One dinner turned into two. Two dinners turned into four, until it became a daily routine for both as soon as they clocked out. When Wendy was finished writing, Irene would wait for her (and vice versa) and they would park by the cheap ramen place 10 minutes away, and eat bingsu at the store in front of it. 

This new bond surprised the rest of the Ministry of Health's press corps, who were already convinced that Irene and Wendy were about to lunge at each other's throats at one point. 
 

Day by day they were able to observe how Irene's petulant muttering turned into laughs whenever Wendy had a brain fart in the middle of the story. Or how she was willing to share her notes to her rival. 

Before Irene knew it, she was giving advice to Wendy about how she should move forward with the content she produced.
 

At times, Wendy wasn't at all confident with her writing, feeling herself sink in the pressures of being young, and being pitted against Irene.

In between bowls of ramen and bingsu she confessed to Irene that she considered quitting and filing a resignation letter after feeling burned out one night, wanting to fold from the pressure which came as a package deal with her current career.

She had her own what if's: what if she moved to a PR company for the big bucks? What if she pursued medicine instead of journalism? The what-ifs became endless. 

Irene realized that she and Wendy were nothing but young people trying to make a name for themselves at the end of the day. The industry is a small world and everyone practically knew each other (what else were the story bylines and the end-spiels for every voice over they had to do at night anyway?) and they were bound to drown because of the pressure if they didn't know how to swim.  
 

They were, after all, just two people trying to grow individually; but as people who faced the cameras, they often feared being made fun of the way their hair was styled, or the way they announce a famous politician's name.
 

It was a self-consciousness akin to being a Kpop idol. It was already tiring enough to be self-conscious about how they present themselves on television, on top of that they also had to deal with external threats, sometimes libel cases if a person or a group felt they were powerful enough to intimidate. 

A few dinners later, Irene noticed the littlest things about Wendy which made her smile: The way she brushed her blonde hair upwards whenever she talked. The way Wendy's brown eyes light up over a eureka moment while a story she needed to file, or the way her voice sounds whenever she sits in a corner and does her voice-over for the evening newscast; or the times her body warms up at the sight of the younger woman, especially when she offers her coat when she forgets hers at her apartment. 

But the little things, at times, she wanted to wipe down; if there was a thing or two that she remembered from college, it was a line coming from her professor. 

"Whatever you do, for the love of God don't date anyone in the profession. You will just end up competing with each other and it will just take a toll on your relationship," the professor, a sulky divorcee in his early 30s spat on the first day of basic news writing class. (Much to the chagrin of college boys and girls trying to look for someone to date in class on the first day.) 

Wendy, no doubt, already admired Irene (with a slight crush) when she was in college, and as a friend, she found herself liking the raven-haired woman even more than expected.
 

The way Irene slap her over a greasy news writing joke; the way the raven-haired woman s herself around Wendy when the air conditioning turned cold. She had been clear of her admiration for Irene, but what held her back though, was her own insecurity. 

It's already bad enough that they were pitted against each other, and they at times told each other about feeling inferior when it came to writing. So Wendy decided to brush it off too hoping to stave it away like some goofy puppy crush, until a couple of months later, when they decided to try the beer at the ramen place one Friday. 

"Let's do something different," Irene said then, calling on the waiter to bring in a bucket of their best craft beer. "It's the weekend after all." One bucket turned into two. 

"You know, Irene," Wendy says in slurs, sipping in her bottle before speaking. "I think I've said this a million times but I've been a huge fan of yours in college." 

Irene answers: "What's there to like? I'm pathetic." 

"That's not true." 

She starts bursting into fake tears. "You do better than me a lot of times when I tried my best." 

Wendy hiccups, cupping Irene's hands in between her face. She tries to speak slowly for emphasis. "Listen, Irene. You're one of the bravest reporters I know out there. Heck, you even scared the health minister into giving you a straightforward question to his answer. How could I forget about that?" 

Irene had gone viral on social media that day. It was in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic when Irene, then an energetic young bunny on her first day as a LPTV's reporter for the Ministry of Health, dropped a barrage of follow-up questions when she wasn't satisfied by the Health Minister's answer. Her age, and her tenacity turned heads and she was able to get a proper answer out of the health official.

Irene stammers, intoxicated not by the beer but of Wendy's touch "But y-y-yyou're good, and I feel like I'm too... average, like I haven't flourished, even after throwing myself out there in the middle of a pandemic." She later adds: "Besides, I'm pathetic enough to like a person who can't like me back."  

