Wendy is attractive.

Irene knows that.

There are instances where she finds herself ogling at Wendy whenever she pulls her shirt over her head. The small frame of her back all flushed and sweaty from her usual morning runs. Irene swears she’s not a ert, God no.

She’s just… oh well, attracted to Wendy.

Big time.

Too bad, she already established herself as an untouchable academic snob with no social life the first time they met. Giving Wendy a list of dos and don’ts. Putting a line in between their beds, the foreign student just looked at her, the corner of her lips quirking upwards, amusement written all over her face.

“Really?” Wendy scoffs at the time, looking at the paper, “you surely are one uptight woman.”

Wendy had said it in straight English, accompanied by a -eating grin that everyone in the campus, including the professors, the maintenance, the gardener, the lunch lady (who hates Irene), boys and girls of all ages, find irresistibly charming.

It infuriated Irene to death, for reasons still unknown to her.

Smug foreign student with an annoyingly blonde hair was how she initially described Wendy.

She hates how her roommate’s platonic blonde hair framed her pale face. How it would sometimes be tied into a low ponytail after a long run, bangs obscuring brown doe eyes as she opens to drink water on her hydroflask. Irene always dreamt of being a teacher, but in moments where she passes by Wendy who’s leaning on a wall beside the drinking fountain, cheeks slightly red and lips glistening, she wonders how it would feel to be a water bottle.

Surely it won’t be that bad—

“Miss Bae?”

“Miss… Bae?”

The professor coughs, “Irene Bae!”

Irene jolted on her seat, “Wendy Shon!”

The professor laughs and the typically tensed class erupted into a roar of laughter; Irene ducked her head, cursing silently on her seat.

“I’m afraid Miss Shon isn’t the philosopher I was referring to, but okay,” the professor walks back to her table.

The discussion went on but Irene could feel herself dissolving into a puddle, face warm. The hairs on her nape stood up, and she knows she’s looking at her. When the professor dismissed the class, she immediately gathered her things and bolted out of the room, pretending not to hear Wendy’s voice calling her out.

That was a vain escape though, because when she entered their shared room that night, Wendy was there. Well, of course. They are roommates after all.

“Oh,” Irene murmurs, “you’re here.”

Wendy chuckles, the low tone of her voice brought heat on Irene’s cheeks, “I live here.”

“Right,” Irene nodded, walking stealthily towards her side of the room.

“You were thinking about me, weren’t you?” Wendy slumped back to her own bed, her band shirt shifted a little; exposing the skin of her stomach, and Irene tried so hard to divert her eyes.

“Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Wendy shrugs, looking at the ceiling, “just interesting how you screamed my name earlier.”

Irene’s eyes went wide, mouth gaping, “I did not scream your name.”

“Uh, yes? Yes you did.”

Wendy’s eyebrow raises, it was mocking but Irene thought about how hot the gesture was—I am totally losing it.

“You missed me, don’t you?” Wendy said seconds later, and when she didn’t respond, Wendy chuckles, “you missed me.”

Their dynamic works like that.

Small spark of tension, a little teasing, a circus of constant push and pull, but nothing more.

Always in the middle, safe but not getting anywhere.

Not friends, not enemies.

Just roommates.

Funny because these past few days Irene finds herself alone in their room, as if Wendy conveniently forgot her dorm assignment.

Wendy has been spending nights at her friend’s for almost a week, and as much as Irene hates to admit it, the disappearance is pissing her off. Especially when she sees the blonde walking out of her friend’s room every morning looking inherently satisfied of herself.

Irene turned the lights off, clunking her tongue, and summoning all her power to sound nonchalant, “You’re not spending the night at your girlfriend’s?”

“Not my girlfriend,” Wendy laughs, voice already sleepy, “and no, not tonight.”

Irene had to bury her face on a pillow to stop herself from smiling; she suppressed her squeal, clearing , “Huh.”

“Only because you missed me,” Wendy added seconds later.

Irene chuckles, “Goodnight, Wendy.”

Wendy laughs, and that was the last thing Irene heard before she got her first comfortable sleep in a week.

