers, “Here, let me take her, Hyun.”

“But,” Irene starts, brows creasing with the kind of worry that she’ll always have when it comes to Seulgi. She’s barely left her side ever since Yongsun met them by the doors of the ER floor, Seulgi’s ten minute naps in between notwithstanding. “You’ve been up the whole day, Seulgi-yah. Aren’t you tired?”

The other woman only smiles at her, shaking her head. She’s the exact opposite of tired; feels like she can run to Busan and back five times over, fueled by adrenaline and the strong emotion that’s been squeezing her chest ever since she heard Sunbin’s cries for the first time. “I’m okay.”

Irene studies her for a good long beat, her gaze tracing the tiredness that’s starting to show under Seulgi’s eyes. Yet she looks happy too, practically buzzing with the need to hold their daughter again, and Irene will never find the heart to deny her that.

So she relents with a grateful smile, mouths, okay. Her entire everything can use the rest anyway.

There’s a change of hands, and then Sunbin is back in Seulgi’s arms. The lightest weight that feels more like the last piece of the puzzle that slots itself in, making Seulgi complete.

She shuffles on the bed but doesn’t get on her feet, unwilling to be out of her wife’s reach. And she knows Irene doesn’t want that either, doesn’t want to be an inch away from her and their daughter now that the wildness of the day has finally simmered down. So she tucks Sunbin closer to her chest before pushing herself up on the mattress until she’s almost pressed against her wife’s side.

The movement may be careful and cautious but her knees don’t balk. There’s nothing but certainty in the way she cradles her daughter, and how her voice is the gentlest Irene’s ever heard her when she speaks, “You can sleep, Bin-ah. Mommy and I will just be here.”

Their daughter moves her head, curious eyes wide as she follows the sound of Seulgi’s voice. She blinks, and then raises her hand, seemingly reaching for her mother’s face. A tiny hand that Seulgi makes sure to catch with her own, bringing the warm, cloth-covered palm to her lips.

Then, she turns to her wife, looking more in awe than anything. “Hyun!” A huge grin matches the astonishment lacing her tone as she chances another peek at their daughter. “I think she knows my voice. Don’t you, Bin-ah?”

“Of course, Seulgi-yah,” Irene answers her fondly, pure adoration lighting up her whole face.

And as if she’s really recognizing her mother’s tone, Sunbin lets out another animated sound, her fingers making tiny movements that brush against the tip of Seulgi’s nose. Seulgi takes it as an affirmation, and it takes her everything not to keel over and bawl right on the spot.

Yet, when Irene says, she’ll know her Mama from anywhere, Seulgi thinks she just might.

...

 

“Unnie, I thought you were taking the rest of the day off?”

Seulgi looks up from the button she’s popping in—the white dress shirt that is still Irene’s favorite, and the same one she’s taken to wearing today. “Yeah,” she begins to say, her eyes only meeting Sinb’s after she’s pushed her locker door closed. “I figured it’d be quicker to take a shower here.”

“Oh,” Sinb breathes out, just now noticing how Seulgi seems to be in her best clothes: where her jeans make her legs look great and the white button up she often used to see on her suddenly fits better than before. She peers at her curiously then. “You’re looking real nice. Hot date?”

She’s meant it to be teasing, really; almost expects Seulgi to sputter a no out because while there certainly have been people who have shown interest—a coffee invite here, wanna go see a movie or do you want to go get lunch sometime there—Seulgi only gives them thank yous matched with a timid smile that cushions the sting of her rejection.

Yet, now, there is a distinct flush that takes hold of Seulgi’s cheeks so swiftly it shoots Sinb’s heart straight to .

It’s none of her business, that she knows. Her friend deserves every right to move on; deserves all the happiness Sinb can pray for the universe to bestow, no matter who is giving it to her.

(But, deep down, she’s hoping that it will still be Seulgi and Irene in the end. Sinb hasn’t known anything else, and a huge part of her refuses to.)

“Yeah,” Seulgi affirms, with a shy yet huge smile that Sinb swears she hasn’t seen since… well, since Irene.

The younger woman casts a fleeting glance towards the adjacent studio, the room still flooded with bright lights and drowning in loud music. She only grows more curious—and admittedly a little disheartened at the thought of Seulgi and someone else that isn’t Irene—but quickly becomes confused when she spots Eunae still in her work clothes, visibly occupied with demonstrating the choreography to their trainees and doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.

“H-have fun, Unnie,” Sinb scrambles to say then, as she withdraws her gaze and brings it back to the woman in front of her. Though she means it. Despite the twinge that twists her gut, she’ll always pick Seulgi’s happiness over her own wishful thinking. “Tell the lucky girl I said hi.”

“Thanks,” Seulgi beams at her, her eyes folding into those crescents that Sinb hasn’t caught a glimpse of in a long while—didn’t even know it’s a sight she’s missed.

And, maybe, maybe, she’ll be okay with this. She can make peace with the thought that there really is someone else now. That both Seulgi and Irene have made their choices, and they all have to live with it.

Maybe, she can start today.

.

 

But, then, Seulgi says I’ll tell Joohyun you said hi so offhandedly that all Sinb can find herself doing next is screaming what at the top of her lungs and flinging herself into a very startled Seulgi’s arms.

.

 

January is biting.

It has a coldness to its air that seeps beneath her skin and down to her bones. Even colder than the unforgiving December that Seulgi hasn’t quite scraped off of her skin completely.

But the storms are finally over. The winds are no longer harsh. And while there are still thick sheets of white blanketing almost everything in sight, they no longer feel like the heavy weight that had once anchored Seulgi’s feet.

January doesn’t have the shadows that used to revel in on the hope she’s tried to hoist on her shoulders. Doesn’t have the hovering ghosts she’s never managed to shake.

In their place is sunshine, hitting Seulgi’s face as she walks down a bricked path that has chipped pieces of her heart out before with each step she’s taken. Only now, Seulgi feels nothing but the warmth that greets her, like an old friend she didn’t even realize she’s missed terribly.

It leads her up, to two flights of stairs and down a short hallway; walks with her until she reaches the front of a white wooden door, and makes sure to stay till she has scrounged up the courage to knock.

Bids her farewell when the door cracks open, leaving whispers of new beginnings in its wake.

.

 

But her own greeting sticks in , her hey, beautiful morphing into wide eyes and a sharp gasp; to a swallowed breath amidst an awestruck tone. “You cut your hair.”

“I did,” answers Irene. It’s brief and admittedly a little clipped as she drops her chin down, suddenly feeling conscious and unable to bear the weight of Seulgi’s stunned gaze. Her voice is small when she runs her fingers through the tips that can now only touch her shoulders and construes, “I suppose it means a clean slate. Or so my sister says.”

It takes Seulgi a long second before she feels like she can finally speak—assuage whatever uncertainty Irene’s teetering to fall into. “Yeah?”

It’s almost breathless, as if the wind has been knocked out of her lungs, leaving her shaking all over. But her hand is nothing but steady when she reaches out, tucking away the stray hairs that seem to shroud the uncharacteristic lack of confidence and the way Irene nibbles anxiously at her bottom lip.

Seulgi simply brushes it back behind Irene’s ears, smiling softly at her like she’s still the one person she’ll wait an eternity for if she has to.

(And she is. She will always be.)

It soothes any of the uneasiness that lingers, has Irene finding the courage to ask, “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect,” the other woman doesn’t hesitate to tell her. “You’re perfect.”

She’s rewarded with Irene’s smile, albeit a little shy. But it carries a warmth that floods Seulgi’s chest, washing over her in waves. Another bright spot in Seulgi’s world that helps right it back.

“I’m glad you like it, Seulgi-yah.”

She doesn’t suppress the grin that burgeons all over her face, nor curb the urge to lean down and nose her way to Irene’s space for a kiss. But Yeri’s voice stops her midway, the roll of her eyes—they both can hear it in her tone— wafting through the foyer and effectively spoiling the moment. “Oh God. Please, for the love of—take it somewhere that doesn’t leave the door open!”

It’s Seulgi who breaks away first, laughing, while Irene can only pinch the bridge of her nose in embarrassment.

“I’d apologize for her but—”

“We’re glad you guys made up. Really glad,” Joy chimes in rather dryly. Seulgi finds it easy to picture her ensuing glare; can even feel its heat, really, all the way from where she’s perched next to Yeri on the couch. “But the cold’s getting in, Irene-unnie! We’re already freezing here!”

Irene can only groan, smothering her own laughter on the lapel of Seulgi’s thick coat as she drops her face on Seulgi’s chest.

.

 

They step out of the apartment complex to snow that’s starting to fall. Tiny globes that look magical against the burst of pink hues scattering all over the sky and the sun that’s beginning to set.

Like snow globes shaken and held up on christmas lights. It’s that kind of night.

Seulgi finds herself reaching for Irene’s hand, at the third brush of Irene’s against hers. But it’s Irene who laces their fingers together, Irene who squeezes Seulgi’s in turn.

It pulls a giddy smile across her lips, one that she can’t tamp down even if she tries. And when a shiver stirs Irene’s shoulders, the sharp hitch in her breath drifting to Seulgi’s ears, Seulgi picks their locked hands up, tucking it inside the pocket of her coat.

A serene smile blossoms on Irene’s face then, as Irene turns to her and thanks her with a kiss on her cheek, looking like the second chance Seulgi has been surreptitiously beseeching for but never expected to hold ever again.

Yet, by some miracle, she has. And this time, she absolutely has no plans to ever let it go.

.

 

It’s a short walk to where Irene’s car is parked, a fact that Seulgi almost wants to resent now that she has no other option but to drop and untangle their clasped hands.

But it’s an even shorter drive to the hospital where Irene works, and for that, Seulgi is thankful.

She still doesn’t know why Irene needs to drop by—because what’s the point of having the entire day off then if she has to spend at least a minute on work-related things—but Irene has asked, and Seulgi never really did have the heart to say no to her.

So this is where she finds herself: inside the dainty, modest office of Irene’s boss, who looks entirely caught off guard at the sight of them ambling in together that his mouth drops, seemingly losing the sense of professionalism he carries with him everywhere.

Though, Seulgi isn’t quite sure which is more surprising to him, that Irene is still in the city, or that she has walked in with Seulgi in tow.

(A part of her can’t help but think it’s both.)

The chief blinks twice, shakes his bewilderment away by clearing his throat. “Why, Doctor Bae, this is a surprise. I would’ve thought you’d be in Busan Pres by now.”

“Yes, about that—” Irene begins to explain. But she pauses midthought, smiling to herself. Because there are things that she’s still not able to fully articulate—things she can’t quite believe herself either. So she just shakes her head, squeezes Seulgi’s hand that’s still locked in hers before dropping it gently to root inside her purse.

She fishes out a white envelope, the seal looking so familiar it shoots a pang of dread straight to Seulgi’s chest.

(But she trusts Irene. She never really stopped.)

“Can you pass a message to Doctor Hwang for me, please?” Irene asks instead. She zips her purse close and doesn’t waste another second of not having Seulgi’s hand back in hers.

“Of course,” he gladly agrees. There are still hints of confusion in his tone, but they’re easily drowned out by the gleeful realization that he might not have to lose one of his best neurosurgeons after all. “Of course. What do you need me to tell her?”

“Please let her know that I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity, and for all the time she spent arranging my transfer. But,” she chances a glance at the woman standing beside her, barely resisting the urge to tug her down and kiss her until the dazed look on her face is replaced by something much brighter.

But she settles for the warmth of their clasped hands for the meantime, and the growing grin that then blossoms on Seulgi’s face as the other woman finally makes sense of why they are here and not picking dinner up as they have originally planned. “There’s been—something else came up. Something much more important. And I couldn’t—I couldn’t just leave without seeing it through. I don’t think I can even try.”

“I understand,” the chief remarks. His eyes grow soft, letting Irene know that he really does. “I’ll make sure to send this right away,” he adds, picks the envelope up and tucks it inside the pocket of his white coat for safe keeping. “Give her a call too, as a heads up.”

Irene throws a grateful smile at his direction in response. Then, “Thank you, Chief.”

“No,” he refutes with an animated shake of his head. He snatches the folder lying on top of the nearby stack, flipping it open for a quick check before handing it to Irene. “I should be the one thanking you. Because I’m not going to lie, I really was not prepared to let my best neuro go.”

She in a lungful of air and casts another glance at Seulgi. But her eyes stay on her this time, holding Seulgi’s gaze when she says, “I wasn’t ready to let go, either.”

.

 

There’s one last stop they have to make, Seulgi discerns later, before they can finally head out to get to their reservation. Though, there’s a part of Seulgi that can’t help but think it’s a tad bit anticlimactic as she gets pulled inside the tiny room.

It’s one she can’t remember ever being to, even back then. But there really isn’t anything particularly grand about two copy machines and the lone shredder standing at the corner, so Seulgi doesn’t mind.

What Seulgi does think about though, is that she hasn’t exactly gotten the chance to ask Irene what is going on. And as Irene stops and busies herself with turning the shredder on, she figures it’s as good a time as any.

Because despite her inkling, things between them seem to have perfected a habit of going two ways, and for once, Seulgi wants to be absolutely certain. So she takes the dip before the plunge. “I know we swore off oncall rooms, but I never pegged you for the make-out-in-the-closet type, Hyun.”

Irene scoffs, playfully smacking the other woman on her stomach with the folder still clutched in her hand. “Yah! Oncall rooms are still off limits. None of your ties will ever sway me again.”

Seulgi lets out a soft laugh at that. “Yeah, well, I’ll still take my chances.”

Irene can only roll her eyes. But it’s matched with an endeared smile she can’t quite manage to hide, coaxing a triumphant grin from Seulgi in return.

And just like that, they’re hurled right back into each other’s orbits, revolving around like circles—points that have always been destined to meet.

It’s Seulgi who spans the breadth of distance, reaches for the folder and pries it away from Irene’s grip. But she catches Irene’s fingers on her own with no intention of letting them go, pressing Irene’s knuckles against her lips. “Talk to me, Hyun-ah. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I promise,” Irene swiftly makes certain. “Just tying some loose ends.”

