Somehow, because weekends always fly by, Friday started an hour ago but now it’s already Saturday night.

It is cold out, midnight only several minutes away; the edges of her window have started to frost and there is nothing Chaewon wants more than to fall asleep under warm covers. She picks up the scattered papers on her bed, drops it on the table, draws the curtains close and walks towards the bathroom. The only thing left to do is a warm shower, then sweet, sweet blissful sleep.

Freedom.

A knock interrupts her planning—which really, by now, could be summed up to one bolded word in neon lights that reads: sleep—and Chaewon stops one step short from entering the bathroom with a towel already draped on her right arm.

She blinks, turns her head towards the clock, and purses her lips because whoever thinks it’s a good idea to show up by her door at such an ungodly hour better have a good reason. Another knock sounds at the same time she thinks it, and Chaewon is tempted to let them knock forever—the bathroom is right there. She only needs to take one last final step. She can then close the door and let those knocks fall on deaf ears, hopefully having it gone by the time she’s done showering—

Chaewon heaves a sigh, swinging a step around in a reluctant jolt of movement. She goes to her door and unlocks it without checking the peep-hole despite Eunbi’s endless lectures on the importance of making sure the identity of your visitor because people die or go missing over these stuffs, Chaewon—

“Hitomi?”

Chaewon says, blinking at the person before her in surprise. Hitomi steps back slightly, looking painfully awake for what normal people consider sleeping hours; not that Chaewon has grounds to point it out.

Hitomi smiles a little and gives her a small wave in greeting, the seconds it takes for these two things to occur giving Chaewon time to notice the blanket Hitomi tugs over her figure. It’s cute, it’s Hitomi, and Chaewon would have lingered over the thought for a little longer if she doesn’t notice the faded hint of tears on the latter’s cheeks.

“Oh,” Chaewon breathes at the same time Hitomi opens . Hitomi falters and Chaewon gives her a look that hopefully comes across as understanding, “Just finished reading another one?”

Hitomi closes , and nods. Her gaze falls to Chaewon’s arm—to the towel draped over it.

“Ah,” Hitomi then says, gaze flicking back up with a hint of apology, “you—seem tired. You must’ve been about to prepare to wash up and sleep—I’m sorry! I’ll just… good night? Please rest well, I’m sorry for disturbing you.” Hitomi smiles, body already angling away to leave.

Chaewon just stares at her, then opens the door wider. “Come in.”

Hitomi hesitates. “But you—”

“You’ll have to entertain yourself while I take a shower,” Chaewon tells her, shrugging like it’s a no-brainer solution. “We’ll figure out the rest afterwards.”

Hitomi still doesn’t budge, rooted to her spot as she observes Chaewon like she’s trying to gather even the slightest glint of unwillingness. “You look like you just had a long day,” she finally says, slowly, sympathetically.

Chaewon smiles. “Then you’ll have to make me that warm milk you’re so good at,” she says in earnest, teasing a smile out of Hitomi’s lips. “You know it soothes my fatigue away—I bought a new mug yesterday, too. About time I test it out. Now come in, it’s cold.”

Hitomi snorts at the whining tone Chaewon has inevitably used—it is cold—and she finally takes a step forward. Chaewon budges aside to let Hitomi in, closing the door back and locking it while the latter already pads away towards the kitchen. She spends a long second to watch Hitomi navigate around her place with ease, opening the drawer for the stuffs she needs and spotting Chaewon’s so-called new mug by the drying rack faster than Chaewon can look away.

Hitomi looks up, then, catching her gaze. There’s a furrow of eyebrows first, then a small smile and a shooing hand, gesturing towards the bathroom. What a bossy guest, Chaewon thinks fondly, giving Hitomi a salute and turning away towards the bathroom.

Sure, sleep is probably a severely delayed appointment at this point, but at least she will come back to a cup of Hitomi’s warm milk—which she genuinely loves.

Not a bad exchange, really. It’s not.

*

Hitomi believes that everyone has a world of their own, one that is separate from the world they’re living in.

Some people have more than one; they have worlds inside their head, pieces of lands and precious backstories that come with it. Buildings and happenings everyone else are oblivious of—except some people aren’t satisfied with just that, fingers dancing across keypads to paint every nook of their universe in written words or ink-stained hands carefully mapping out the scenes in raw drawings. Half of them let others see their worlds through it, letting people in by sharing what they have made.