 

 

At first, Irene thought she’s just having a terrible case of dysmenorrhea, thinking that the painful twist in her stomach was nothing but a biological consequence of her being a girl. But then every time she feels it, Wendy is always in the picture.

She already has an idea what it is. She’s just too stubborn to admit it.

Attraction is one thing, but what she feels is a different story.

Wendy’s running again.

Irene shivered. Feeling the intense adrenaline flow through her system as she watches Wendy’s exhausted form, mouth slightly ajar, heaving shallow breaths.

Irene walks up behind the bleachers, stretching her arms up in the air. Just how many laps could this girl do? Irene flinched on her position when Wendy collapsed on the grass. She bit the inside of her cheek, contemplating whether to approach Wendy or not.

She shook her head but jogged towards Wendy anyway.

The blonde opened her eyes when Irene stood towering beside her, smiling brightly, “Hi.”

Irene rolled her eyes, “Good, you’re not dead yet. Nice chat, see you later.”

“Wait!”

Wendy shuffled to get onto her feet, warm hand enveloped Irene’s arm and she looked back, “What?”

“Do you have classes?”

Irene shook her head, “No.”

“Fancy a hot choco?” Wendy wiggled her eyebrows, mochi cheeks doubling up in size, “pancakes? Bacon? Eggs? A nice breakfast? Me?”

Irene dismissed Wendy’s attempt at teasing, making an irritated face, “Only if it’s free.”

She had to bite back a series of complaints when Wendy took her into the school cafeteria, of course, Wendy might be filthy rich but she’s not one to spend on something expensive or so the rumor says.

“What?” Wendy asks, guwaffing when she noticed Irene’s sharp stares.

“I didn’t know you could be so stinky,” Irene said pensively as she stuffed with scrambled eggs.

“If we went out of the university it would look like a date,” Wendy explains, holding out a teaspoon and pointing it at her.

“So what?”

Wendy looks taken aback, surprised at her response.

But Wendy quickly regains composure, smiling sheepishly, “For starters, you hate me. I don’t know why, but that was something I already picked up on. I’m not dense.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Irene nods, she doesn’t have any idea why she hates Wendy either, “but my hatred for you won’t get in the way of eating something other than this.” Irene motioned the generic breakfast, looking sad at the disposition of her oily bacon.

“I’ll take you to a nice tteokbokki place,” It sounds like promise Irene could hold on to, and she knows, no matter how much she tries to block that tiny rational voice in her head that says she shouldn’t get her hopes up, she already did, high as a kite.

Her mood, however, quickly shifted when Wendy pushes a plate full of muffins towards her, keenly distracted, “but for now, eat this for me hm?”

Wendy’s eyes were trailing behind her, Irene looks back, her eyebrows automatically knitting. Wendy stood up quickly, small feet already scrambling towards the girl on the counter.

“Sejeong!” Wendy calls out; she then glances at Irene, winking, “I’ll see you later?”

Great.

Irene bit her lip. The heavy constriction on her chest grows more prominent as Wendy approached Sejeong with a fond smile, so relaxed, a little too friendly; she doesn’t look at me like that.

It was a weird feeling Irene harbored all throughout the day that when she arrived at their room after her classes, she’s still furious. But her anger was quickly replaced with disappointment when Wendy wasn’t there, and that disappointment quickly turns into frustration when the clock struck 9 PM.

Still no smug blonde in sight.

She sighs; accepting the fact that she won’t be getting any good sleep tonight.

 

 

Wendy attends the class looking unbothered, the strap of her bag hooked loosely on her shoulder. Her go to outfits include a muscle tee and a flannel that’s always tied up onto her small waist, further accentuating her curves.

And how does Irene know?

It’s because she spends an awful lot of time observing the blonde get dressed. Not so blatantly, of course, because if Wendy noticed her staring, Irene’s certain she wouldn’t let her hear the end of it, being so smugly confident and all.

(To be fair, she does have a lot of things to be confident about, but Irene’s too stubborn to admit that.)

For instance, Wendy can sing. And not just sing, but actually sing.

Real articulate, Irene. Real articulate.

But putting Irene’s ability to form a coherent sentence aside, Wendy truly has powerful vocal chords for such a small frame. Also b with charm, enamoring girls left and right.

