Seungwan had imagined that everything in her roommate’s life was going great or fair at the very least, the former coming home to a calm, sanguine girl every night without fail. In her mind, Kang Seulgi was the kind of daughter every mother would hope for - a little dim-witted at times, forgetful, maybe, but what the girl lacked in memory she made up for with a glimmering academic record, a plethora of extracurriculars, and an exceptional knack for dancing backed up by years’ worth of awards and popularity (and a booming Instagram following). 

Every night, she would throw her bag onto their tiny dining table for two, head over to and lean against Seulgi’s ever-open door, and complain and whine about the littlest things. And Seulgi would listen, would always listen, pushing her swivel chair back from her desk until it hits the length of her bed, in her closet space of a bedroom, with her reading glasses on and an expectant smile. 

Wide-eyed, carefree Seulgi. 

Obviously, in their seven months of living together, the brunette had occasionally divulged on some less than perfect moments of her life. Seungwan was there when Seulgi received a call about her grandmother’s relapse, as well as when she’d received news that her grandmother had beaten the big C for the third time (Seungwan had told her it was the “Kang Fighting Gene”, to which Seulgi simply beamed and locked her in the tightest embrace she’d ever received from anyone).  

Seungwan was there when Seulgi was panicking over a Business Statistics exam, was there to help her understand different types of bias at 4am, and was there when she refreshed a page to see a B+ where an A should’ve been (Seulgi had still shuffled over to pull Seungwan into a hug though, had still murmured a little “Thank you” into her ear as she buried her face in the crook of Seungwan’s neck).

Those, however, seemed like typical life experiences anyone would have to go through growing up and growing old. And Seulgi would always manage to conquer them, get over them and learn from them like a protagonist of a Bildungsroman, the main character of a coming-of-age film. 

To Seungwan, those moments were easily dwarfed by the utter -show she’d forced Seulgi to go through in those few months. Through nights spent sitting side-by-side on Seulgi’s bed, researching therapists in their area after another one of Seungwan’s panic attacks. Through stacks of tissues thrown in the trash during one of Seungwan’s existential crises about loneliness and love, and her greatest fear of dying alone. Of how she’d never been in a relationship. Had never been kissed. Had always felt like there was a shadow permanently cast on her, like she had to change herself to find someone who could love her, like maybe she’s more starved for affection and attention than she’d thought. 

Seungwan would always make sure Seulgi wasn’t living in a perpetual mess, would berate her for leaving her clothes or folders on the floor, but Seulgi was always there to clean up her messy, messy mind. 

Wide-eyed, carefree, warmhearted Seulgi. 

And yet, there Seungwan was, rubbing her eyes to the blinding light shining from the living room, a teary-eyed Seulgi framed within a rectangle of white, clutching onto the pineapple plush she’d given her on her birthday. And before she could’ve wondered why, or how, or maybe even who, Seulgi had slipped herself under Seungwan’s covers and gripped onto her shirt. Seungwan felt Seulgi’s fingernails dig into the cloth and into her skin, but she couldn’t care less about that.

All that mattered was the trembling girl balled up beside her, the irregular rise and fall of her chest, and the words that left her shaking lips like a wish blown into the night:

“I don’t wanna grow up." 

Seungwan’s breath hitched at that moment, like she’d discovered a missing piece of a puzzle she’d been trying to solve for days, like her vision had suddenly shifted from blurry and myopic to crystal clear. In Seulgi’s voice, so childlike, so soft, so vulnerable, and yet so courageous to even carry words that seem so weak,  Seungwan found herself. Seungwan found the feelings she’d felt too embarrassed, too cowardly to even mention. 

Because they were twenty-one then, and shouldn’t twenty-one year olds have a better grasp on what they want in life? 

“Everything’s so scary,” Seulgi added, as if she could’ve read the thoughts that raced through Seungwan’s head. Seungwan pulled Seulgi closer at the statement, one hand tightly wrapped around her waist as if it was nothing, the other combing through locks of wavy hair. 

Seungwan fought the tears that welled in her eyes as Seulgi heaved, took deeper and deeper breaths before she broke again, wetting her pyjama top as she cried for reasons Seungwan knew too well. There was a certain nostalgia in that moment, that familiarity of worrying over the harrowing reality of adulthood with a friend, yet a pang struck Seungwan’s chest, and sent ripples of panic down her spine. 

That someone she’d being looking up to could also feel so small, so uncertain. 

So scared. 

But as Seungwan mindlessly pulled Seulgi closer and closer to her, their bodies pressed against each other, so close Seungwan swore she could’ve felt her heartbeat, so close Seungwan could smell the coconut of her lotion, the lavender of her body wash, Seulgi muttered something far scarier than anything she’d said before. 

“I don’t wanna leave… you… here,” she said. 

Seungwan felt everything then - the pull of the bit of her top’s fabric balled in Seulgi’s fist, the pull of Seulgi’s bloodshot eyes looking through to hers in the pitch black, full of fear and hesitation and want, and the push of the voices in her head telling her that they’ll never work.