Hitomi loves reading these worlds.

She would stay up for hours on end to finish a tab of adventure. She devours the tales (of friendship or morality or found-family or love) occurring within these universes and soaks herself with it. Sometimes the people are new characters she’s meeting for the first time. Other times they are familiar people, characters taking after idols she follows or fictional figures borrowed from the various series she enjoys.

(Fanfictions, people say of the second category. Sometimes a snarky remark follows, labelling them the lowest tier of literature. Some fight over it, some scoff and scroll away. Some are adamant that its existence infringes upon their rights, somehow, and the thread would invite an endless page of debates.

Hitomi steers away from that, tucks herself in the corner of her own bubble, and sees them all as worlds.)

Ah, but here’s the thing about visiting people’s worlds:

Some of them share it in such a profound way, that Hitomi has to take more than a moment when she needs to leave.

There’s nothing lonelier than turning the last page of a story you deeply feel. After thousands of words drowning you in and characters’ feelings playing your own along with theirs, how can one be expected to navigate real life so shortly after?

Sometimes it’s not that hard, sometimes Hitomi can shove it to the back of her mind and function as normally as she would, but other times—when a story wrings her out like a dishcloth, when a tale squeezes her insides or brings her so high the ground looks like an unreachable place—she can’t.

Because afterwards, for a while, she’s not her, her room isn’t home, nor is it a place she recognizes. The tireless scroll throughout the pages she’s just read is her, a pair of eyes looking in from the window as the house turns and floats and sets itself on fire.

And then suddenly it’s over. Suddenly there’s no more movements. Suddenly the window blinks out of existence, and Hitomi is Hitomi, sitting in her room dazed from the world she’s just seen and whisked away from.

There’s nothing lonelier than having to say goodbye to a universe you’ve become so invested in, and Hitomi doesn’t remember how she used to cope with it. What she does remember is the fact that Chaewon opens her door to Hitomi’s knocks no matter how late it is, taking in the devastation rolling off Hitomi and holding out a hand.

Pulling her in, holding her close.

Because somehow, somehow, even though Chaewon doesn’t read fanfictions, she understands.

*

Chaewon hums, setting her empty mug aside, hair still slightly damp out of shower.

“Still as good as the first time,” she remarks, looking at Hitomi with a smile. They’re sitting at the only couch Chaewon has, second-hand and barely able to fit three people—four if the ones sitting on the edges are willing to have half their butts hanging in the air—and Hitomi smiles back.

Chaewon watches as Hitomi empties her own, holds out a hand to take it from her when she’s done. She sets it on the table, too, and says,

“Do you want to talk about it?”

They’re sitting with the thick blankets Chaewon has retrieved from her wardrobe draped over them, Hitomi still wearing her own blanket underneath. Chaewon doesn’t question it, knows it’s because Hitomi can’t really stand cold. And maybe also because the blanket has been with her for a long time, has provided Hitomi comfort way before Chaewon entered the picture.

The girl in question mums, the slight movement under the blanket probably the fiddling of her fingers.

“It was… sad.”

Chaewon nods encouragingly. Hitomi shifts, inching closer to Chaewon until their shoulders brush.

“…it started off goofy. Snarky, and already a little sad, but goofy. It’s… twenty chapters unfinished.”

Chaewon gasps, because even she knows the bravery it takes for someone to venture into unfinished works. Hitomi’s lips twist into a slight smile at that, a brief quirk on the corner of , and she leans her head on Chaewon’s shoulder.

Chaewon lets her. “Did it end on a cliff-hanger?”

“The story does.” Hitomi pulls the blanket up to her chin. “But… a comment written last week said that the writer posted some kind of a closure on twitter. It mentioned an account, so I clicked on it… and there was a pinned thread. There’s an apology and everything.”

“I hope the writer’s okay.”

“They are doing fine now,” Hitomi says, and Chaewon notices the relief in her tone. “They have had a rough year, though. With their mental health. And after a long time it’s just… the muse disappears. Continuing is hard. And sitting to write the next part of it means taking them back to the headspace they were in, which isn’t…”

“Pretty?”

“Yeah.” Chaewon shifts to put her arm around Hitomi, the latter moving with the motion and settling to her embrace. Hitomi hums and the warm air caresses Chaewon’s neck, sending a subtle shiver down her spine.