That’s her brand.

Only Wendy Shon.

“That’s not how you do it!” The heavily accented voice rang inside the corners of the music room, followed by soft giggles, a cute whining, “Unnie, stop playing around.” Even her Korean has an Australian twang.

Wendy laughs, “I am not!”

But then she went on holding the guitar the wrong way, strumming it comically, making weird faces that earned her a playful slap on her arm.

Irene looks away, silently berating herself for choosing the music room to study for chemistry.

Even that weren’t enough to shift her attention because her goddamn peripheral vision is as stubborn as she is; witnessing how Rosé leaned in to whisper something at Wendy, and the latter chuckles, murmuring something back.

That was the last straw.

Irene stood up quietly, gathered her things, and made her exit purposely unknown, deciding that that’s too much studying for the day.

She’d seen enough chemistry between the two to last her a lifetime anyway.

 

 

You can ask anyone in the university about Irene Bae, and they’d tell you three c’s: calm, collected and confident. The combination led her to being one of the most adored members of the student council, frequently chosen as the university’s representative during intercollegiate competitions, an eloquent speaker and a dangerous opponent in debates.

So why the hell is she acting like a spluttering mess in front of a five foot tall woman?

“Irene…” Wendy whispers at her side, hand gripping her arm, “do you have a pen?”

The slow burn creeping from her arm quickly painted her neck red. Her lips seemingly glued together. Irene on her breath, pulling her arm away and shuffling through her bag.

In her hurry, definitely not calm, her pens rolled onto the floor, yep, seems like not collected too, Irene cursed silently, turning towards Wendy’s direction—already holding a pen.

Wendy glances at Irene smiling. And Irene quickly shoved the two (four) pens that she was going to offer back at her bag. Confident? Clearly a no.

In conclusion, the three c’s don’t apply when a certain blonde is around.

“Thanks, Krystal,” Wendy murmured in English before she began writing notes.

Irene would’ve gushed if it weren’t for the recipient of the gratitude.

“Anytime,” Krystal smiled back, whipping her hair like the it girl she is.

Irene crossed her arms, it is still early but her day’s already ruined.

 

 

“Joy,” Irene whispers, poking her friend with a pen.

Joy didn’t even tear her eyes away from her notebook, hands skillfully writing down numbers from the calculator.

“Joy,” Irene reiterates, “do you think I’m attractive?”

For a split second, Joy looks at her then back again to what she’s doing, “I’m trying to pass chemistry. Shut up.”

“Say, if you saw me at a party,” Irene glances at the corner of the library where a certain blonde is situated, looking dreamily at the woman in front of her, “would you hit on me?”

“You’re well aware that I have a girlfriend right?” Joy drags her words, as if she’s already done with the conversation, “and what the hell brought this on?”

“Just answer me, do you think I’m attractive?”

Joy settled her pen down, voice a little loud than what the library requires, “When I was in high school, I was the prettiest… but then college came and I saw you and—” Joy groans, “you know this story!”

Irene laughs, she does know that story, “But would you date me? If you weren’t so in love with Seulgi, would you date me?”

“Yes,” Joy points her pen at Irene, “but you’re not my type so don’t let it get to your head. Now, please. Chemistry is waiting. Chop chop.”

Irene bit the insides of her cheek, taking one last look at the root cause of her dilemmas. Wrong move, Wendy’s tucking Krystal’s hair into her ear, smiling like Krystal put the stars in her sky and Irene’s just… so angry.

Not jealous, nope. Angry.

She’s thankful that Joy took the initiative of snapping her fingers, and shoving books in front of her. Irene’s afraid that if Joy hadn’t interfered, she might actually do something stupid.

Like walking towards Wendy and writing something on her forehead that would say she’s Irene’s.

Something like that.

 

 

“You haven’t had dinner yet?” Wendy asked one night when she arrived early at their room. She silently removed her beanie, wiggling her coat out in the process and hanging it behind the door.

Irene never thought about it (mainly because she hasn’t seen it before) but Wendy and beanie looks cute together.

“I haven’t,” she answered meekly, focusing on her book.

“Let’s eat?”