She leans forward and up on her toes until it’s her lips that are pressed on Seulgi’s, sure and solid. Irene kisses her, slow and steady and long enough that it leaves a thrum on Seulgi’s chest when they part, rumbling as loud as the shredding machine that whirs to life.

She holds her palm out then, asking for the folder back. And when she does open it, she makes sure Seulgi can see, too.

Seulgi spots the emblem easily, huge and stamped at the top of the white paper that read: Dear Doctor Bae Joo Hyun, We at Busan Presbytarian would like to give you our warmest welcome.

She doesn’t bother reading the rest, already distracted with the way her heart hammers against her ribcage. The moment suddenly feels so significant that Seulgi doesn’t even want to blink, too scared to miss anything.

While Irene merely lifts the paper off of its stack, blissfully unaware of the strife she’s just sent Seulgi into. She holds it up even as the machine gnaws at it with its sharp teeth. Holds it like it doesn’t hold one of the most pivotal points of her medical career, and for a moment, Seulgi can’t breathe.

It drops a weight on her chest that doesn’t sit well, so she says, “You know I’d follow you anywhere, right?”

“Hmm?” Irene hums, not catching the words entirely as they’re drowned out by the sound of more paper being torn into symmetrical pieces. “What was that, baby?”

Seulgi swallows visibly, stretches a hand out and flicks the red switch to let the machine die down. Then, she guides Irene gently by her shoulders so she can face her, her hands sliding down until she has both of Irene’s wrists cradled in her hold. “Joohyun, I’ll go with you anywhere,” she puts forth. “And if it’s Busan where you need to be—”

Irene quickly slips out of Seulgi’s grip. But it’s only to free her hands of anything else that isn’t Seulgi’s face when she cups it and says, “All I need is to be where you are, Seul.” She pushes through the wave of surprise that shows on Seulgi’s face, and the heat she can feel building at the back of both their eyes. “Busan was—it was an escape. I needed a way out.”

She’d needed space; needed a place where she wouldn’t see Seulgi’s face in every corner she turned to. For a while she thought Busan could offer her that peace, until she realized that she could very well be on the other side of the world and yet, it was still Seulgi she’d see every time she’d close her eyes.

Though, Irene can’t find the strength to let Seulgi know of that truth—can’t even bear to think about what it would’ve been like, never seeing Seulgi’s smile anymore. So she just swipes a thumb at the curve of Seulgi’s cheek, and then breathes in, nudging the restraint that’s keeping her from crying further down . “But I couldn’t do it, Seulgi-yah. I thought I was strong enough, but I wasn’t.”

“Hyun-ah—”

“I’m okay,” Irene whispers, voice cracking amidst her watery smile. “It’s okay.”

Seulgi can feel the way both of them tremble: Irene finally grappling with the fact that she almost lost this—lost the love of her life forever, while Seulgi is unable to fully grasp how she’s able to hold Irene like this again, like she never lost her.

There must be a catch. Something Seulgi is afraid to ask, though, she knows she has to. “But the fellowship—”

“It’s okay,” Irene repeats. She tightens her hold on Seulgi’s face, though the tender way Seulgi’s thumbs against the insides of her wrists as Seulgi’s fingers encircle around them admittedly makes her weak. “It’s okay. I love you. We’ll figure it out.”

Seulgi then surges forward, crossing the scant space so that she can press their foreheads together. Her next words hit Irene in stilted gasps, but it’s her kiss that steals the breath out of Irene’s lips. “We will.”

Her hands slide down to Irene’s shoulders and run all over her back until they settle on wrapping around Irene’s waist as she pulls her into her arms; makes herself small and tucks her face into Irene’s neck to whisper just as quietly, “I love you too.”

…

 

It’s dark by the time they’re told that they can take Sunbin home. But it’s not the foreboding kind. It’s dark, but it’s beautiful, and it makes the lights twinkling in the city beneath it mean more than simply being bright.

Irene finds herself staring at the glittering skyline, her eyes fleeting between the sleeping newborn in her arms and past the view on their tall glass windows when it becomes too much.

(Her heart is full, and yet, somehow, there are still gaps she didn’t even know existed that Sunbin’s presence is filling in. And Irene is starting to wonder how her heart is able to keep making room for Seulgi and Sunbin to fit into.)

She gets so lost in marveling at their daughter that she almost misses the shutter of a camera going off. But she doesn’t, yet before she can turn around to confront the person who’s taken her photo, she feels strong, sinewy arms wrap around her waist.

A familiar weight presses against her back, pinning her in place. She welcomes the affection wholeheartedly, smiling when she feels a kiss pressed on the bare part of her shoulder.

“You know I don’t like my pictures being taken,” Irene chides, though it’s half-hearted. “Not when I haven’t washed my hair in days.”

“You look beautiful,” she hears Seulgi tell her, so earnest that it makes her heart turn over beneath her chest. “You always do.”

Irene feels Seulgi rest her chin on the space between her neck and her shoulder, looking over as one of the arms encircling her slides up, covering her own that’s cradling Sunbin’s head.

The other, Seulgi uses to pull them close. Until they’re all pressed together. Three matching heartbeats.

She leans back, easing some of her weight in Seulgi’s embrace; feels herself smile when her wife just shifts to catch her and prop both of them up. “And here I was thinking you can’t get any more cheesier,” she jests, but she kisses the curve of Seulgi’s cheek, wholly endeared.

“I have not,” Seulgi refutes. She’s just elated and over the moon, and her wife can’t really blame her for anything that comes out of while she’s stuck in this bliss.

“Whatever you say,” Irene intones. Seulgi doesn’t have to look at her to hear her smirk.

“Shhh, Hyun,” she shushes her wife instead. “You’re gonna wake our baby up.”

A soft laugh blooms in Irene’s chest, growing as she looks to her side to meet Seulgi’s gaze. She has little room to move, what with Seulgi’s hold winding even tighter, but the warm breath that hits her cheek is enough to make her eyes flutter.

Then, her wife whispers as she a gentle palm on the crown of Sunbin’s head, “I can’t wait to take her out for ice cream. And take her ice skating. I’ll teach her how to ride a bike, too.”

“That won’t be for a while though, baby.”

“I know. I just—” Seulgi tries to say, but takes a pause to breathe out the clutter in her thoughts. It’s becoming a frequent pattern these days, where she’ll see her daughter in her wife’s arms and nothing else will matter—nothing else will make sense but that sight.

In the end, she settles with her honest truth. “I can’t wait to do all those things with you two.”

“You can’t wait to spoil her, you mean?” Irene quips. But the sweet press of her lips against Seulgi’s spills the truth of what she really means: she can’t wait for the rest of their lives, too.

…

 

There is still something so jarring about seeing Irene putter around their kitchen, even if it’s just something as mundane as filling a pot with water to cook ramyun, and that they’ve been doing this for over a month now to boot.

This being: Irene driving straight to the apartment as soon as she gets off work, getting a headstart on making dinner if Seulgi’s running late, or coming home to their table already set and just falling into Seulgi’s waiting arms.

(But she never stays over, save for that one night back in New Year’s. Because while there are exactly twenty-three steps from their kitchen to the bedroom, both Seulgi and her do not want to skip any.)

Still, Irene in Seulgi’s shirt is a sight that’s admittedly taking some getting used to, her white coat a stark contrast against the dark couch as Seulgi folds and drapes it on top of the couch rest.

Irene’s purse is left where she has chucked it at, on the empty space in the lone seat near the door. It’s one of her many newfound ways to let Seulgi know that she’s hers for the rest of the night, a tiny gesture that has stemmed from the moment she noticed how Seulgi rarely looks at her phone—if at all—whenever she’s around.

(She found it resting on the nightstand the second night, when she’d taken up Seulgi’s offer of a change of clothes and followed her into the bedroom. The blinking notification light had caught her eye, the consecutive buzzing next. But Seulgi merely walked past it and headed straight to the closet, cracking it open.

The hinge squeaked, still loose and unfixed, and yet, all Irene could feel at that moment was another part of her mending.)

Irene waltzes back in just as Seulgi’s plopping down on one of the stools by the kitchen island, hair finally loose from the low tie she’s donned it all day on and her entire form dwarfed by one of Seulgi’s baggy sleep shirts.

She eyes the contents of Seulgi’s fridge with clear disapproval—if one can even call a few bottles of water and three packs of ice cream she can’t exactly remember when she’s bought that.

Seulgi watches her crinkle her nose in disgust. She’d apologize for the lack of produce, really, but there are just more important things that have taken up her attention and time.

Like the love of her life standing right in front of her, and her no longer having to pretend that Irene doesn’t mean the world.

“We need to go grocery shopping,” Irene states, peering over her shoulder to where Seulgi is propped against the counter, leaning on her elbows.

It’s laid out so plainly, as if Irene’s merely jotting down another bullet point to her to-do list. But it has Seulgi’s entire world screeching to a halt and jarred out of its axis, and all she can come up with for a reply is, “N-now?”

Irene leans back a tad bit, throwing a quick glance at the clock hanging by the hallway that connects the kitchen and the living room; rights herself up when she catches sight of the time and pushes at the fridge door lightly to close it. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

She reaches up towards the second cupboard where Seulgi still keeps all the ramyun packs, and then pulls the cooking pot out from the cabinet directly below. “But maybe this weekend? We can just grab some take out tomorrow night.”

The kitchen is gradually filled with clanging that Seulgi hasn’t heard in a while—never really thought she’ll hear again—and something about the familiar, well-missed sounds pricks heat at the back of her eyes.

“You said you were craving for jajangmyeon, right?” Irene continues, blissfully unaware. She slides the potful of ramyun on top of the burner, turns the knob of the stove on, and sets it to high for a quick boil. “I’m thinking, I’ll pick you up at the studio and we can go to Kyo’s. Make a date night out of it?”

It’s only when she’s wiping her hands dry does she notice the lack of response. So she twists around, her easy smile dropping at the unsettled, far away look that’s suddenly clouding Seulgi’s face.

“Seul? Baby? What’s wrong?”

Seulgi just stares at her for a moment before catching herself. Then, she shakes her head, exhaling the pressure building in her chest in one soft breath. “Nothing. I—it’s nothing, Hyun.”

Irene rounds the kitchen island then, stopping until she’s right in front of Seulgi. She tucks a knuckle under Seulgi’s chin to raise it, the crease in her forehead etching deeper at the sudden sheen in Seulgi’s eyes. “Seulgi-yah, what’s going on?”

“It’s… I guess—I just,” Seulgi tries to voice out. But her shoulders just slump down in the end, caving in under the enormity of what she feels for Irene. “I missed you. I don’t think I ever stopped.”

Irene only nods once in turn, her smile completely empathetic just as she steps forth and slots herself in between Seulgi’s knees.

Like she knows what’s going on in Seulgi’s head.

Like she’s felt it herself, too, as her mind shuffles through her memories and her heart is regretting each frame— each and every second she’d decided to keep them apart—all over again.

Though, in that very same reel, there’s only one thing that stands unchanging; an absolute that pushes her hands to slide up and cradle Seulgi’s cheeks, letting their gazes meet as she speaks, “Kang Seulgi, there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about you. You were always on my mind, and I couldn’t get you out. No matter how hard I tried.”

(What she doesn’t tell Seulgi is that she’d been prepared for that kind of penance, a cross she’d known she’d bear for the rest of her life: never knowing how to quit her.)

“I’m sorry,” Seulgi murmurs, and Irene hates, hates, the guilt that fills her tone. “I didn’t mean to bring up the bad stuff. It just—it hits me sometimes. And it scares me.”

In pangs, she doesn’t say, jolted by fear that she’ll wake up one day and she’ll be back staring at that spot above her makeshift bed where the paint is peeling off, and Irene will be on the other side of the country, doing the most amazing things.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Irene says, letting out a soft sound that’s meant to shush Seulgi’s fears. “We can both be scared. But we’ll figure out how not to be anymore. Together.”

Seulgi just nods wordlessly, at her lips then heaves another breath. But Irene doesn’t like the way it rattles Seulgi’s chest, the shakiness that has stemmed from their conversation lingering in her next exhale.

It has her aching with the need to soothe it. So she does.

She kisses her, soft yet resolute, inerrant and unrelenting. Kisses her until Seulgi’s arms move to circle around her waist, and Seulgi’s fingers splay themselves on the small of her back while a fist clutches at her shirt to get her even closer.

(Irene simply lets her.)

Though it’s Seulgi who pulls away first at the gurgled pop that the boiling water makes; a sound her grumbling stomach doesn’t have problems agreeing with. But she’s shaking for an entirely different reason this time, her shoulders tight from another kind of tension she can barely manage to reel in.

Irene can’t help but laugh at that. And at the dazed look she seems to have imprinted on Seulgi’s face, she leans in for a softer chaste kiss.

There is nothing more that she wants than to stay pressed to Seulgi like this. But they’re both tired, and there’s ramyun on the stove that’s about to dry out. So she steps out of Seulgi’s arms—a tad bit begrudging because there will always be something about Seulgi’s warmth that Irene will never get enough of—but doesn’t let go of Seulgi completely.

After such a heavy moment they shared, she can’t quite bring herself to. There’s a huge part of her that wants to stay connected to Seulgi, an effortless impetus she easily gives in to.

It’s the same part that compels her to take Seulgi’s hand, tugging at her arm until Seulgi relents with a chuckle and stands up. “Come help me make ramyun.”

“Ah, yes. What would you do without me and my cooking skills?”

Irene scoffs playfully at that and rolls her eyes; doesn’t bother replying to a question she hadn’t wanted to find an answer to but did, and carried that penitence with her ever since.

…

 

The months pass by in a haze, vacillating between work and her days filled with Sunbin’s cries and her cooing laugh, her nights spent trudging all around their space because Sunbin refuses to go to sleep until Seulgi has set foot on each and every corner of their apartment.

(She already finds it hard enough to relieve her arms of Sunbin’s weight. But this habit that their daughter is starting to form isn’t making it any easier.)

“Babe, I’m so tired,” she tells Irene, glances at the clock on their living room hallway and then groans when it ticks just half past eleven. “Oh my God, I can’t feel my arms, Hyun.”

“You are so dramatic,” Irene replies. There’s a roll of eyes, but it gets lost in the enamored smile she sends her wife.