“They answered questions, though. They also linked a document where they dumped the little bits they had written overtime, about that universe. And—and for the ending, they included a voice recording where they talked about what’s supposed to happen. They sounded wistful, and it’s really just… a heartfelt trip from start to end.”

Chaewon smiles. “Sounds like a treasure chest.”

“It is.” Hitomi pauses then whispers, “It took me a week.”

“To read everything?”

“To muster the courage to check the thread out.” Hitomi glances up at her, smiling slightly at Chaewon’s confusion. “I started reading two weeks ago, but I paced myself because well… we had exams.” Can’t really stay up irresponsibly, she doesn’t need to say.

“Right.” The word exam reminds Chaewon of the assignment she has just finished, a paper she needs to submit tomorrow before noon. That also explains why she hasn’t had Hitomi knocking at her door for quite some time, now, interactions limited to waves and short greeting when they crossed path at the campus, the aforementioned exams taking up their time. That might also explain why she’s been catching herself lingering by the hallways or the lobby, hoping to catch a glimpse of—

Chaewon furrows her brows and chases the thought away, squeezing Hitomi’s shoulder instead.

“You feel up for anything?”

Sometimes, after Hitomi talks a little about the world she’s just visited, they will listen to a playlist or watch a movie—not so much to distract Hitomi but to provide for background noise as Hitomi works her feelings out. Sometimes Chaewon needs to do something and Hitomi is content just sitting next to her, the sound of Chaewon’s typing enough of a background noise for her to bask in.

Hitomi hums again, wondering. “You’re tired.”

“I am,” Chaewon nods. She doubts lying can do much when she can literally feel her eyebags deepening. “Your milk isn’t helping,” she adds, accusation absent.

Hitomi smiles and pulls away from Chaewon’s side. Somehow, even underneath the thick blankets, Chaewon senses a flicker of coldness as Hitomi’s warmth draws back.

“Please go to sleep,” Hitomi tells her. At Chaewon’s concerned look, she adds, “I’ll be fine. I’m going to…” Her gaze flits to the corner of Chaewon’s room, where a guitar is propped up against the wall. Chaewon follows her line of sight and makes an acknowledging noise at the back of .

“Turn on the heater if you’re playing,” Chaewon says, hands moving under the thick blankets as though to make a point. “Can’t play under all these fluffs, now, can we?”

Hitomi giggles, and Chaewon regains a bit of the warmth back. “I suppose not,” she agrees, “I’ll chip in for electricity.” She must’ve concluded that Chaewon is trying to save up on that, what with battling the cold weather with layers of blanket and hot showers instead of turning on the heater.

Chaewon shrugs. “You don’t need to.”

“I can’t always impose on you,”

“And I can’t always make you whip up your super secret warm milk recipe just to satisfy my midnight needs, but here we are,” Chaewon says, a small voice in the back of her mind wondering if she’s making sense at all. God, she really needs sleep.

Still, she looks at Hitomi and reaches out to ruffle the latter’s hair, smiling broadly when it results to a whine.

“Neighbours don’t keep count," she says.

Hitomi slinks away from Chaewon’s obviously evil fingers. “Actually, I think you’ll find that some neighbours do.”

“Well, not me.” Chaewon resists the urge to cup Hitomi’s cheeks and do something silly, like pressing a kiss to her forehead. She settles with having her hands back in her lap instead, perfecting a serious frown on her face— “So turn on the heater, yeah? And if you’re done, come to bed. I’ll make sure I don’t budge from the left side.”

Hitomi sighs, nodding somewhat reluctantly.

“You can kick me awake if I somehow sprawl to your side or something.”

That elicits a snicker from Hitomi. “I can’t do that,” she says, “I’ll just stay here. It’s comfortable.”

“If I found you sleeping here in the morning, I’m—” Chaewon pauses and lets out a wide yawn, shoulders drooping gradually until she blinks to Hitomi smiling fondly at her.

“Go to sleep,” Hitomi gently says, reaching out to pat Chaewon’s cheek. “And thank you. For being you.”

Chaewon furrows her eyebrows, wondering what it means. Maybe it’s a thank you for allowing her to stay, for letting her talk and giving permission to use the guitar. What do people even mean when they thank you for being you? What’s the extent of the gratitude, how much of you are they truly thankful for?