“If you’re taking me to cafeteria again,” Irene peeled her eyes away from the page she’s reading, “then no.”

Wendy laughs, “I’m not taking you anywhere.” She raised her hand, showing two paper bags, and two cups of steaming drink.

And that is how they end up sitting on the floor, Irene leaning on the foot of her bed as Wendy chews on the tteokbokki, casually scrolling on her phone.

Irene willed herself not to stare too much, that by doing so, she’s only burying herself deep. She’s had a lot of infatuations before; even had a boyfriend at one point, but there is something stirring about Wendy.

Just her mere presence is suffocating, but in a good way.

Irene would gladly run out of breath if it means keeping Wendy this close.

Wow, I sound creepily poetic.

“You went out?” Irene asks when she notice that the silence is taking so much of their space.

“Nah,” Wendy shook her head, “my mom’s in town, asks me what I want but I don’t know what I want so I asked her for tteokbokki because I know that’s what you want.”

It was adorable, the way Wendy’s eyes went up to the ceiling as she spats out the words like a tongue twister.

Irene didn’t miss the sweet gesture though. How it slipped through her skin like a heater, warming up her stomach better than any hot choco.

Irene clears , “Thanks.”

“What for?”

“For remembering what I like.”

Wendy shrugs, “I remember what everyone likes.”

Oh.

Any hope Irene possessed went back to being shriveled up. She straightened up; voice small, “Of course.”

 

 

It happened quick than Irene would like to admit.

Fast like the lightning of the thunderstorm reaching out beyond their room’s blinds. Irene jumped on her bed, blankets strewn all over her, but the soft fabric wasn’t enough to block out the loud noise. Irene hugs her pillow, her tear stained cheeks glistens as the lightning scatters over their room. She tries to contain her quiet sobs, bitting on the pillow to no avail.

She looks to her side.

Wendy’s bed is still empty.

When a brash thunder roars over, Irene run towards the bathroom, closing the door with a bang as her hand muffled the sound. She sat on the floor like a kid, waiting for the storm to tide over. It wasn’t long before her droopy eyes gave up, slowly succumbing to sleep.

 

There were soft pats on her cheek, warm hands jolting her awake.

“Irene.”

She mumbles something incoherent.

“Irene, it’s Wendy,” she said, “the floor’s cold, come on,”

Irene opened her eyes, and even in her sleep drunken state, she could feel the small tingles on her skin at Wendy’s close proximity, “It’s loud…”

Wendy chuckles, but her eyebrows are knitted in worry, “I know, but it’s okay.”

“I’m scared,” Irene whispers and Wendy moves closer, is—is this a hug?

“Yeah, love. I know,” Wendy smells like alcohol, and perfume, and sweat, and something smoky but she also smells like Wendy, her roommate Wendy, “I’ll cover your ears. Come on… can you stand?”

Wendy held her close, hand holding her waist steady. When Irene’s legs hit the bed, she immediately sunk down, relishing the comfort. Wendy followed suit, slipping beside Irene, offering her arm as a pillow, “Are you comfortable?”

Irene nodded sleepily, unconsciously leaning towards Wendy’s neck, “Wendy, it’s loud.”

“I’ll cover your ears,” Wendy’s arm enveloped Irene’s head, cradling it with care while the other hugged Irene’s waist, “is this okay?”

Tiny currents and mellowed out fireworks dances through her system, but exhaustion takes over and Irene lets herself mold inside Wendy’s hug like she’s always meant to be there. The comfort was warm, soft, familiar. Like she could live inside Wendy’s embrace and she won’t need anything else.

She leans in, lips already touching Wendy’s neck.

Irene won’t notice it at the moment; she’s too tired, too sleepy.

But tomorrow, the moment she wakes up tangled in Wendy’s arms, she’ll know.

Fast like a truck without breaks, scarier than any thunders is the acceptance that what she feels isn’t hatred, or insecurity. Not even anger.

Something stronger than attraction, more potent.

Irene closes her eyes, massaging her temple when the sunlight hit her face. She made a quick decision of slowly removing Wendy’s arms, and tiptoeing back to her side of the room.