Seulgi pretends not to hear anything on purpose and just drops her face on Irene’s chest, nuzzling her nose playfully on the valley that lies in its center. “Screw the bed, I’m gonna sleep here.”

“Alright, weirdo,” Irene says; giggles when Seulgi only wiggles in response and burrows her face even more. The rumble of Seulgi’s ensuing laugh spreads all over her chest, seeping in beneath and fluttering against her ribcage. “Yah, Seulgi! Stop it!”

Yet, despite the chiding tone, Irene just lets her— lets the both of them have this moment, sinking in to the few minutes of reprieve from their suddenly crazy lives.

(Still, Irene will never change a thing.)

She leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of Seulgi’s head; noses her way to her wife’s lips as Seulgi props her chin up, her tired, hooded eyes gazing at Irene with nothing but unbridled want and sheer affection.

She meets Irene halfway, pushes against her wife to get closer, and kisses her deeper until Irene’s pliant and yielding under her touch. Until Irene’s running the tip of her tongue against her bottom lip, stoking the embers deep in Seulgi’s gut till they’re set alight and blood is rushing in her ears.

Until Irene’s scooting back down and her fingers are scrambling all over Seulgi’s back, looking for some kind of anchor to tether her to the moment that isn’t Seulgi’s suddenly heated skin.

They end up tangled in Seulgi’s hair when Seulgi shifts to hover above her and she feels kiss-swollen lips trace the curve of her jaw, trailing a path from her pulse point and down to the dip of her collarbone.

It tears a sharp gasp from —one that has Seulgi slotting herself in between Irene’s legs, while her own fingers dig on Irene’s thighs with a certain need—and her neck arches in its own accord as Seulgi nips on the spot that still drives her crazy and shaking with desire.

Heat shoots from her spine, white hot and pooling right where Seulgi is pressed against her. It roars, wild and almost untamed as Seulgi slides her hands up, scraping her nails with purpose until they disappear underneath Irene’s sleep shirt.

And then Seulgi’s thumb is grazing her hip, toying with the waistband of her shorts with that smirk of hers that leaves Irene fevered, and she feels a moan from deep within her own gut rise up to , straining to be uncoiled and let out—

—only for it to be usurped by the white, tablet-like device resting on their coffee table when it crackles to life.

The sound tumbles out as a squeak she quickly muffles with the hand she frees from Seulgi’s mane, just as Seulgi lets out a low, throaty whine and drops heavily against Irene.

She smothers the nervous laugh that comes right after, mindful not to wake their daughter up further—if she already is—and only lets go when she manages to temper the fervor that’s still curling her toes.

Squirming a little, she reaches for the baby monitor. Seulgi then shifts and twists away, dropping her back against the couch rest to give her wife enough room to move freely. The mood’s already been ruined anyway, and there’s just no way Seulgi thinks they can continue, not with the reminder that their daughter’s just right across the hall. In their bedroom to be exact.

They watch Sunbin fuss in her crib for a few beats—Seulgi already having one foot off the couch just in case she needs to make a quick run to their bedroom to pick her up and hand her to Irene to be fed—but, thankfully, she just drifts back to sleep.

“We’ll never have again, will we?” Seulgi groans then; can only sigh out the throbbing she’s still trying to recover from as her legs fall limp on top of Irene’s.

Irene laughs her agreement, stretching her hand out again to put the baby monitor back to where she’s swiped it from, then, “Not on the couch, at least.”

“The bedroom’s out, too. For like, the next five years,” Seulgi adds, already lamenting the prospective descent of that aspect in their married life. “So, yeah, never.”

“Well, we could always move,” Irene starts. She catches her bottom lip in between her teeth and then twirls a finger on the front of Seulgi’s shirt, pulling at it until Seulgi dutifully follows. And when she has Seulgi pressed back against her in all the right places once more, she pins her in that position with her arms around Seulgi’s neck, her leg hooking over her wife’s calf as she whispers hotly in her ear. “Plus, I’ve always wanted to try the backseat of my car.”

Seulgi’s shudders finally free the knot coiled so tightly in her gut, springing victoriously at the way her name gets lost in the fervor ading Seulgi’s everything.

Joohyun has never sounded so wanted, and so, so beautiful.

.

 

“I love our baby but, why does she hate sleep?” Seulgi wonders after.

(After, when they’re both sated and flushed, and their kisses have tapered off into something slow and tender and chaste. It’s almost having to force themselves when they finally peel away from each other, lest Sunbin does wake up for her next feeding.)

“It’s just one of the things she didn’t take after you,” Irene replies. Her words are muffled behind the sleep shirt she’s pulling over her head, though she knows Seulgi hears them still, catching the way Seulgi’s lips twist into a pout. She lifts a hand, carding her fingers through her now fully-dressed wife’s damp hair. “But, that’s okay, right?”

There’s a flicker of uncertainty in Irene’s eyes that Seulgi absolutely doesn’t miss, matched with the faint tremble in her fingers that she feels in ripples.

As if Irene’s still scared that one day, Seulgi will change her mind. And a part of her—that part she’s still quite unable to forgive even after everything—just aches.

She swallows visibly, squashing the voice in her head that’s somehow still able to find ways every now and then to whisper how she doesn’t deserve this kind of happiness.

Barrels through to quell those voices both inside their heads: If you could walk away then. If you couldn’t change your mind then.

What would stop you now?

Smiles softly at Irene and means it. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

…

 

She gets the text on one of their date nights, when she’s on her last spoonful of leftovers she’s scraped off straight from the container she’s brought home from Ristorante Siciliano, and Irene is dozing off on the couch after finally downing the rest of her Rosé (among other things).

Seulgi picks her phone up from where it has landed on the carpeted floor, swipes up to unlock the screen and taps on the topmost thread. Yuri’s latest message to her reads: Just got a call from the PD. They said they’re a go. You wanna take the spot? We can fly you there in 2 days.

It takes one glance at Irene’s sleeping form—cheeks still flushed and looking bare and beautiful under the thick comforter she’s wrapped in—for Seulgi to decide.

Thank you, unnie, she types, squinting at the glare of her screen amidst the low light, But I think Eunae is best for the job. She’s been missing Tokyo, too!

She hits Send, completely unblinking and unequivocal, then leaves her phone at the farthest edge of their coffee table on silent and face down, with no intention of sparing it a glance till the next morning.

She crosses the last few steps that separates her and the couch, the supple and fluffy rug a welcomed change from the cold kitchen floor boards, lifting a corner of the blanket and sliding back in carefully to lie next to Irene.

Though, as lithe as her movement is, Irene still stirs as the couch dips under her weight. She blinks at Seulgi sleepily, hums as she scoots closer, seeking Seulgi’s warmth. But it’s only when she feels Seulgi’s lack of undress against her bareness does she speak. “Hey,” she rasps, voice throaty and tinged with sleep. And it has Seulgi swallowing almost visibly. “I thought we agreed on no clothes?”

“I got hungry,” Seulgi replies with a giggle that peters into a soft smile. “Had to settle something at work, too. But it’s all good.”

“Oh,” Irene mumbles. She turns still, unable to hide the way her face falls despite the darkness blanketing their living room. “Do you need to go?”

Seulgi has never liked that sight—dislikes it even more whenever she’s the cause. So she hastily stretches an arm out, slipping it under Irene’s shoulders. Irene shifts to let her, pulling herself until she’s draped over Seulgi’s side, her temple resting on Seulgi’s collarbone.

“No,” Seulgi says after a beat, growing thick at the memory that she’d chosen differently once, and nothing had been the same since. She kisses the crown of Irene’s head, letting her lips stay just to keep some form of contact. “I’m right where I want to be.”

A shy smile spreads across Irene’s face, one Seulgi takes note of when Irene lifts her head to meet her gaze. “Are you really?”

“I’ve never been more sure.”

She feels the conviction of Seulgi’s words against , soft puffs of air that she quickly chases away with a kiss, bruising and as significant as this moment between them. But it gets too much at some point, the both of them feeling like they’ve reached an unspoken threshold of heavy matters, so Irene says, teasing, “Then why are you still wearing clothes?”

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to take them off,” Seulgi replies, her smirk smug and her tone playfully goading.

Irene simply arches a brow in response, shuffles on top of the woman beneath her and rises valiantly to the challenge.

…

 

Irene doesn’t remember ever being this beat. Bone tired and just spent.

(She may have lost Seulgi once, but that was a different kind of exhaustion entirely. A category of its own that consumed her in ways she never thought she’d be: listless, weary, and never ending.)

Her toes are throbbing inside her shoes, ankles popping with almost every step she takes, and her legs are aching from standing in the same spot for more than twelve hours.

It’s been a long surgery and an even more longer day, with four post-op rounds still left before she can hopefully clock out.

But it’s gone well—her patient already on his way to a full recovery without her needing to induce a medical coma—and Irene supposes she can’t really ask for more than that blessing.

She’s so exhausted that the words on the chart she’s currently scribbling on are starting to blend together into this one huge jumble she’s almost unable to read. Though her eyes manage to fight through the dizzying haze with a few blinks and a couple of deep sighs.

But then there’s a squeal, and it sounds too much like Sunbin’s that Irene can’t help but think she’s beginning to hear things and maybe she needs to lie down for at least a few minutes. Or chug down five more cups of Earl Grey. Probably both.

She doesn’t even jump when Yongsun pops up on her side, plopping her own stack of charts on the station’s counter unceremoniously.

(She might really need to do both. Soon.)

“Doctor Bae,” Yongsun greets her; flips the cover of the one on top open before chancing a glance at the other woman. “Long day?”

“You have no idea,” Irene replies, huffing out another tired breath.

Yongsun answers with a small laugh, fully understanding how it has gone. She’s had the same essentially: four traumas back to back, two shoulders she’s had to pop back into place, a code blue that hung by a thread, and then some. “Yeah, me too,” she agrees. “It’s all thanks to the free coffee that I’m still walking, really.”

“I wish I can have more,” Irene bemoans, though it’s tea for her, as always. She throws her head back and tries not to think about making one more cup, scalding hot with wisps swirling on top. “But I promised Seulgi dinner since we haven’t been able to pin down date night for two weeks now.”

Yongsun arches a brow, lips curved up to tease. “I’d ask if there’s trouble in paradise but, I’ve seen you two and I swear you’ve gotten worse. So that’s not it.”

There’s a part of Irene that still aches at any form of reminder that things weren’t this easy once. She honestly doesn’t think it will ever go away, but she’s long learned that forgiveness is an elongated road, and forgiving one’s self completely is a journey. So she lets her smile pull her up—forward—and lets her thoughts drift to where her wife and daughter are: home. “We think Sunbin’s about to start walking. She keeps pulling herself up on everything!”

Yongsun aptly gasps. “But she just turned eight months!”

“I know!” Irene concurs. She hurries to pen her last few instructions, and then underlines the follow-up checkup’s date twice, lest she forgets about it entirely. She finds it really easy these days, whenever her daughter’s involved. Then, “Seulgi’s leaving her phone camera on almost all the time now, just so we won’t miss it.”

“I better be the first one you’ll send that video to,” the other woman threatens good-naturedly. But she’s grinning just as huge as Irene is, pride seeping out of them both. “As godmother, I call dibs.”

“Seungwan beat you to that yesterday,” Irene replies, chuckling. She remembers Seulgi calling her best friend on FaceTime during one of Sunbin’s feats, showing their daughter off until Sunbin had let go of her hold on the couch rest in full confidence and bravery, and Seulgi all but dove to catch her, forgetting everything else. “You came in close second, though.”

Yongsun lays a hand over her chest, affecting an affronted look. “You know what, I don’t need this kind of betrayal.” She waves said hand then, as if shooing Irene off, though the quirk of Yongsun’s lips tells Irene that she’s being nothing but whimsical. “Go home. I’ll do your post-op rounds.”

Round eyes widen in surprise, matched with a jaw that drops, hanging. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” She maintains. But Irene catches the startled glance Yongsun throws over her shoulder, making her think twice about accepting. Though Yongsun affirms the offer right away by snatching the rest of Irene’s charts and piling it on top of her own. “Go be a wife. You’ve played doctor the whole day already.”

“I might have to rest for a bit.” Irene sags against her position on the station counter then, suddenly feeling the throb behind her legs once more. It creeps up so strongly that she stoops a little, letting her fingers knead the tiredness out. “I’m not even sure I can drive home. I can barely feel my legs.”

Yongsun smiles at her, the kind that seems to boast a secret that Irene’s too slow to figure out. Then, she says, “Good thing your wife’s here to drive you, then.”

Irene freezes almost comically, but her gaze is quick to snap up, meeting Yongsun’s. “What?”

The other woman snickers first before twisting around to point in a certain direction. Irene trails it—wholly confused yet equally curious—bolting upright when she does find Seulgi at the end of it.

Even better, her wife’s got their daughter in tow, bouncing on the sturdy carrier that Seulgi has strapped over her chest.

Seulgi waves at her in greeting, turns sideways so Sunbin’s facing her too. Sunbin lets out another squeal, tiny hands flinging up in the air as she bounces harder at the sight of her mother. Seulgi catches one of them, waving it in Irene's way and mouthing look Bin-ah, there’s Mommy.

And then Seulgi flashes Irene her favorite smile, Seulgi’s eyes folding in arcs. It’s the same smile that Sunbin mirrors, and Irene feels her breath be stolen away.

“Oh my God, that should be illegal,” Yongsun can’t help but voice out. A thought that Irene will highly agree to, if only doesn’t feel thick right now and her heart isn’t swelling ten folds.

All she can leave Yongsun with is a hasty thank you so much that’s filled with gratitude she throws over her shoulder, and then she’s treading down the hall where Seulgi is unhooking one of the carrier’s straps off of her shoulder so she can lift Sunbin out.

“Hey, this is a surprise!” Irene greets her wife, accepting the change of hands the moment she reaches her. Their daughter wiggles in her arms, cooing and tugging at Irene’s hair as Irene leans towards Seulgi for a kiss.

“She woke up from her nap, and we had a nice chat while I was changing her diaper. She told me she misses Mommy,” Seulgi tells her. “I said you do? Me too! So now we’re here.”