Chaewon wonders as she nods, rising from the couch in a slow movement.

“Heater,” Chaewon reminds her in a breath as the thick blankets slip off her body. “Or I’ll freeze in my sleep, hopefully you’re against that.”

Hitomi snorts, giving her a thumbs up. They exchange goodnights and prolonged smiles that might have more meaning if Chaewon is a little more awake, but then she lets out another yawn and Hitomi ushers her away. Chaewon doesn’t remember much from there—she may as well close her eyes as she walks towards her bed, Hitomi’s presence inside her apartment lingering on the back of her mind like the aftertaste of the warm milk on her tongue.

It’s comforting, Chaewon thinks absently as her head sinks into her pillow, and sleep consumes her faster than she can decide whether the thought was about her bed or Hitomi.

*

Hitomi believes that lessons taken from other people’s worlds are as valuable as the ones she gains as she navigates the real life.

It’s part of why some worlds just—leave her needing a moment longer than a pause to regain her footing. Because she comes out of that journey a little different of a person than she was at the start of it, the words and conflicts adding a touch to her shape and leaving a lasting mark. Because sometimes, sometimes people live without living, moving and drinking and eating like everyone else except they’re dying inside.

And feeling helps her make sure that she’s still alive in a way that matters.

She strums the guitar through the night, letting the scenes of the fic flit past her mind. Some linger, tugging at her fingers and giving the played tune a colour. Hitomi isn’t a prodigy in guitar and she only knows probably five chords she could absently play, but the pluck of the strings sounds like a story to her ears nonetheless.

A recount of the unfinished tale she’s just finished.

At some point, as her fingers start to tire, she glances towards the bed where Chaewon is asleep. Kim Chaewon, best neighbour in the whole world, a patient listener Hitomi isn’t sure she deserves but isn’t ready to lose. She wonders if the time would come, if she would have to part from Chaewon someday. Chaewon is a year above her and takes her study seriously enough that she definitely would graduate on time, so one day down the line, maybe…

The pluck of the strings slows down, because suddenly it feels like she’s plucking at her own heartstrings too. Another scene flits into her mind, of a goodbye with an uncertain promise, one hand reaching out but falling halfway—

From the distance, she sees Chaewon shift.

Hitomi rises from the couch and tugs her blanket along, guitar hugged against her chest. She sets it near the window, a few steps away from the bed, and she herself hovers by for a few moments. Chaewon’s back is facing her, the right side of the bed left untouched as promised, and it’s familiar enough that Hitomi doesn’t startle when her own feet move across the wood flooring to reach the bed.

‘Are you okay? Hurt anywhere? I’ve never seen someone run into a closed elevator before—holy, wait, please don’t cry—’

She settles down to bed, careful to not make Chaewon stir. She drapes her blanket over Chaewon’s frame when she notices the latter’s slight shiver despite the heater, smiling silently to herself when Chaewon lets out a contented noise afterwards.

‘Would you like something to drink? Sorry I wasn’t around to greet you when you moved in. The name’s Kim Chaewon, by the way…’

This is far from the first time Hitomi sleeps over at Chaewon’s apartment. Chaewon has been over at Hitomi’s, too, several times, at first after Hitomi’s insistence to return favours—and then simply because Chaewon wants to, or so she claims.

Hitomi believes her.

She watches Chaewon’s back for a moment, devoid of movement under the spell of deep sleep, and fleetingly thinks—will I know when it’s the last time?

The thought pricks at the room inside her chest—it was hollow when she left her place but ever since she stepped into Chaewon’s apartment, it has slowly been filled with something akin to warmth. An effect Chaewon’s place manages to have when her own can’t quite offer the same.

‘I don’t think it’s silly.’ A smile, kind and steady, ‘I’m envious, actually. You can immerse yourself so much, envision this whole universe playing out inside your mind as you read…’

The scene flitting past her thought this time isn’t from the fic anymore. It’s something of the past, acted out by Chaewon and herself, and Hitomi swallows, quietly sneaking her arms around Chaewon from behind. She rests her head against Chaewon’s back, feeling the room inside her chest expand with a thick mixture of unnamed hurt and reassurance.

‘You feel up for anything?’

She thinks—or more like finally allowing herself to think—of their first meeting. Of closed elevators and an offer to coffee, of brown blazers and awkward shoulder pats. Of mint-coloured wallpapers. Of a blissful sigh over a cup of warm milk. Of genuine smiles.