But then she looks back, contemplated for a minute, before fixing Wendy’s blanket. Her movements are slow, careful, calculated, afraid that she might wake Wendy up.

“Thank you.”

The intimacy of the whole cuddling fiasco will not be mentioned in any of their following interactions (it’s not like they had interacted a lot after that). Few of their rare moments had been awkward, weighed down by Wendy’s inability to hold eye contact, like what she made was a mistake and she’s actually ashamed of herself.

Irene didn’t care—mind. She has a lot of things on her plate. Different orgs pulling her left and right, and there’s the upcoming finals. To be honest, she’s relieved (more like afraid) that she does not have to deal with anything at the moment, because she does not have enough energy left to do so.

But it has been so long, and she’s pretty sure Wendy has forgotten about that night and already over the timid, awkward phase by the way she so unashamedly jumps from one girl to another every day. If she’s such a social butterfly, then what’s stopping her from talking to Irene and actually remembering she has a room assignment?

(Because Wendy doesn’t sleep at their dorm anymore, and when she does, it’s already morning.)

Irene shrugged the thought, swerving her mind to enjoy the air instead.

Feeling how the cold wisp of December kisses her cheeks, numbing her lip in the process. She embraces herself, hides her small hands inside her oversize hoodie. It was cold during the day, but night time surely is remarkably colder. Maybe it’s the lack of students warming up the hallways, all huddled up together in groups.

That reminds Irene, she’s alone. In the middle of the night (morning), walking through the tiled floors of the university in attempt to memorize how it looks during Christmas season.

Call her juvenile, but she always loved decorations.

Any ghost stories from Yeri (her favorite freshman from the book club) was knocked off at the back of her mind, buried by comforting thoughts of large Christmas trees and elves, and — any thought process came to a halt.

Irene’s hand trembled at the sound coming from a room.

I’m not scared.

It was more like humming, accompanied by melodic strums.

I’m not scared.

The ghost stories from Halloween suddenly creep up like a plague all over Irene’s head, painting her skin in goosebumps, “H-hello?”

The sound stopped and Irene allowed herself to breathe in and out, mentally calculating on what speed she could fly to her dorm without making any noise and waking the whole university up. But then the door of the room creaks, and Irene almost fell to her feet in surprise—

“Irene?”

Irene inhales, not a ghost, sure.

“You scared me!”

“That only works if you weren’t scared in the first place,” Wendy chuckles in hushed tone, opening the door of the music room and motioning her to get inside, “it’s cold, come on.”

Irene obliges, jumping away—she prays that Wendy didn’t notice—when Wendy’s hand lands on the small of her back, guiding her.

“So this is what you’ve been doing,” Irene states, finding a seat beside Wendy.

Wendy scratches her nape, again, avoiding eye contact, “Uh yeah… sorry, if I haven’t been sleeping in lately.”

“Really?” Irene upped her chin in defiance, “I hadn’t noticed.”

Lies. She did, and the empty bed beside her keeps her awake till morning (until Wendy arrives), part of the reason why she’s strolling around the campus tonight.

Wendy laughs, finally looking at her.

Irene’s eyes roams over Wendy, analyzing her features, drinking her up before any of her holiday induced and magically conjured courage dissipates. Wendy looks paler, her hair—still blonde—shines under the silver moonlight. Her lips, though a bit chapped, still have the same effect on Irene. Wendy coughs and Irene knew she caught her staring.

Irene feels like she’s losing her balance, and thanks all the gods that she’s sat on the makeshift stage.

The air around buzzes with thickness Irene couldn’t decipher, tension building up with words left unsaid. Feelings that were too fragile to be bared. They kept waiting and waiting. Seconds feels like an hour but none of them talks, and they wait some more.

“I miss you.”

The sound was so unfamiliar, but Irene’s certain it came from . The words leaving an aftertaste, enveloping her tongue with bitter longing.

Wendy did not respond, instead she took Irene’s hands into hers. Thumb caressing the back of Irene’s palm, drawing delicate circles on her knuckles.

“I said, I miss you,” Irene whispers again, a little boldly, holding onto the hope that buds during that one stormy night.