“Now you’re here,” Irene repeats. Her smile blooms wide and earnest, matching the one that’s still spread across Seulgi’s face.

Then, Seulgi says, “And we’re taking you home.”

And Irene loves her even more for that.

.

 

(There isn’t a single moment she stopped.)

…

 

These days, they’re all about new traditions.

Seulgi doesn’t really know what spurs it on, or who the catalyst is. Just that they’re circled around their coffee table one night, racing to buy Park Place and Boardwalk, and passing as many Gos as they can on the brand new Monopoly board she’s snagged on her way back from the nearby store.

(Irene gets to them first. Of course she does.

Twenty minutes later, she bleeds Eunji dry of her play money until the other woman is so deep in debt she’s stripped of all her purchased properties and is left watching Irene with the utmost disbelief as she cackles in triumph.)

Now it’s them on Wendy and Eunji’s dining table, staring at each of their own hand of cards while Somi sleeps blissfully in her room. The draw deck is quickly thinning out, loses one more as Joy swipes the topmost card but ultimately throws a different one.

Beside her, Wendy holds in a laugh behind the palm of her free hand as Yeri eyes the newest addition to their discard pile with a kind of hatred she’s only ever seen in Irene.

Then, she slowly turns her head to pin Joy with a sharp look, gritting out, “You knew I didn’t have any greens, didn’t you?”

“How would I even know that, babe?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Yeri sourly gripes. “‘Coz I don’t cheat.”

It’s Seulgi who answers though, despite the shocked gasp Joy draws in and the complete incredulity that dawns on her face; yells impatiently from across the table. “Yeah, yeah, you two can fight later. Come on Yerim, it’s your turn!”

“Shhh, Seulgi!” Wendy shushes, just as Irene reminds her, too, that they’ve just put a teething Somi down to sleep and none of them have the energy left to go through that again anytime soon.

Seulgi still whines in protest, undeterred by the glare Yeri sends her way. But she does purse into a pout that Irene’s unable to resist giggling at and kissing away.

“At this rate, we’re never going to finish,” she continues to grumble; groans when Yeri makes a show of drawing a card from the remaining deck and then flipping it to face her with a grand flourish.

She draws three more, adding to her stack that it’s more than anyone else’s hand now. A fourth that thankfully is her luck: a green seven that she drops on top of the pile.

But not without telling her girlfriend first, smiling at her so saccharinely that Joy almost wants to reflect on her decisions in life the last five minutes. “Joohyun-unnie’s staying at Seulgi-unnie’s tonight. Feel free to take the spare room. Or better yet, the couch.”

.

 

When it’s finally Seulgi’s turn, there’s one card left to draw: a yellow in a sea of reds in her hand. But the last card thrown is a blue eight, which Seulgi neither has, so there’s really no choice for her but to pull one of the few tricks she’s saved up on her sleeve.

She picks a card at the leftmost end of her deck, at her lips and smiles sweetly at Irene.

“Yah, Kang Seulgi,” Irene says, eyes narrowing. She knows that look, that smile no matter how sweet. “Think about what you’re about to do very, very carefully.”

“I love you so much. And forever,” Seulgi replies, leans forward to steal a kiss just in case she finds herself unable to do so in the next few minutes. “Please draw four cards.”

Irene merely hums, lifting a hand out to draw four cards from the newly-shuffled cards Eunji replenishes their deck with. But she’s eerily calm that Seulgi almost knows what’s coming next; isn’t even the least bit surprised when Irene speaks—tells everyone in the room, really, “Guess it’s not just Sooyoung sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“You know what,” Wendy says, turning to her wife. “We’re never playing Uno ever again.”

…

 

Summer flares in a literal blaze, scorching and hot enough that Irene genuinely debates packing up and taking her wife and their daughter somewhere up north for an impromptu trip.

Seulgi would love the scenery, she knows, and Irene would love seeing her in it—would love to watch her wife dip her and their daughter’s feet along the shallow ends of the bluest shore, build castles on the white sand with their twin dimpled smiles all out for Irene to see.

But she’ll have to actually find the will to move from her spot first, pick a limp limb up before she can even think about jetting out of the city.

Their child seems to be fine, though, at least; her smile still wide and gummy despite the humid air. Irene can’t help but take a ton of comfort from that.

Sunbin’s perfectly content on playing on the soft fluffy rug, alternating between squeezing the nose of her stuffed rabbit and biting at its long ears without a fuss.

Until she spots the huge stuffed dog sitting a few steps away from them—an almost life-sized one that Seulgi’s dad had insisted on buying for his only grandchild—and she looks up at her mom, grinning as she points and gurgles at the toy.

“Oh baby,” Irene coos at her just as Seulgi ambles back into the living room, holding the bottles of water she’s snagged from their fridge. “I’d get it for you but I'm so exhausted.”

“I’ll get it Bin-ah,” Seulgi then says, cracking the cap of the unopened bottle and handing it to her wife. “Give me a sec.”

Irene shifts on the couch to take a sip, pressing cold lips to Seulgi’s cheek after in gratitude. “Thanks, baby.”

But Sunbin drops the stuffed rabbit in her hands before Seulgi can even twist the cap back on her own bottle, gets on all fours as impatience rushes in. She crawls around to look for Seulgi, their little one finding her perched on the couch’s arm, her hand wrapped around her other mother’s shoulder and a thumb pressing on the tight knot by her shoulder blade.

Sunbin lifts a hand again, pointing at the gray and white toy dog once more. It makes Seulgi chuckle, tsks teasingly. “Not even a year old and already so stubborn.”

Irene hums, arching a brow in a playful challenge that she punctuates with a smirk. “I wonder who she gets that from?”

Seulgi looks back at their little girl, pressing her lips together before meeting Irene’s gaze once more. And it’s a testament to how far they’ve come, when Seulgi just shoots Irene her own smirk, and then says, “I mean, you did hold out for—how many months was it even?”

A hoarse laugh escapes from Irene’s throat. She makes a show of rolling her eyes, but there’s a grin that she’s completely unable to tamp down despite the innocent look she affects when she tells Seulgi, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Their attention shifts back to their daughter as Sunbin lets out a loud gurgle before plopping back down on her behind to sit up. She gives both her mothers a toothy grin as if sensing that she’s being talked about, and then flings her hands in the air.

And as though she’s been doing it forever, she hoists herself up on shaky legs, stepping towards the direction of the stuffed dog she’s been wanting to play with and seemingly altogether unafraid even if she stumbles.

Their little daredevil.

“Oh my God,” Irene gasps, wholly frozen and slack jawed as she watches her daughter with wide eyes. While Seulgi all but throws the bottled water in her hand, racing towards the table she’s dumped her bag on to fish her phone out of its pocket. “Oh my God, Seulgi!”

“She’s walking!” Irene continues to exclaim, her own hands flailing with the lack of knowing what to do exactly until her wife hurries back to her side. “Seul, our baby’s walking!”

Irene’s fingers find Seulgi’s arm then, curling around and trying hard not to shake. But Seulgi’s too busy struggling to unlock her phone with her own trembling hands. The screen only flashes No match every time she tries to press her thumb on the designated spot, and her fingers are shaking too wildly for her to type her code in. “It won’t open! Why won’t it open?!”

It takes four wobbly steps and a half for Sunbin to reach the stuffed toy whose head comes up to her height, and by the time Seulgi does get to unlock the screen and pull the camera app up, Sunbin already has her arms around the dog’s neck, her knees buckling in under her weight.

“No!” Seulgi groans, feels her own self slump against the floor while her wife runs to pick their little girl up and flutter proud kisses all over Sunbin’s face. “I can’t believe I missed it!”

…

 

But some things, Seulgi thinks, stay the same.

Like long walks on nice nights, the gentle breeze bringing an attractive flush that fills Irene's cheeks. Irene’s arm looped around hers, seeking warmth. Irene’s laugh that carries its very own melody over and echoes a tender thrum in Seulgi’s chest.

She almost doesn’t want the night to end; doesn’t want to stop watching the way Irene’s hair gets ruffled by the soft wind, looking so beautiful and so ethereal Seulgi can physically feel her breath be taken away.

It’s only the thought that she gets to spend the rest of it at Irene’s side that puts her feet forth, stepping past the complex’s doors and heading straight up to their apartment; toes her shoes off and leaves them by the door, right next to where Irene’s white sneakers have already taken to home.

They settle into the night wordlessly, going about their own routines. Seulgi takes both of their coats and hangs them by their respective spots in the closet, while Irene pulls the sleep clothes they’ll change into; washes her face first but stalls long enough that Seulgi catches up to her and they brush their teeth together.

Seulgi makes a thousand and one faces on the mirror that she knows will make Irene laugh. Irene, in turn, sprays water onto Seulgi’s face in retaliation, just as the other woman is wiping the remnants of her routine off. And it has her ending backed up against the bathroom counter trying to avoid Seulgi’s fingers poking at her sides.

It’s half an hour after that they finally do settle down. Seulgi pulls back the comforter on her side of the bed, and then fluffs her pillows; hovers at Irene’s side to fluff hers, too. But the corner of her eye is trained by the vanity where Irene still is, waiting for her so they can slide in together.

She’s peeling the blanket underneath when she hears Irene speak. “Can you help me with my necklace, baby?”

There’s a shakiness in her voice that Seulgi doesn’t really deem as something bad, the warmth in it laced in Irene’s smile, washing over any foreboding feeling that threatens to root in Seulgi’s mind.

“One sec,” she replies. She crawls over the mattress to get to where the other woman is standing, ambling behind her and unclipping the necklace as Irene has asked.

She follows through the motion almost mindlessly, but the look that settles on Irene’s face as she sets the chain on Irene’s palm makes her feel like the moment is overly significant with something that Seulgi is definitely missing.

It stretches across her chest when Irene picks an end up, pulling until the rings that have been hanging on it—ever since that day they signed a thin white sheet with shaky fingers and blurry eyes—slide down and roll into the curve of Irene’s palm.

Seulgi can only look at her quizzically, an unspoken question burning in her eyes. (It’s not that it’s the first time she’s seen Irene wearing the makeshift pendants, but it’s probably the first time Irene’s ever taken them off of the chain in Seulgi’s presence.

Besides, Seulgi didn’t have the heart to ask then why Irene kept them all this time—doesn’t think she’s prepared for the answer even now.)

But Irene tells her anyway, smiling softly at her, watery and quivering. “I couldn’t get rid of it. I guess a part of me knew that that meant some sort of finality I could never face. And in my heart, deep down, I’ve always known that we will never be over. Not for me.”

She slips in the ring Seulgi had given her that day she’d asked if Irene could be her sunshine for the rest of their lives. Though, she’s stopped by a slender hand as she’s sliding in the gold band that once meant forever next.

(It still does.)

She looks up at Seulgi then, heart on . Until Seulgi smiles at her, the truth shining in her eyes despite the shimmer of tears. “I love you. More than anything. More than anyone. But...”

“But what?”

Seulgi shifts forward, kissing the palm where the gold ring now lies and unknowingly soothing the cold bite that stings Irene’s skin. “We should do this right. We owe ourselves that.”

…

 

Autumn settles in completely with Seulgi counting down the days, the burning red of trees becoming quite a steady welcomed view that helps fight the cold breeze it brings with it.

She greets the season like an old, long lost friend walking up their driveway, leads it inside their humble abode and lets it linger by the sturdy oak mantel above their crackling fireplace. Though her muddy boots are still left at the door along with the withering leaves, Irene’s very own pair now its perennial company, and a new tiny one that sits in between, completing it.

On the mantel are an assortment of wooden frames, a row of memories they’ve captured and collected over the years that never fails to put a soft smile on Seulgi’s face whenever it catches her gaze.

(It quickly became Seulgi’s favorite spot the first time they were shown around, and she was met with tall glass windows right next to the then empty mantel and the bulky stout tree in the peripheral. It painted a beautiful scenery of the beginnings of Fall: green leaves halfway turning red and hanging low from the branches, swaying along to the season’s gentle tune.

Now, she can hardly wait to adorn it more—can picture a tiny blue roof atop the trunk that houses wooden walls covered in splashes of yellow, and whichever color her daughter’s heart desires.

But, for now, Seulgi feels her own heart settle in contentment to such a quaint sight.)

.

 

Irene’s parents check in first later in the day. Her phone rings just as she’s bringing the last of Sunbin’s clothes inside their daughter’s new room, swiping it off the counter before it falls to the floor from the incessant buzz.

Sunbin is in her high chair, chewing on some mashed apples and squeezing the rest of her snack in her plumb fists. Seulgi is nowhere in sight, but she can hear the rustle of boxes being opened from somewhere in their foyer.

She kisses the crown of her daughter’s head, and then swipes her thumb to pick up the call, chuckling at the sight of her own parents trying to squeeze in both of their faces on the small screen.

“Is it on?” Irene’s mom says in lieu of a hello, a determined finger prodding on the screen. “Joohyun-ah, can you see us?”

“Yes, umma,” Irene replies; can’t help but laugh more at the way her dad squints and mumbles why do we look small, is it small for them too? “You’re okay, appa. We can see you just fine.”

She lowers the hand holding her phone, putting Sunbin in view with her as if to prove her point. Sunbin, in turn, gives a gummy grin as she hears her mother say, “Bin-ah, look who it is!”

“Ni!” Sunbin squeals, finding her grandmother on the screen. She flings her hands out, sending squashed baby food all over the pristine island counter as she reaches for the device. But Irene only chuckles at the mess and finds herself reveling at the excited noise her daughter makes when a finger gets to touch her halmoni’s face over the screen. “Ni!”

“Oh, look at you,” Mrs. Bae coos on the other line, pressing a hand over her chest at the gleeful look that spreads on Sunbin’s face. “How are you settling in, my little one? Do you like your new room?”

“She looks bigger,” Mr. Bae interjects beside her wife. “Are you getting bigger, sonnyeo?”

Irene shifts to answer, but it’s Seulgi who ends up doing so, waltzing back in their kitchen with their daughter’s favorite plush toy in her hands. “She is, appa,” she says. She stoops a little, waving at the screen. “I had to have a serious talk with her last night about it. And we’ve agreed that she’ll stop doing that for a little while longer.”