Of Chaewon.

Of Hitomi and Chaewon.

She drifts off to sleep like that, hugging Chaewon and the memory of their first meeting, trying to hold them for something that goes a little like forever.

*

If Hitomi’s world was the pages and universes she hops across, Chaewon’s is a little less exciting.

It might even be too mundane, because it’s just a beach with a bucket filled with seashells. In this world, the seashells talk to her and recount what she was thinking when she picked them up. A few of them would remind her of meaningful lectures that taught her a little more than mere formulas. A few of them chatter in Eunbi’s voice or some other close friends, conversations leaving a lasting mark that compelled Chaewon to pick up the seashell and put it inside her bucket. A few others would make her wish they would shut up, embarrassing or hurtful experiences waiting to be replayed and Chaewon would have hurled them across the sea if they didn’t latch onto her hand and refuse to let go until she threw them into the bucket.

A lot of them would sing of Hitomi.

A lot of them would speak about Hitomi, because Chaewon collects seashells almost every second whenever she’s with her. She doesn’t know when it starts, the gentle realization dawning on her when she overheard someone saying fanfiction only for her mind to comb through the talks she had with Hitomi, meaningful quotes and quiet touches resurfacing until someone else dropped by and pulled her out of her head to ask about the latest deadline.

Sometimes she ponders, hands full of seashells, if she should do something about it. If she should say something about the tingles erupting under her skin when Hitomi brushes past, if she should maybe do something about the way she finds herself stalling when it’s time to part ways.

But Hitomi hops across worlds, soaking in universes while Chaewon is only able to collect seashells. Would there be a room in Hitomi’s memory for herself, would Chaewon matter enough? ‘Everyone has a role in one’s life,’ Hitomi mused once, curled up against Chaewon with Taylor Swift’s discography playing from her phone.

But what if Chaewon’s only role is to be Hitomi’s safe space whenever she lets go of a universe she has just read?

She doesn’t mind, actually. She finds that she doesn’t.

She doesn’t mind if that’s all she amounts to, but she worries if saying something means losing even that. She wonders if doing something would cost her being that one place Hitomi returns to, and so.

And so she doesn’t do anything.

Even as she wakes up to Hitomi in her embrace, the younger’s hair finding its way to , even as she carefully untangles herself from their position with a smile finding its way across her face. Even as she opens her laptop to submit the paper she’s worked on last night without the expected stress, an odd sense of calmness soothing her nerves despite herself.

Even as she looks up to Hitomi sitting on the bed and rubbing at her eyes, the urge to do something more than a smile and good morning settling in the pit of her stomach.

Even as she takes in Hitomi’s smile when the latter clambers up and wraps the blanket around herself, telling her she needs to go back and wash up.

Even as Hitomi pauses by the door, turning slightly to look at her and say,

“Can I drop by more often?” At Chaewon’s slow blink, she clarifies, “Even though I’m not in need of—cheering up. Can I drop by just… because I want to?”

A smile touches Chaewon's lips, and she really, really wants to do something more than just a nod. Perhaps exclaim a loud yes!, maybe run to hug Hitomi and dramatically whisper the door is always open for you, or ask her out on a date to duplicate the keys so Hitomi can come in whenever—can even rob Chaewon and blame it on her blind trust, if she wants to.

But this is not a fanfiction, so Chaewon contents herself with a nod and a smile, sending Hitomi off with a wave. When the latter is gone and the door closes with a click, Chaewon buries her face into her palms and tries to not think of waking up to Hitomi’s face so close with her own, the beach of her mind seeming particularly hot today.

She collects another seashell, and reminds herself to not do anything. Don’t, don’t, don’t, she reaches for her phone and sends a message.

To: Hii :]
for you, the door is always open :]

The reply comes faster than she expects, the message popping up almost making Chaewon drop her phone.

From: Hii :]
<3
Then I’m coming over later with lunch! :)

Chaewon exhales the breath inside her lungs in almost a shudder. Warmth settles, somewhere inside her chest, and she bends down to pick up yet another seashell—thumb pressing on Hitomi’s reply for a few seconds and then clicking on star message.

Don’t, don’t, don’t, her mind chants, because pushing all her luck has never done much good.

So she doesn’t do anything more about it.

(But someday, perhaps, she will.)