Wendy chuckles, “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

“And?” Irene impatiently asks. She knows it was out of the line, a little pushy. She’s in no position to ask for reciprocation but her competitive psyche just wants an answer. Anything at all — within context, of course.

Wendy leans in, the smell of her coconut shampoo lingers, she’s still holding Irene’s hands, warming Irene up, “I miss you too.”

Irene finds the concept of butterflies in the stomach absurd, how would insects even feel inside of a functioning human body, filled with fluids and organs? Certainly the butterflies would end up dead, having been subjected into a condition their biology isn’t accustomed to.

Now, with Wendy so close, Irene still finds the idea ridiculous.

No butterflies.

Because what Irene feels is way different, out of this world, dizzying. There are no tickles in her stomach, just powerful knots, it had been painful before, but now it feels like yellow bursts of sunshine filling her up from her foot to the top of her head. Every touch is felt, Irene swore she could probably draw the exact same circles by the way Wendy’s fingers left a fiery mark on her skin.

“Really,” it wasn’t a question, just a flat out statement. A filler to the small distance between them.

Wendy’s eyes flicker towards Irene’s lips.

“Yeah,” Wendy added, wetting , looking at Irene directly in the eyes. Finally.

“Okay,” Irene murmurs, but she looks at Wendy too, watches Wendy’s half lidded eyes grace with so much fire. It awakens Irene’s senses.

The air smells strongly of cinnamon and coconut, keeping Irene in a state of intoxication.

Close the gap.

“You should,” Wendy whispers, closing her eyes before pulling away, “you should probably head back.”

It feels like a bucket of ice has been poured over Irene’s head, sobering her up from an extreme inebriation. Her hands form into fists, fingernails digging her palm. Chest feels like it has been blown and popped off with a sharp point needle.

“Yeah,” Irene coughs, looking at her foot, she swallows the lump on , “you’re right.”

Irene stood up, eyes trailed at the door, then back at Wendy, biting her lip in contemplation, “you..” She opens again, she just wants to be sure, and then she’ll stop whatever this is, “you felt it too right?”

Wendy glances at her with blinking eyes, “Felt what?”

Irene shook her head, smiling weakly.

She took large steps, almost running. Not bothering to look back when Wendy offered to walk her back to their room.

No longer scared, she runs through the hallways. And when she’s back on the comforts of her bed, rolled into the warmth of her blankets, Irene wonders if Santa has a magic tape, maybe even miracle staplers.

Preferably something that could glue back a broken heart.

 

 

Irene became wary of her surroundings after the incident at the music room. She constantly looks around, checking for any familiar blonde in sight, making sure that her coast is clear before proceeding to her destination, becoming a part of her routine.

She’s in luck though, because she did not bump into Wendy that day.

And she would be ecstatic.

But Irene won’t see her next day too, and the next, and the next.

And any joy she felt will eventually warp into worry and distress.

Usually, even when Wendy doesn’t spend the night at their room, Irene would still see her during the day, running through the fields, hanging out in the cafeteria. Surrounded by her circle of girl friends, laughing and making jokes with the basketball guys. Sometimes, Irene would catch her napping on a bench near the engineering building, along with her guitar and water bottle.

But now, it’s like Wendy disappeared like a bubble sans any trace.

Irene sighs, stares at Wendy’s perfectly made up bed. Without any hesitation, she lays on it, hugging the blonde’s pillow. She takes in any remnants of cinnamon and coconut smell she could get, permitting it to lull her to sleep.

 

 

It would take Irene another day to resort into asking people about Wendy’s whereabouts.

It wasn’t a hard because everybody knows Wendy—the vocalist of Blue Orange—and no one would suspect her agenda because she’s the student council’s president, it’s her duty to be concerned about the well-being of every student.

Total bullcrap, but hey, it works.

The only problem is, no one really knows Wendy. And most of the friends Irene asked did not even notice that Wendy is missing. Irene swears that if she ever finds Wendy, she would smack her head and lecture her about the people she hangs out with.

“Unnie,” someone calls out, “Irene unnie!” A tall figure emerged from the swarm of students in the cafeteria, running towards Irene with a smile. Rosé catches her breath and Irene waited patiently, “Wendy unnie didn’t tell you?”