An exasperated sigh escapes from Irene’s mouth instead, though there’s nothing but endeared amusement in her eyes as she throws a playful glare her wife’s way.

Seulgi only laughs, then, “What? We did!” She hands their daughter her toy and plants a quick, loud kiss on her cheek. “Didn’t we, Bin-ah?”

Irene is left shaking her head, feels something stir and settle inside her as she watches her wife goof around with her daughter; her heart finally making it home.

.

 

Seulgi’s parents call an hour later, with Seulgi’s dad looking particularly glum that he’s not able to drive up and bring the swingset he’s promised to give to his granddaughter. His pout is exactly like Seulgi’s when he comes on, only smiling when Sunbin reaches a finger out towards the screen too like she’s done with Irene’s mom earlier, and then coos.

(Irene really, really hopes Sunbin doesn’t inherit that same pout—genetics be damned—because she knows she’d be powerless against it.

Not when she already has Seulgi’s smile in her arsenal.)

“We’ll get it up next week, Sunbin-ah.” Mr. Kang’s voice floats through the speakers next, bouncing in the still bare kitchen just as Mrs. Kang asks, “Do you want us to bring anything, Joohyun?”

“Just yourselves, umma,” Irene replies, flashing a wide smile over her wife’s shoulder. “I think we’ve got everything covered for now.”

“And is Seulgi helping out? She better not be just napping around.”

Irene giggles at the affronted look that takes over Seulgi’s face, kisses her on the cheek to appease the I’m right here she gasps out. “She’s mostly been on baby duty. But she does help out.”

“Yeah, especially where Joohyun can’t reach,” Seulgi teases, sticking her tongue out at the other woman. “Which is a lot. Remind me why’d we pick this house again?”

“I take it back, umma,” Irene says, pretending not to hear her wife. “Please bring all of Seulgi’s baby pictures. I think they’ll look good in the foyer.”

...

 

Seulgi stumbles upon it inside the box labeled Joohyun in all caps, loosely tucked in between Irene’s worn copy of The Price of Salt and a few medical journals Seulgi recalls mentioning Irene’s name after she was picked as the city’s youngest Neurosurgeon fellow.

The leather cover is softer than Seulgi remembers. But it looks exactly the same as when Seulgi first had it, its pages still as crisp as the first time black ink hit paper despite the folds and the creases it bears on its edges. Yet it feels heavier now that it’s back in Seulgi’s hands, with its sheets weighed and tinged with Seulgi’s regrets.

She fishes it out of the stack, bottom lip caught in between her teeth because while they may be moving back in together and sharing everything once again, there are still things Seulgi knows she shouldn’t be privy to. Not without Irene’s knowledge.

(Not without feeling like she’s opening their very own Pandora’s Box just when things are finally starting to fall back into place.)

Irene finds her in that moment of indecision, her voice ringing in the suddenly silent room. “Baby, we moved all the boxes in the hall! But Joy won’t stop complaining that she’s hungry, so I’m gonna order us some take out. What do you want?”

Seulgi doesn’t have to turn around to know that Irene’s rolling her eyes, but she does anyway. The sketchbook is still clutched in her hands, not having enough time to put it back. “I-uh, I think I’m craving for some pizza.”

Irene recognizes it right away. She shoots a wistful smile at Seulgi’s direction, the barest upturn of lips that only serves to make Seulgi feel even more chagrined. “You found it.”

“I didn’t—I know it’s yours and I—but—I just—”

“It’s okay,” Irene reassures. She strides next to where Seulgi is, lifting the sketchbook out of her hold. With a heavy sigh, she flips it open, through sheets until they reach a pleated leaf and Seulgi’s messy scrawl stares right back at them.

The words still slice through her even with the knowledge that she’s now back to Seulgi’s side. But Irene’s starting to learn to treat it as a reminder, too. Something she’s somewhat glad to have despite the ache that it brought with it.

Because there is no one else fated to love her next. There is no one else who’ll give her the world, and still think she deserves the universe.

It’s always going to be Seulgi. And Irene will never ask for anyone else.

.

 

Lunch is loud because Eunji’s gotten off of work and has joined them, and Somi’s laughing her little heart out as she watches her other mom walk in with five thin boxes in her arms and two square ones full of chicken wings on top.

Irene’s gotten them what honestly feels like a full course meal that their bodies will surely pay for the coming weeks. But their tired hunger triumphs any and every concern at this point, so they simply grab huge, well-deserved slices of every kind of pizza there is and bury them under flavored wings guiltlessly.

When it’s all over, with hardly a plateful of food left, Irene stands to take charge of cleaning up. She shoos the rest of them out, save for Seulgi who stays on her seat and starts stacking the plates on top of each.

Wendy grabs her wife by the wrist that isn’t holding their daughter up and begins to drag them back to the living room. While Joy goes for Yeri’s own when she passes her by.

But Yeri declines with a soft shake of the head, says, “I should go help unnie wash the dishes.”

Joy accepts it with a knowing smile, leaving her with a kiss on her cheek. The past few months still feel shaky after all—the whole year, even—when they were on the verge of a change absolutely none of them were prepared for, poised to walk down a forked road they never intended to wade through.

And now they’re back here, to this point where things are falling back into their right places. Joy understands that there’s bound to be some sort of acclimation, a feeling of certainty that Yeri’s going to need to take back home with her to chase the shadows of those months away.

So she tells the other woman—teases, “Try not to cry, yeah?”

Yeri just hisses a soft shut up, coaxing a laugh as Joy steps out of the kitchen.

It’s her fading cackle that pulls Irene’s attention, making her glance at Yeri’s direction. “Yerim-ah, did you need something?”

Seulgi, who’s now dunking plates on the soap-filled sink, leans back a little, recognizing the weight of the moment from the way Yeri shifts on her feet. She smiles that smile that Yeri loves seeing on her, the one where her eyes disappear into crescent moons, and it makes Yeri feel completely at ease, like Seulgi will just be there whenever Yeri’s ready to talk about it. “Can you wipe the plates?”

Irene picks up on it easily, too. (She’s her sister after all.) She gestures for her to step closer with a tilt of her head, offering the dish rag which Yeri takes.

Seulgi goes back to scrubbing the dishes, passing them off to Irene so that she can rinse them clean. Yeri waits patiently and accepts the now clean plate Irene hands her to dry.

That’s how they start to work: in a comfortable silence, save for the splash of the water and the clink of plates, with the sound of the television wafting from the living room and Somi’s tiny giggles serving as their background.

They move like a well-oiled machine—or at least, Irene and Seulgi do. Yeri can see it at the corner of her eye, a kind of seamless synchrony that should not be, what with everything.

Yet, it feels like nothing has changed.

But they’ve always been this way no matter what it is, Yeri supposes. Irene has always known what Seulgi needs, and Seulgi has always known what she needs to do to make things easier for Irene.

(Once, it was signing the life they’ve built together away under those very same notions. Yeri prays they’ll never again have to.)

That is until Seulgi starts bumping her hip against Irene’s.

It’s unnoticeable at first, a barely there movement. But it grows every time Irene hip checks Seulgi back, and only stops when Irene retaliates with a playful punch on Seulgi’s stomach instead.

Seulgi bursts into an open laughter that washes over Irene with warmth—in Yeri’s eyes; but really, anyone who can see will say the same—Irene’s gaze turning in this soft way that Yeri’s only ever seen directed at Seulgi.

And Yeri swears she absolutely did not imagine that endeared smile that her sister tries to bury beneath her teeth, affecting a huff when Seulgi pulls her towards her body and locks her in her arms, after she’s scooped a handful of bubbles and dumped it on top of Irene’s head.

Irene’s fingers pinch Seulgi on her hip. Seulgi lets out a yelp, but she doesn’t let go. If anything, her hold even tightens as Irene winds her arms around Seulgi’s waist.

She laughs into Seulgi’s neck, and there’s a pang that hits Yeri squarely in her chest—the good kind—one that makes her surreptitiously wish she’d get to have something like this with Joy one day.

A jolt that casts a light over the shadows of her own doubts, because she knows now, that this time, they’ll get it right.

…

 

December leaves Seulgi completely unable to describe it.

It’s bright, and it’s festive, and it has Seulgi excitedly dragging the box of their huge Christmas tree out of the attic. Irene is on her heels, cradling the much smaller box in her arms and trying not to get the ornaments to spill over as they make their way back to their living room.

Sunbin, thankfully, is right where they left her, by her playpen on a candy cane that Seulgi slipped her in earlier despite her wife’s faint protests. But Sunbin’s interest has already been piqued and she’s eyeing the treat with a burning curiosity that Irene can’t find the will to say no to.

Saying yes ends up being for the better, as they get through putting up their tree without more fuss than usual—usual, where Seulgi scoops a fistful of silver tinsel and dumps them on top of Irene’s head, and Irene hooks the red ones on Seulgi’s neck so she can’t get away, tugging at both ends playfully until she’s pulling Seulgi in for a kiss.

Irene takes their daughter out of her playpen just as Seulgi’s draping the Christmas lights, sets her down a few steps away to let her watch when Seulgi does light it.

Seeing the colors dance in Sunbin’s wide fascinated eyes is a sight Irene never thought she needed to see. A vision to behold, and one that matched the complete elation on Seulgi’s face—when Irene finally musters the will to step out of the room, darting back in with three monogrammed red stockings she hides behind her back

It’s a sight she silently vows to never ever miss. Not this time.

.

 

Mama, Mommy, and Sunbin hang tacked on the edge of the mantel, thin and flimsy with Christmas still over a month away. Though Seulgi is already listing a dozen stocking stuffers in her head.

She can’t quite resist running a finger on hers, tracing the letters that form what also is their daughter’s first word; feels tighten, both at that memory that’s still as vivid as the day they first heard their daughter speak, and Mama staring back at her, quite unable to believe that it’s who she is, now.

The feeling only eases at the hand that runs on her back, a gentle touch settling at the base of her spine before an arm curls around her and soft fingers find their home on Seulgi’s hip.

“Hey,” Irene calls at her softly, giving Seulgi her moment. Yet her hand stays, an I’m here that she doesn’t need to voice out.

It takes Seulgi a good long beat to finally feel steady, feel like her knees won’t give out from the sudden weight of emotions that sits on her chest. Still, her voice shakes when she does speak, telling Irene, “I love it, Hyun. They’re so perfect.”

Irene leans up, pressing a kiss on Seulgi’s lips in answer. “You think our baby will like it, too?”

“I think,” Seulgi starts to say, smiling. It blooms wide at the sound of rustling from behind them—tiny feet brushing against the carpet—grows as Sunbin toddles towards her mother’s side, holding on to Irene’s thigh for support. She points at the newest additions to their fireplace, lifts up on her toes and stretches a finger to reach the sock closest to her.

“She already does,” Irene completes; feels another part of her that’s still trying to heal mend itself back.

…

 

Barcelona is a burst of colors.

It’s the golden yellow of the Sagrada Familia at night, and the shower of orange hues over the bluest sky come morning. It’s the white on the mosaic roofs that line up as they wander aimlessly down the street. The green of Irene’s shirt. The light coral flush of her abashed smile when Seulgi steals a kiss from her cheek.

It’s the pink beginnings of a blush that creeps up of Seulgi’s neck and ultimately dusts her cheeks whenever she stops by and asks for directions in her stilted Spanish, gleaning from words she’s picked up during their trip and the app she’s purposely downloaded two weeks ahead of time.

It’s the gray on the kind elderly woman’s hair, whom they meet on one of the days they’ve decided to throw caution to the wind and forgo everything they have planned. She listens patiently to Seulgi’s stuttering words, asking which places to see she thinks are best, and tells them with a warm, welcoming smile that there’s a small church with the highest ceilings and the most beautiful stained glass windows in her accented English, long believed to grant miracles to whoever rings its bell.

It’s the red that fills Seulgi’s face at the elderly woman’s words as she mumbles her thanks and they part: Rezo para que ambos obtengan lo que deseen, she hears, I pray that you both get whatever you wish for.

And Seulgi thanks her wholeheartedly. “Gracias.” She throws a glance at Irene, who’s peering curiously at them as she tries to follow the conversation. A puzzled frown has creased Irene’s forehead, eyes narrowed in this adorable way that has Seulgi feeling incredibly grateful for second chances, especially hers.

She takes Irene’s hand, sliding her palm against Irene’s and feeling her heart jump, still, when Irene laces their fingers together.

“Pero,” Seulgi then continues, turning back to the elderly woman. “Ya tengo mi milagro. Es ella.”

.

 

It’s the same red that blooms in Irene’s chest, falling a little more in love when she asks Seulgi about what she has said, and Seulgi tells her with the softest, most earnest smile, “I told her thanks, but I already got my miracle.”

It’s the worn brown of the rope Seulgi tugs at, the silver grimy bells chiming just as Seulgi’s eyes grow fond and tender, and says, “You.”

.

 

On their last night in the city, their feet bring them to the city’s coastline, hopping off the bus just as the sun is beginning to set. It paints a soft orange glow all over the horizon, the fading light hitting Irene and framing her in gold and blue.

It has Seulgi swallowing visibly, her palms aching with a sudden need to paint—to bottle up and freeze this moment. But she only has the camera she’s brought on their trip with her, so she’ll have to settle for captured ones instead.

She sneaks in a few shots—would’ve gotten more if not for the click of the shutter that goes off and drifts to Irene’s ears, giving her away completely.

Irene, in turn, just playfully rolls her eyes. She steps closer to Seulgi’s side, looping an arm around Seulgi’s that has Seulgi dropping the camera hooked around her neck, leaving no room to take more photos of her. “You should be taking pictures of the view.”

Seulgi, though, merely laughs out her resignation. Then, “What makes you think I’m not already?”

“I can see you, you know?”

She tilts her head, her eyes twinkling as she stares at Irene expectantly, as if she’s waiting for her to catch on.

It earns her a light punch on her stomach when Irene finally does, one that’s more facetious than anything, Irene’s fingers bunching slightly around the front of her shirt and clutching at it so Seulgi doesn’t get the chance to slip away.

But she’s smiling at Seulgi, too, in a way that Seulgi doesn’t think she’ll ever forget: the fading gold light dancing in Irene’s eyes and now forever etched in Seulgi’s mind; the quirk of her lips, no longer sharp on its edges, like they’ve finally been chased away.

