It’s easy. It’s supposed to be easy. It’s 2020, loving a woman and being a woman should be easier than this.

Yet there’s a bitter after-taste to the thought. Sooyoung swallows thickly, glaring at every person who dares to come in her sight. Her snarl remains hidden behind the black mask she wears as she moves past people, wearing big and unflattering clothes to hide herself as much as she can. She’s lucky it’s winter and many people are wearing clothes similar to hers. Maybe they just aren’t going home to their housemate who is also their girlfriend.

Her annoyance dwindles when she thinks maybe someone in the crowd is like her too. She looks at the laughing woman who is on the phone, her smile blinding as she walks with people going in the same direction as hers. She looks at the man who seems to be waiting for someone — maybe it’s another man, his boyfriend. His husband.

The big steps, the annoyed hunch of her shoulders lessens when the thought leaves her calm. The thought of not being alone anymore makes her feel better — even if there isn’t any literature left, even if there’s barely any art of people like her. Women like her. 

Maybe it’s the fact that she is wearing the baggiest things over her little black dress nobody is recogizing her. It’s a relief, frankly, to be able to walk amongst a crowd of normal people. A crowd of fans would be nice too, but not when she’s raging and shooting daggers at anyone.

When she finally reaches the house, she knocks thrice. It’s a secret code they had to come up with after her recent scandal. She was visiting her old friend, someone who helped her through a tough time and now was having a difficult time with finances. The by-product of being a famous idol with literally millions of fans is that she doesn’t have to worry about helping people out with money.

The door opens, she slips in even before the person behind the door can show their face.

The house is instantly warm. Warmer than her layer of clothes, and her jacket is instantly being removed by gentle hands.

“Welcome back,” Seungwan coos, a bright smile on her face. Sooyoung is already much more calmer than she was while coming here. “You look like you’re ready to kill someone.”

The comment instantly breaks all the tension in her face. She feels her face ache from the frowning and glaring she did before, her face and neck becoming hot from being caught. She moves away from Seungwan on instinct of being shy, embarrassed that her girlfriend can see through her so easily.

She removes the mask and the bucket hat, keeps them on the little table next to the couch.

Seugnwan’s house is a dream. It’s cozy, it’s warm, it feels surreal even after spending months in it. Seungwan is known as Wendy in the music industry, not many people know her name, and not many know that all the famous boy group songs which seem to sleep on the 1st place in various charts for months together were written by her. She writes about girls, sends them to boy groups, and in return, nobody questions how her alias is a girl’s name too.

“Is it too cold outside?” Seungwan asks absently. They move to the couch, but Sooyoung doesn’