That's new. Wendy lets go of Irene's face, leaning back on the monobloc chair she was sitting on. "What do you mean?" 

"I've been head over heels for someone in the field for quite some time now," Irene felt heavy but she couldn't help but panic deep down because she couldn't stop talking. "But... dating her would mean the end of my career or hers, and I don't want that for her. She wouldn't want that either for sure." 

Wendy laughs, "Psh, you sound like a Kpop idol..." A grin followed. "Let alone look like one." 
 

"Yah! Stop being greasy" Irene slaps Wendy's shoulders, as the blonde laughs out loud. 

"But kidding aside." Wendy puts an arm around Irene's shoulder. "Who cares about that rule about not dating someone with the same profession as yours? If anything, I think it will work."

"Why so? Didn't you get an two-time divorcee preaching about how bad it was in your basic newswriting class? Because I had at least one per semester," Irene said, her mind tracing back to her cranky professor's first day ment.

"I did." Wendy replied, now grabbing a tissue and rolling it into a ball, as she looked at Irene. She stops for a second God she is so beautiful. "But what are the odds of that being false right?" 

Irene pauses a bit to think. "Maybe you'd like to try then?" 

"Pardon?" 

"Look, Wendy. I've liked you for quite a while now. Maybe it was when you set foot at the press room for the first time, or maybe it was the time you became so nice to me. I've had all these feelings held back and I didn't know how to comprehend them." Oh God, Irene what are you doing?

Irene stammers again, her heart beating loud: "I was in denial because my professor's words stuck to me like glue. You came here and blew me away with how nice you were and how you were willing to help me grow, and I wanted to do the same when it came to you because I admired you too." 

"It's not like you have to reciprocate it now," Irene said, a feeble attempt to try and take back what she said out of embarassment. "I understand if you don't feel that way. It's just that, it's been a while since I started liking someone. And liking you even makes it even harder because I'm afraid it will be bad for us career-wise and we'd end up competing with each other and it would never end until we break it off eventually," 

"Oh Irene," Wendy sighs, cupping the older woman's hands before pressing her lips against hers. Who knew liquid courage could be this good? 
 

After breaking the kiss, Wendy looks at Irene's black orbs, and whispers against her lips.
 

"Look, we could try our best to work this out. We've already been doing our best to help each other grow the past few months, at least, when you talk about our friendship and relationship as writers. But look at us: we've felt lighter, somehow that we've pulled the plug on the rivalry others tried to push us into." 

"What I want to happen is that we pull each other up instead of pushing each other down. We don't have to hold back. We don't have to care if other people pitted us to each other. In fact, I want them to be at awe about the fact that we could work it out in the end."

Irene's grin reaches from ear-to-ear, as they share one more kiss, which spanned at least a couple of minutes.

As they break away, Irene asks. "Was I really that dense when I met you?" 

"Maybe," the blonde replies, eliciting laughter. They had a long night to go.

--

A/N 

Whew, that was a long ride. That's it for now, and I might make a spin off out of this when I have the time during the weekend. 

First off, as I've said, the story is loosely based on real-life events, stemming from my experience as a young online journalist (and of my colleagues too, since I only work on general assignments). Irene and Wendy's internal struggles mirror the existential dread young journalists endure. For writers my age, we usually hit a point where we think we have not grown, often wanting to take a break or venture into higher-paying jobs like a PR job, especially when the job gets too demanding. It's often a topic during late night drinking sessions, at some point with people ending up with tears. The story, truth be told, was supposed to stop from the first chapter but today on the ride to work My Day is Full of You came on shuffle and I couldn't help but add a bit more fluff to the story. 

The "stigma" towards journalists dating journalists is to some extent real; maybe as it is applicable to every relationship. But in the industry, you're often pitted against each other, especially when your competitor releases a quality story earlier than you do. You're constantly, unconsciously pitted against each other.

What the divorcee professor said was actually an anecdote of my uncle and his wife, who were both journalists. Before they married, my aunt decided to pursue prod work for entertainment shows to make the relationship work. But time and time again, that was proven wrong by a small fraction of people in the industry. 
 

It took at least five revisions per chapter before I thought I was contented because I wanted to emphasize on their feelings and their struggles in the competitive landscape of journalism altogether. Hope I was able to make sense. 😸