Her hair swaying in the gentle breeze just as her smile tapers off into something equally soft and earnest as she gazes at Seulgi like she’s her entire world.

Maybe she is.

.

 

There is warmth that fills Seulgi’s chest then, akin to walking barefoot in the sand and burying her toes underneath the sand castle she’s built; a blossoming feeling that doesn’t leave her even when Irene shifts and pulls away, untangling her arm from hers and freeing her hold on her shirt.

Not when Irene doesn’t let even a second pass with any kind of distance she deems unforgivable exist in between them.

She trails the hand that slowly grazes down and takes her fingers, her eyes tracking each and every minute movement; doesn’t dare to speak even though she feels her heart swell tenfold at the kiss Irene presses on the back of hers.

Seulgi simply waits for her—she always will—waits for her to string her words together and tell Seulgi what’s going on inside her beautiful mind.

Irene’s voice is as crystal as the blue water they’re standing right in front of when she lets her thoughts out, the only sound Seulgi hears despite the scattered crowds. “We’ve been through so much for the past few months,” Irene starts to say. “And I think you already know I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time now.”

Seulgi watches her dip her head, fishing inside the pocket of her denim shorts, and yet, still catching Seulgi completely off guard when she brings her hand up and unfolds her fingers.

There’s a ring resting on her palm, lying in all of its golden glimmer for Seulgi to see. The very same band that once tied them together, with Seulgi’s vows still etched in an elegantly scrawled date and her very own memories.

“I know I’ve kind of already spoiled this before. But we’re all about second chances, aren’t we?”

The same ring that’s now stealing Seulgi’s breath away. “Joo—Hyun-ah.”

“I have never been this in love with anyone my entire life,” Irene continues. There’s a shine in her eyes that pairs with the quiver in her lips. The way things do, she supposes, when one completely entrusts their heart into someone else’s hands. “You were willing to throw away everything we had because I asked you to. Even though you never wanted to. Even though it hurt you.”

“Baby—”

“And I stupidly thought I’d be fine. That I’ll be fine and I’ll only need some time,” she presses on, shushing the noise of protest Seulgi makes with the hand she moves to free from Seulgi’s fingers so she can cup her cheek. “And I ended up making the biggest mistake of my life.”

Seulgi’s hand then grows a mind of its own, latching onto Irene’s hip and pulling her close. Her own eyes seem to be searching Irene’s face—finds something in there that pulls a smile that she tries hard to keep from shaking. “We both did. But what matters now is that we’re moving past it, right?”

It almost does as Irene heaves a breath that rattles in her chest, nodding. “We are.”

“But I just want you to know.” She gently balls her fingers into a fist, bringing it down and letting it rest against Seulgi’s sternum for some semblance of proximity that still connects them; wants to look straight into Seulgi’s eyes when she speaks her truth. “That I love you. In a way that I’ve never loved anyone else. And all I can see doing for the rest of my life is that.”

She feels more than sees Seulgi shifting, Seulgi’s arms cradling her the same way she always does. Her touch settles on the small of her back, its warmth anchoring Irene in this moment.

(And Irene is very glad that it has, as Seulgi leans down and nudges her nose with her own and Irene almost feels like floating away.)

“Ask me, then.”

“Kang Seulgi,” Irene says, Seulgi’s name slipping out of her lungs with a thousand unspoken promises she can’t wait to fulfill. She bites down the tremble that sparks in her chest and threatens to quiver her lips, drawing courage from the fond look that takes over Seulgi’s face. “Marry me?”

Seulgi kisses her chastely, then, “Before I give you my answer, I have a few conditions.”

“Oh.” Irene tries really hard not to frown at that, to keep her smile intact. But at some point, she knows by the way the corner of her lips droop that she fails. “What?”

“You have to promise to tell me things,” Seulgi states. But it’s not unkind, her hold on Irene unchanging, secure and yet loose, as if she’s still giving her room to move and a chance to change her mind. “That you’ll talk to me about whatever’s on your mind. Before, you know—before it gets too much for you and I to handle.”

Before it eats away at them like the last time goes unsaid. But Seulgi doesn’t really have to. The memories are still fresh in both their minds—little moments that built up overtime until it became an insurmountable wall that none of them knew how to break through—and Irene’s not certain they will ever really go away.

“Like, if I hurt you, you tell me,” Seulgi presses on. “If you need space, you tell me. If I’m not making you happy, you tell me.”

“I—” Irene fumbles for a beat. She’s not quite sure she can make such a promise, but her determination to try is unequivocal. So she says, “Yes.”

She pledges with irrefutable conviction despite the lack of certainty; not when their future is no longer bleak, and Irene ultimately knows for certain that she still wants the same things, and the same woman for the rest of her life. “I promise to always try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“I-is that it?”

Seulgi nods, then, “And in return, I promise to always hear you out. To be there for you, like you’re always there for me. To be better. To love you better than I did the day before.”

Irene can only clear , pushing the knot that has lodged itself with a visible swallow. A part of her is expecting her heart to burst out of its cage but it doesn’t. And yet she isn’t surprised either when she feels it settle firmly instead, as if it’s embracing the inevitable—that they’re inevitable. “You’re already going straight to the vows and you haven’t even said yes to me yet.”

Though there’s really nothing she can do about the heat that pricks the back of her eyes. It’s Seulgi who does something, like always; takes a knuckle and runs it under Irene’s lashes.

“Yes, Bae Joo Hyun,” she then whispers, smiling amidst the feeling of her own eyes misting. “I’ll love you for the rest of my life, too.”

…

 

Christmas Eve comes as a very much welcomed affair, bright, and festive, and loud, and, really, everything Seulgi could ever ask for.

Their tree glows both from the lights surrounding it and the glint of the multitude of gift-wrapped presents underneath. Some particular show’s cover of Last Christmas is blasting from their kitchen that Wendy sways along to on her way back to the stove, singing animatedly at the wooden spatula she’s supposedly stirring the pasta sauce with.

Eunji watches her stroll away from where she’s sprawled at, inside the playpen that’s currently housing her daughter and a babbling Sunbin; can only roll her eyes at her wife’s antics, yet unable to help the smile that Wendy’s voice tugs from her lips and takes with her.

Seulgi’s the one who shoos her best friend away, trying to sneak in towards the fireplace as she crams some last minute stuffers inside her wife’s and daughter’s socks. She feels great relief that Wendy doesn’t notice, and that Sunbin’s squeal when she comes to view doesn’t give her away.

She stalks towards the playpen after fixing the socks back into place, pressing a finger to her lips by way of greeting. Eunji only chuckles in return, gesturing a slow zip over as her promise of secrecy. The same promise she’s given Irene moments ago, when she stumbles into her—quite literally, too—just as she’s hauling their presents in, and Irene’s trying to squeeze in three plane tickets inside Seulgi’s sock.

Seulgi then picks her daughter up, lifting her a little higher so she can blow raspberries on her stomach. Sunbin’s laugh rings like a carol, decks the halls and brings about the kind of music Seulgi’s starting to believe is magic.

“Are you having fun playing with your Somi-unnie, Bin-ah?” She asks the toddler as she lowers her down, perching her on her hip. “Or do you miss Mama? What’s that? You wanna hang out with me?”

“And she says I’m the clingy one.” Irene’s voice wafts in, the other kind of magic Seulgi holds dear to her heart. The one that makes it race by the first note and settles it through the rest of its symphony.

She waltzes in, donning a red Christmas jumper that matches Seulgi’s. It’s quite a nice change from the dress she’s wearing earlier—though Seulgi admittedly loves that, too—a novelty Sunbin agrees to, judging by the animated way she reaches an arm towards the reindeer knitted on the front of her sweater when she draws near.

But she doesn’t ask for a change of hands, perfectly content to be cradled in between her mothers, with Irene’s hand coming to rest on Sunbin’s back.

“Hey, I didn’t tell her to hang out with me,” Seulgi quips, affecting offense. Though the teasing quirk of her lips gives her away. “She’s the one who said she wants to.”

Irene lets out an exasperated sigh, watching her wife bounce their daughter in her arms and coo at her. Yet her heart is full, too, and it’s still halfway to midnight.

“You’re lucky you look very cute in that sweater,” Irene replies. She narrows her eyes at Seulgi playfully, then, “Or I’d think you’re just trying to get out of helping us in the kitchen.”

“And leave you and Seungwan to get the plates from the top drawer?”

Irene’s mouth drops, feigning a gasp. “See this is why you’re on Santa’s naughty list.”

“But,” answers Seulgi. She throws her a knowing look, coupled with the smug smirk that Irene absolutely doesn’t miss; knows she walks right in on that retort and it’s a little too late to take it back. “I thought you like me being naughty.”

The sharp intake of air isn’t feigned this time, Irene’s eyes growing wide and looking scandalized. She quickly lifts her hands, her voice as high as the palms she cups over her daughter’s ears. “Yah, Seulgi!”

...

 

Irene studies the thirtieth portrait with tired eyes. She can feel a headache coming from a mile away, even more so when she blinks and the back of her lids is filled with white instead of the grainy darkness that should be.

There’s a stack of magazines on her right, covered in various colored post-its and with some in between the pages so she can keep track. While her sister makes her home on the lone couch, scrolling and tapping lazily on the screen of her phone.

It’s the scratch of pen on paper that fills the silence for a while, punctuated by Irene’s sighs and the slide of her fingers on glossy pages. Until she reaches the backmost cover of the brochure she’s perusing and Yeri’s voice floats in between them. “Picked one yet?”

“No,” Irene answers with a weary sigh, eyeing the remaining pile on the coffee table with a tinge of disdain. She discards the brochure onto the small hill beside her, not even bothering to mark any of the dresses in it. More than thirty photos in and they’re admittedly all starting to look no different than the other. “I don’t remember it being this hard!”

Yeri slips her phone back inside her pocket then, bequeathing her sister her full attention. “Well, how did you pick the one from last time?”

“Believe it or not, it was pure luck,” replies Irene. She extends a hand, posing to grab for another magazine but ultimately changes her mind. “Umma and I passed by the shop when we were out to dinner that one time we went to Jeju. She said it was too beautiful to pass up.”

Yeri just hums in response, tilts her head, thinking. “Well we can’t fly to Jeju just to look for dresses in the same shop again. I don’t think we’ll have the time.”

“I know,” Irene easily agrees. And this time, when she shifts on the couch and reaches for another brochure, she does grab it. “I just—I can’t seem to really like any of the ones I’ve seen.”

“Good thing I came prepared then.”

Irene pauses halfway, her hand hanging in the space between the seat and their coffee table, the magazine dangling at the tip of her fingers. “What do you mean?”

Yeri grins at her then, a mixture of nervousness and excitement dawning on her face that Irene’s admittedly not used to seeing. Her sister has always been the more unflappable one between the two of them after all.

It’s a rare sight, one that Irene relishes on witnessing as she watches Yeri anxiously pull a small sketchbook out of her bag, flipping through a few pages with utmost care until she settles on the one she seems to be searching for.

“Now, this isn’t really done,” Yeri prefaces, clutching the pad against her chest as if to hide it from her older sister’s curious gaze. “And it’ll probably have a ton of changes, knowing you but—”

She hands it to Irene then, whose eyes mist right away at the sight of her sister’s creation. It’s a long, sequined, puffy dress that falls past the ankles and scoops around the shoulders, gossamer sleeves full and decorated with swirling patterns that truly befits a princess.

Irene runs a hand on the lengthy sheet, tracing the lines of what would be her dress’ torso. “Oh, Yerim.” She almost reverently the small notes and the tiny but significant details Yeri’s left all over the page with the pads of her fingers. “It’s so beautiful.”

“I’m guessing you like it?” Yeri asks, hiding the lingering apprehension behind her preening smile.

“I love it,” her sister assures. It gives Yeri no room to doubt, not when Irene can barely even take her eyes off of it. “But, mint green?”

Yeri points at one of the notes she’s written on top of the page, on a bullet point under what Irene assumes is a list of various types of fabrics. “Touches of, at least,” she explains. “So it won’t be pure white.”

“Why, though?”

“It means new beginnings,” Yeri then says—states, really, like it’s a known fact that she’s putting out there for all of everyone to see. “And you and Seulgi-unnie, you’re all about second chances, right?”

There’s a part of Irene that feels like she could cry again, though it’s a different kind of tears from before—before, when everything was bleak and all Irene knew was the ache she could never quite shake. But she lets a soft smile tug on her lips instead, lets nothing but warmth and affection bleed through her tone as she says, “We are.”

...

 

Yeri is the last one to show up, looking flustered and out of sorts as she breaks into a sob at Irene and Seulgi’s foyer. Beside her, though, seems to be the exact opposite, with Joy rocking on the balls of her feet, a grin tacked on her face that’s she’s trying so hard to stifle.

“Unnie,” Yeri wails, and Irene is sent back to years and years ago, to a time where Yeri was four, trying to climb up on her childhood bed after being scolded by their mom. “This—this stupid giant troll!”

Irene responds like any older sister would. She yells at Joy right at once, throwing the sharpest of glares her way. (The fact that Yeri and Joy have gone out prior to joining them for Christmas dinner doesn’t really help.) “Yah, Park Sooyoung! What did you do to my sister?!”

Seulgi, though, merely tilts her head, growing curious at the way Joy doesn’t waver at all despite being on the receiving end of Irene’s ire. Her grin is still trying to break out even with Irene oscillating between continuously squawking at her and shushing her sister that she’s now gathered in her arms.

The younger woman just swipes her tongue at her bottom lip and then bites at it, as if she’s holding words back from slipping out. Something about her demeanor feels incredibly familiar, Seulgi can’t help but fixate on, like the kind of restlessness that stems from barely contained giddiness and the beaming smile that she just can’t curb no matter how hard she tries.

Yet it’s the soft giggle that ultimately gives Joy away, a genuine sound of happiness that Seulgi knows she’s once felt too, before. Twice, even, if Seulgi is going to be particular. “Oh my God, you did it,” she whispers as the awed realization dawns in, which only grows at Joy’s surreptitious nod.

Irene hears it, of course she does, and automatically turns dubious. “What? What did she do?!”

But Joy’s already being engulfed into a hug, Seulgi’s arms wrapping around her tight despite the latter being the taller one of them. “I’m so happy for you guys!”

It doesn’t really take Irene long to catch on, Joy had asked for her blessing a long time ago after all. And when she does, it’s like a switch has been flicked and she’s forgetting all of her furious ire as she yanks Yeri into her very own embrace too.

Her loud squeal drowns out Yeri’s grunt from when she practically slams against her sister, but it draws Wendy out of the kitchen, the other woman’s curiosity absolutely piqued.

She squeezes between Irene and Seulgi and folds her arms over her chest, the wooden spoon she’s forgotten to put down sticking out. (Which, to Seulgi’s relief, isn’t dripping all over their floorboards.) “Why is there a hug fest in here and why am I not in the middle of it?”

“Yeri said yes,” Seulgi states simply before ruffling Joy’s hair, the taller woman finally letting go of the grin she’s been trying to hold back ever since they got to her future sisters-in-law’s new place.

(A part of Sooyoung still can’t believe it.)

She looks floaty, like she’s in the middle of a very, very pleasant dream, and both Irene and Seulgi smile at that, knowing exactly how she feels.

.

 

“I can’t believe you’re agreeing to marry Satan’s spawn,” Irene teases Yeri later on, when more presents have been dropped by the tree, and the roast beef’s the only thing left cooking in the oven.

But her eyes are sparkling, and the hints of happy tears are making them glisten under the kitchen lights. Her smile turns watery the longer she looks at her younger sister, all grown up now and about to embark on an entirely new journey.

“I know right,” Yeri agrees with a soft giggle. She runs a knuckle over her eyes to wipe the tears away, and the white gold band of her new ring glimmers.

Wendy catches sight of it first, and it’s her wide-eyed gasp that pulls Seulgi and Irene’s attention. “Oh, oh, oh! Can I see?”

Yeri laughs at the way she bounces on her feet, like a little kid on Christmas; nothing but remarkably befitting given what they are about to celebrate come dinner. “Of course, unnie.”

It’s simple yet elegant, with a touch of modesty that Yeri and her sister have always prided themselves with. It, too, boasts of the months Joy has slaved off in order to get it.

Wendy coos over it, while Irene and Seulgi grin at Joy for a multitude of reasons; Seulgi’s is b with pride, and Irene’s is the ultimate approval.

December, as it turns out, is a miracle too.

…

 

It doesn’t take the first time. It rarely ever does.

Seulgi knows that fact. Irene knows it, too. It’s all in the figures and the stats, and the many, many notes they’ve read through, and their doctor’s very advice.

But it doesn’t make it any less harder to wring out a smile when she steps out of the master bathroom to an anxious wife nervously propped against the wall, waiting patiently as she’s always had.

It doesn’t make it any less harder to hold the stick out and break the news, to meet Seulgi’s kind eyes and her lopsided smile after she shows her the single line; never gets any easier to push the words out of . “It didn’t work.”

Seulgi heaves a sigh, plucks the white stick off of her wife’s fingers and chucks it inside the trash bin by the bathroom’s door. But she doesn’t let her smile drop no matter how much her heart does at the defeated look that paints itself on her wife’s face. She only lifts her hands to wrap a tender touch around Irene’s shoulders, giving both a gentle squeeze. “So we keep trying, right?”

Irene nods, offering a shaky smile. “Doctor Ahn did say it might take a while.”

“She did,” Seulgi replies. She slides her hands down, curls them around until they meet at Irene’s back and pulls her wife in, embracing her tightly. “And a bunch of other stuff that I don’t really remember.”

Irene lets out a soft laugh at that, the rest of its sound muffled by the kiss she presses under Seulgi’s jaw. “Oh, baby.”

“But it’s fine!” Her wife assures, punctuating it and hammering her point home with a kiss to the crown of Irene’s head. “It’ll be fine. All of this is gonna work out. We may just have to wait a bit.”

It’s Irene who breathes in this time, letting go of the guilt that’s been niggling at the back of her mind. It eases off her chest in each brush Seulgi’s hand makes on her back, taken over by the warmth Seulgi’s touch exudes.

Still, there’s that part of her that finds the need to ask, “Even if it takes a really long while?”

“Even if it takes forever,” answers Seulgi. It’s matched with an easy smile, but there’s a tenacity to her words that further bolsters Irene’s already unwavering faith in the two of them. “Though I hope it doesn’t because I can hardly wait to meet our future baby. But, yes, even if it takes forever. It takes as long as it takes, right?”

I love you so much is the only thing Irene manages to say amidst the tightness that suddenly fills . But she knows that the tender kiss she follows it with says everything else even better than she can ever articulate in words.

(Things like: there’s no one else I’d go through this with

Things like: I will never let you go again.

Things like: don’t let me let you go again.)

.

 

It unknowingly becomes a motto, a recurring theme in their lives the next two times their months are filled with single lines.

And though Seulgi hates the way each of them etches their very own mark on her wife’s face, she stands strong behind her three words and that phrase: it takes as long as it takes.

It’s the same words that echo in her head at the fourth, growing louder when she looks at her wife and sees the disappointment that marrs her face.

When Irene cries on her shoulder as she clutches the fifth, and all Seulgi can do then is let her while wishing they could trade places instead—take her wife’s pain and let it be hers alone.

.

 

“I’m starting to think I’m just bad at making babies,” Irene tells her, holding the sixth. Her voice is light and it’s teasing—or at least she means for it to be—but Seulgi knows her well enough to hear the ache and the somber disappointment in between the almost inaudible cracks. “I’m sorry.”

“Baby, don’t say that.” She takes the stick from Irene’s hand and sets it down on top of the trashbin’s lid, sinks to her knees to meet her wife’s pained gaze. “It’s not your fault.”

“But what if it is?” Irene rasps, breaking halfway through and sending a pang straight to Seulgi’s chest that has her own heart slipping and clenching against her ribcage. “What if it’s because I work too hard? Because I never rest? Or—or because I get stressed from thinking too much because I want it to work? I want it to work so bad, baby.”

Seulgi shuffles on her feet, propping both her hands against the edge of the tub where her wife has sought refuge. She sets them on each of Irene’s sides, the pads of her thumbs running comforting touches against Irene’s thighs. “It’s not. And it will never be your fault, Hyun.”

Her wife’s voice is hoarse when she speaks again, like there’s sand slowly filling her lungs one dispirited thought at a time. “But why does it feel like it is?” Irene says, tips her head up, willing her treacherous tears not to slip away though she knows she’s too late.

“Hey, hey,” Seulgi tries to soothe. She shifts her weight, leans up more so she can gather her wife in her arms, wrapping them around Irene’s shoulders and her waist to hold her tight. Safe. “It’s not, okay?”

“It’s just so frustrating,” Irene murmurs against Seulgi’s neck—says it so quietly like she’s hoping it’ll make the truth hurt less.

(It doesn’t.)

She folds in on herself, tucking her face on the crook of Seulgi’s neck, as if it’s all she can do now to stop the sob that has been trying to claw its way out of her chest.

“I know,” Seulgi replies. She squeezes her wife, brushing her lips on the top of her hair. “I know, baby. But we’ll be fine. We’ll do it again, okay?”

“What if it never works?”

There’s a tautness on Irene’s face when she asks, one that Seulgi is desperate to erase but has no idea how. All Seulgi knows is that she never wants to see that kind of pain on Irene’s face ever again, never wants to see another single line etch itself on Irene’s skin like some kind of invisible mark only the two of them can see.

So she sighs, pressing a tender kiss on Irene’s forehead this time as she settles her own thoughts and pins it on a decision she’s admittedly been mulling over for quite some time now.

“Then,” she begins to say. Her own voice never wavers, a firm, steady rock amidst Irene’s stormy waters. “We’ll look for other options. Come up with Plan Bs and Cs. We can look into adoption. Or—or I can do—”

“At some point,” Irene cuts her off softly. It’s not unkind nor mad at all, just starkly resigned and defeated that Seulgi finds the need to swallow, pushing down the tightness in before it can even fester. “We have to figure out when to stop trying.”

Her next words pull a vehement no out of Seulgi’s mouth, the lone word tearing itself off of her lips. It’s not heated, but it’s adamant enough that Irene pulls back in surprise. “Seulgi-yah—”

What it is is a hard, bitter pill Seulgi refuses to take. Not without a fight. And it’s a fact she makes sure Irene knows.

“I made that mistake once, Joohyun. I’m not making the same mistake again.”

Irene can only reach her hands out in response, cupping her wife’s cheeks. She feels a look of consternation cross her face, that part of her that’s still reconciling bits and pieces of her from then and now, a part that still somehow can’t believe they’re here.

But it’s all simple in the end, isn’t it, Irene can’t help but think. It takes as long as it takes, and Irene won’t have this journey with anyone else but Seulgi. So she tells her, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Irene nods, smiling amidst her soft sniffles. “We keep trying. And we’ll make Plan Bs and Plan Cs. But we won’t stop trying.”

Seulgi returns the smile in kind, sways forward to press her lips against her wife’s. “We’ll take it one day at a time.”

.

 

Seventh becomes their miracle.

Seulgi stumbles on it in an almost literal sense while on her quest to quench her sudden strong craving for some banana milk; almost misses it, too, if it wasn’t stuck on their fridge door and she hadn’t taken the time to savor the first sip she’s taken straight off the plastic bottle.

But it’s there in all its white and pink glory, with two bright red lines and enclosed in a ziplock bag, wedged in between Irene’s and her baby photos.

The banana milk nearly spills from the way her hands suddenly shake, trembling fingers pulling at the bag and clutching at it like it’s the most precious piece of treasure she owns.

She floats towards their bedroom, or at least that’s how she feels: a mix of dread and elation stemming from the one thing she both fears and prays to have. Seulgi finds her wife there, trading the clothes she’s come home from getting dinner with for her favorite pair of shorts and the shirt Seulgi’s slept in the night before.

She wants to say hey, wants to ask if what she’s just seen is true, but the words are stuck behind and her gaze is pinned on Irene’s stomach, to the life she now knows is growing there.

What she ends up being is wholly frozen, by their doorway and an inch away from the frame, the opened bottle of banana milk in one hand and the ziplock bag on the other.

Irene finds her like that when she turns around to toss her dirty clothes in the hamper, jumping in surprise and pressing a hand to still her heart that’s now pounding beneath her chest. “Oh my God, Seulgi!”

But the rest of her reprimand is stopped by the same bag Seulgi has in her hand, the admonishment quickly replaced by the giddy feeling she’s been trying to tamp down ever since she’d gone and taken the test while her wife was at work.

(It feels underhanded, going through the same things that Seulgi has been there for every step of the way. But Irene doesn’t think she can take one more disappointment—can’t take one more piece of Seulgi that she has no way of assuring she can give back.

Because she knows that every single line also chips away a piece of Seulgi’s heart.)

“H-hyun? What—what is—” Seulgie struggles to say, shaking the bag by way of gesture—or maybe it really is her hand still trembling wildly. But her heart’s in , falling head first into Irene’s hands. “Joohyun—”

Irene wordlessly drops her clothes back on the bed, but there’s a ghost of a smile teasing the edge of her lips as she walks to where her wife is still standing frozen and rendered speechless. “Oh, baby.”

She takes the bottle and the bag occupying Seulgi’s hands, setting them on the nearby vanity; lifts her hands to take their place, squeezing her wife’s own tightly. “Baby, we did it.”

“W-we did it? When did it—when did it—when—”

Irene nods, her unstifled grin simpering with joy. “I took the test while you were at work because I was feeling really weird and a little bit nauseous. I had a feeling this was it, but I didn’t want to get both our hopes up.”

“Oh my gosh,” Seulgi mumbles, her thoughts suspended in between disbelief and really wanting to believe it. “You’re—we’re pregnant?”

“We are,” Irene confirms. Two words Seulgi didn’t even know she longed to hear.

Seulgi then untangles their hands, settles them on her wife’s hips to pull her close. A palm presses gently on Irene’s stomach after, when they’re standing toe to toe—and Seulgi can easily nudge her nose against Irene’s so she does—her eyes misting over as her mind finally, finally, catches up.

She heaves a deep breath, feeling her heart grow to make room for one more person, granted they’re probably still the size of a marble, and yet Seulgi already loves them with her entire everything.

.

 

Later, when the leftovers have been packed and the dishes are beginning to dry, and Seulgi’s basking at the tailends of the greatest news, a thought crosses her mind that has her almost pulling away from her wife’s arms.

“Seulgi-yah,” Irene whines in protest. She’s been enjoying the warmth, her own personal sun—they really are each other’s. Though when she notices the crinkle shaping in the middle of Seulgi’s brows, she asks, “What is it?”

“I gotta go prepare the bags, right?” Seulgi answers. “Like the ones Eunji packed?”

Irene smiles in return, soft and wholly endeared. She doesn’t laugh at her wife, doesn’t laugh at the woman who’s traded sketch pads for pregnancy books she doesn’t even need to read, switched from a playlist full of dance practices to every video that had what to expect when you’re expecting in its title.

Not when she knows that this is Seulgi trying to be better, loving her better than she did the day before. So she says, we do, but pulls her wife back to keep her there for five more minutes.

…

 

Three years pass by in what Seulgi feels like is a blink, where a lot of things have changed and yet it feels like nothing has.

Three years, and Seulgi still pushes the front door open with a huge smile on her face. She’s had quite the day, but nothing has ever compared to the idea of coming home.

(Some things really do stay remarkably the same.)

“Hi baby,” Irene greets, finding her wife in the foyer as she’s making her way back from the kitchen. “Someone’s been impatient and couldn’t wait for you to come home.”

Seulgi beams, then, full and just incredibly in love with the woman in front of her, in her soft white sweater and the thin-wired glasses she’s taken to wearing these days. Her hair’s up in a messy bun that swishes along when she turns her head and calls out to the huge playpen.

(A part of her still marvels no matter how much time has passed, still in awe of having everything her heart has desired. A life with Irene. A family with her. A love so big she forgets to breathe sometimes.)

“Bin-ah, look who’s here!”

And then there are tiny footsteps they hear padding on the floor boards, hurrying and stilted with excitement.

She pops up next to Irene, in her little yellow sundress and the biggest toothy smile, runs to where Seulgi is, Seulgi’s knees almost buckling when she feels small arms wrap around one of her legs.

“Hi Mama! I missed you.”

And it’s all Seulgi has ever really dreamed about.

.

 

She kneels down when Sunbin pulls away, meeting Sunbin’s eyes; lets her fingers run through the waves of her daughter’s hair. “I missed you too, Bin-ah.”

Sunbin’s smile is big, a perfect mix of her genuineness and Irene’s own charm. And even after three years, it still knocks the breath out of Seulgi’s lungs completely.

“Gift?” Sunbin asks, cocking her head to the side.

“I’m sorry, baby, I wasn’t able to get you anything. I got a lot of kisses to give though!”

Sunbin giggles, but offers her cheek nonetheless. “S’okay, Mama.”

Seulgi leans forward to dot kisses on both her cheeks, reveling in the feeling of soft skin and the smell of vanilla; the sound of gentle, innocent laughter washing over the tiredness of her day.

She drops another kiss, then, on Sunbin’s nose, making her daughter giggle even more. Then, “Play?”

It’s Irene who speaks from where she’s standing, tells their daughter, “In a bit, baby. Let’s let Mama get changed first.”

Sunbin nods obediently, albeit it’s a little sad. And both Irene and Seulgi find the need to look away, unable to take it. Though, it’s Seulgi who does give in first. “How about we play outside? Up in the treehouse?”

Sunbin nods excitedly this time, letting out a squeal as Seulgi plants another kiss on her cheek. “Now?”

“Mama has to change first,” Irene repeats, and the instruction that follows, she cushions with a soft smile. “And only after you’ve put your toys back in the box, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.” Sunbin bounces away, but not before giving Irene her very own kiss.

Seulgi takes that moment to finally be close to her wife, giving in to the need. She kisses her soundly—though mindful of little feet and tiny, curious ears—kisses her until Irene giggles and eases back when Sunbin’s eager I’s done, Mommy echoes in the room.

She steals one more kiss before scooping her daughter up, perching the little girl on her hip. “Alrighty, off to the treehouse with this one.”

“I’ll catch up. I just need to ask you something real quick.”

“Oh.” Seulgi pivots back, turning to face her wife again. “What is it, babe?”

“Go on a date with me tomorrow?”

Seulgi’s forehead creases into a confused frown, her thoughts shuffling through the list in her head. She may have gotten dates and days mixed a few times back when their daughter was still less than a year old with a perpetually changing sleep schedule, but she’d like to think that she’s gotten better at getting a handle on those things. And she’s quite sure that their date night’s still four days away.

She tells her wife that, but Irene’s lips merely curl up to a smirk that Seulgi feels a strong urge to wipe off of her face with a kiss.

“I know. That’s why I’m asking you,” Irene explains, chuckling.

Seulgi squints, narrowing her eyes in playful suspicion. “What’s the occasion?” But they blow wide in the next second, a mixture of guilt and worry flashing in them. “I didn’t forget something, did I? I know—I know I’ve been a little bit busy lately but—”

“Seul, relax,” soothes Irene, cutting off Seulgi’s spiral. She never wants any kind of guilt to linger on her wife, especially not over this. “I know you’ve been picking up extra time at work so you can spend my birthday week with us.”

“—Wait, who told you? Oh God, was it Seungwan?”

Irene lets out a cheeky laugh, at her teeth then, “Eunbi did. You know how much she loves me.”

Seulgi scoffs, rolling her eyes. And behind the tongue she sticks out at her wife are plans to yell at Sinb tomorrow—probably bite her head off if she finds out that Sinb has told Irene about her plans of taking them to Osaka on her wife’s birthday. “If you’re only taking me on a date to find out about what I’ve planned for your birthday—”

“Oh, so there are plans,” Irene interjects. She hums, tilting her head and pretending to ponder. “Eunbi hadn’t mentioned that.”

“Joohyun!” Seulgi can’t help but whine. Subin, though, can only stare at her mother in amusement. “Stop trying to guess!”

Irene only tips her head up, humming again as she taps a finger on her chin. “I wonder what we could do for a whole week.”

“Come on, Bin-ah,” Seulgi says with a grumble. “Mommy’s being silly now so we’re gonna go before I let something slip. You know how she is.”

Irene’s laugh is bigger this time, almost booming but just plain happy. Carefree. “Wait, baby, I’m just kidding,” she says, rushing to Seulgi’s side before her wife can even turn to leave. She wraps an arm around Seulgi’s waist to keep her in place, and then places a sound kiss on her cheek. “I am serious about going on a date tomorrow, though.”

Seulgi sighs, purses her lips in uncertainty. “Did I miss something?”

“No, baby.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Irene assures. She lifts her other hand, running a warm palm on her daughter’s back to settle her down and stop her squirming. “It’s just, you’ve been really tired this week but you still never miss bedtime. Taking you out on a date is the least I can do.”

“You know I won’t if I can help it. I’ll help tuck her to bed even when she’s thirty.”

Irene snorts out her laughter at that, giggling at the image that she’s just conjured inside her head. “I’m sure she’d love that.”

“Even when she starts dating!”

Irene’s grin quickly turns into a grimace, her face pulling into a wince and her gut twisting at the mere idea. “Okay, so we’re going to circle back and talk about our date instead.”

It’s Seulgi who laughs this time, chuckling at the pinched look that settles on her wife’s face. Then, she turns to her daughter, bounces Sunbin in her arms and coos at her. “What do you think, Bin-ah? Should I go on a date with Mommy?”

“Yeah!” Sunbin keenly supports, ever her Mama’s number one proponent. She leans forward to look at her other mother, grinning toothily. “Yeah, Mama!”

Seulgi shifts her gaze back at Irene, too, a playful shrug rolling off her shoulders. “Can’t really say no to that, huh?”

“Plus I already got my sister to babysit.”

Seulgi feigns a resigned sigh, but her heart is full as she shifts on her feet and crosses the distance between their lips, falling in love with her wife and her smile all over again.

“That sounds perfect.”

.

 

Date night is simple; they try to keep it at that these days.

But Seulgi has long learned that with both her and Irene, nothing is ever really simple. There’s almost always a surprise, no matter how small. They both always, always, find a way to make each night a little bit special.

Tonight isn’t any different. They’ve talked about wanting to explore downtown, to this new place that Irene has heard Yongsun singing praises to in passing. It’s a week-long exhibit that her wife thankfully hasn’t heard about yet—Seulgi would beat her to the same idea if she had.

The tickets are inside her purse, tucked safely in her wallet. She’d booked and bought them two days before she’d even asked Seulgi to go on a date with her, being that they tend to get sold out rather quickly.

They grab dinner first from a taco food truck similar to the one they’ve tried at Han River before, during another one of their date nights; foregoes their usual go-tos—and any other fancy restaurants, really—because it just doesn’t feel like that kind of night. Irene knows she’s made the right choice when they move up in the queue and Seulgi rocks against the balls of her feet, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

Seulgi gets one b with beef and cheese, while Irene prefers hers on the lighter side, with more vegetables than meat that Seulgi pretends to gag at. “I bet that tastes like grass tacos.”

“Some of us do like vegetables, Seulgi-yah,” Irene lobs back. “Our daughter included.”

“I know,” answers Seulgi. She in air, filling her lungs, and breathes it out heavily to affect resignation. “I guess you two can’t be perfect.”

The other woman arches a brow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She at her bottom lip as she’s unwrapping her taco, leans forward and up to whisper at Seulgi’s ear. “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

A flush spreads all over her wife’s face and creeps down to her neck, growing even redder when she inhales the biteful of taco she’s chewing at and almost chokes on it. Irene holds in a breath as she watches her—fingers already cracking her bottled water open and handing it for Seulgi to drink—but her impish delight quickly returns at the glare Seulgi sends her way.

“Hyun-ah, you’re killing me.”

Irene purses her lips haughtily in response, traipsing away from her wife as she throws over her shoulder, “That—that you will definitely be saying tonight.”

Seulgi can only groan before she scrambles on her feet to follow.

.

 

Their last stop is a surprisingly huge single-floored building, looking as nondescript as a plain warehouse that Irene almost doubles back to check if they got the right place at all.

But there’s a ticket booth right on the side of the double doors that’s about ten steps away, and an usher who’s greeting newcomers with a big, practiced smile as he opens the door for them.

“Oh, what’s this?” she hears Seulgi say, breaking her reverie. She just bites at her bottom lip in turn, fishes the tickets out of her wallet and holds them up for Seulgi to see.

“I know we’ve talked about going to Paris before,” Irene begins to say, pushing against the tightness that still somehow manages to seize whenever she gets some form of reminder from that time before—before, when she’s almost certain she’d have to live with a heart that’s never going to be whole again. “But things, well—”

Seulgi nods in understanding, her smile kind as Irene trails off with no plans to continue that train of thought. “Yeah, we did.”

“And I know we could always revisit that. Maybe when Sunbin’s a little bit older and a much easier travel buddy,” she pushes on with a small laugh that her wife echoes. “But for tonight, let me bring a piece of Paris to you.”

“What do you mean?” Seulgi asks, tilting her head in confusion. But her heartbeat picks up, still, like it always does with anything that involves Irene.

Irene only smiles at her, jerks her head to gesture towards the double doors. “Come on,” she then says, tugging at her wife’s hand to get her moving. “I know you’ll love it. He’s your favorite.”

Seulgi acquiesces rather easily, her curiosity admittedly winning over. She follows Irene closely, and together, they squeeze inside the door the usher opens for them.

It’s a little dark at first, a literal second of reprieve that Irene’s surprise gives her before a multitude of lights greets them, bouncing on the jagged walls that are lining up to act as giant, floor-to-ceiling frames.

Seulgi finds the need to step back to take in the entire picture, just as the lights switch their colors and suddenly, staring right back at Seulgi, is Starry Night.

She can only whisper a soft Joohyun as Van Gogh’s works come to life right in front of her very eyes, in lights painting their own selves over the intricately-wound walls. It’s an incredible sight, Seulgi is undoubtedly certain, and the surreality of it all is taking her breath away.

Seulgi feels more than sees Irene’s arm wrapping around her waist, urging her to step further in. Though she only does when she feels her wife squeeze her hip and hears her say, “Go on, baby. I heard there’s more to see inside.”

They pass by the huge sign hanging in the center of it all, Van Gogh in Lights. But Seulgi barely even notices, already enraptured with the painter’s self portrait illuminating the wall right ahead.

She stops in the middle, right where Van Gogh’s collars meet, can’t quite resist reaching a finger to touch a brush that the lights surprisingly reflect meticulously.

Irene has half a mind to about not touching art, but there’s a genuine look of awe on Seulgi’s face that she doesn’t have the heart to quell. So she stays quiet instead, contents herself on watching her wife at what could be one of Seulgi’s happiest moments.

.

 

At some point, Seulgi does seem to get over her surprise—yet she’s still in awe, both of her wife and the art itself; doesn’t think she’ll ever get over that anytime soon—and she becomes much more conversational than when they first stepped in.

She even gives her wife a tour when Irene asks, playfully hamming it up whenever there’s no one else around and affecting a fancy posh accent that honestly trumps Yeri’s—at least Irene thinks it does.

Seulgi leads her around, towards The Red Vineyard and Avenue of Poplars in Autumn; wraps an arm around her shoulder when they pass by Wheatfield with Crows and Irene tells her it feels somewhat foreboding.

Pretends to play on the billiard table of The Night Café to make her laugh; mimics the pose of the model on the Portrait of the Postman Joseph Roulin. Kisses her as they pass by Café Terrace at Night, and plucks an imaginary flower from the Vase with Poppies that she hands to Irene.

Irene takes the flower, pressing it to her chest for a sniff even though nothing’s really there and what fills her senses is Seulgi’s scent.

(And oh, Seulgi loves her so.)

.

 

“Can you imagine having your own artworks shown like this?” Irene asks her as they gaze at the La Mousmé, and it reminds Irene of one of Seulgi’s sketches back at their home.

The whole universe will be lucky to see something as splendid as any of Seulgi’s own, Irene thinks, and for some reason, she feels like giving them all a warning at the same time: this woman will capture your heart like how she did with mine.

“Not really,” Seulgi admits shyly. “Not in this magnitude, at least. Besides, it’ll just be your face everywhere and I don’t think I’m fine with people ogling you like that. Hypothetically.”

“Humor me then,” Irene replies, pointedly ignoring the warmth that fills her cheeks. She points at a particular wall where the Portrait of Père Tanguy is, hoping that Seulgi doesn’t notice her blush, then says, “Imagine Audrey Hepburn hanging in there.”

Seulgi doesn’t miss it, of course. But she opts to let it go, squinting her eyes instead as she tries to imagine what her wife is telling her to. “It’s too small, Hyun-ah. It’ll have to be bigger.”

“Well, okay,” Irene refutes, refusing to lose. She points at Irises this time, portrayed on a wall that only stands half of the others’ height. “But, Joaquin Phoenix can be there. I think it’s just about perfect.”

“And that,” Irene continues. She tugs at Seulgi, leading her towards the center where the sign still hangs, gestures at the spot beneath it where a mini-platform rests. “Is where you’ll be sweeping people off of their feet.”

She can already see it happening. First Seoul, and then the whole of South Korea, then the rest of the world.

Irene peels herself off of her wife much to Seulgi’s protest, moving to stand in the middle where she supposes the platform faces the crowd. “And here,” she says. “Here is where I’m going to be standing during opening night, and watch you capture Seoul’s heart.”

Front row and center. Really though, she’d have her name plastered on the floor if she had to.

Seulgi smiles shyly, ducking her head. The way she tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear is already enough to make Irene swoon from her place. But then, she looks up and meets Irene’s eyes with the most earnest gaze, years worth of unbridled affection spilling out and unraveling what would be years worth that’s more to come all for Irene to see.

“Forget Seoul,” says Seulgi. She crosses the few steps separating them and then stops to stand right in front of her wife, taking Irene’s hand to keep it in hers.

.

 

“All I need is yours.”