Irene’s eyebrow furrowed, “Tell what?”

Rosé murmurs something before looking back at Irene with a worried face, “She went back to Canada.”

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry though! She’ll be back,” Rosé gazes at her softly to provide comfort, and Irene sighs in relief, appreciating the gesture, “she says a week max. She’ll be back before Christmas, I think?” It feels like Rosé’s talking to herself rather than Irene, “Oh, she also asked me to tell you that, uh, if there are any thunderstorms, you shouldn’t sleep on the bathroom floor.”

Irene’s ears perked up on that, “And why can’t she tell me herself?”

Rosé shrugs, “Maybe she doesn’t have your number?”

True.

“But thank you,” Irene smiles genuinely, “I just thought she’s missing and I really couldn’t be bothered going to the police station,” she jokes.

“Whatever you say, unnie. Whatever you say,” Rosé grins sheepishly, as if she knows something Irene doesn’t.

And maybe she does.

 

 

“Manners!” Irene screamed on top of her lungs, she was mid process on shimmying into her pajamas when the door of her room opens, only to shut again with a loud bang.

The door was locked, only Irene has a key, and—oh, Wendy.

“Wendy,” Irene murmurs quietly, not loud enough to be heard as she twist the doorknob, pulling the door open.

Wendy looks at her with wide eyes and blushing cheeks, “Hi?”

Irene shuts the door again. Locking it.

“You’re well aware that I have a spare key, right?” Wendy knocks, “Irene!”

“I’m opening the door,” Wendy announces, and Irene observes how the lock clicks softly. Wendy enters, carrying things bigger than her, “Er, hi again?”

Wendy looks unsure if her presence is still welcomed, and Irene wants to tell her that it’s not. Not after Irene almost lose her at her disappearance, not after having Joy shove a food on every meal because her appetite’s nowhere to be found, and certainly not after Irene went through interrogating Wendy’s friends, and having to hear how she’s so good at things but when Irene asked them if they know where Wendy is, they couldn’t even answer.

Not to mention, Wendy also singlehandedly crushed Irene’s heart.

You felt it too, right?

Felt what?

So yeah, she’s not welcomed.

Irene wants to say that, but she’s too mad to string a sentence that would make sense, so she steadied herself with, “Lock the door and turn off the lights after you’re settled.” She lies on her bed, turning away from Wendy.

“Sure.”

It wasn’t long before Wendy turns off the lights, and Irene heard the quiet shuffle of blankets.

“Goodnight,” Wendy murmurs in a tired voice, chanting like a preschooler, “sleep tight, don’t let the bugs…” Wendy trails off.

Irene sneaks in a peek. Wendy’s already sleeping.

“…bite,” Irene whispers, “Goodnight, Wendy.”

 

 

“You’re being a total ,” Joy comments.

Irene hands her the punch, placing it strategically on the table, “I am not.”

“Wendy’s been looking at you,” Joy hangs a large Christmas sock on the table, it looks shabby and out of place but Irene’s not going to say that, doing so would only prove Joy’s point, “and you’ve been shooting daggers right at her direction. I mean, if stares could kill, she’d be dead by now and this party would be over faster than you could say Merry Christmas.”

Irene’s eyes roam around, stopping at Wendy’s direction. Sejeong leans in, saying something at Wendy.

“You’re doing it again,” Joy snorts, chuckling.

Irene rolled her eyes.

Seulgi walks towards them, wobbly, eye smile radiating brighter than any Christmas lights, “Sooyoungie… Joohyunnie. Merry Christmas!” She said in a singsong manner and Joy laughs again, pulling her girlfriend by the waist, and kissing Seulgi’s already flushed cheek.

“Babe, I told you to stay away from Ryujin’s jell-o’s,” Joy states, her voice leaning heavily on concern rather than mad, “how many have you had?”

“One,” Seulgi pouts, “two… five?” Seulgi raised her fingers, counting, “seven?”

Irene made barfing noises when Joy coos at Seulgi’s adorable display, “Whipped.”

“You’re whipped too,” Joy shook her head, “the only difference is Seulgi’s mine. You on the other hand..” Joy stops on her words and looks at her phone, “oh, the food’s here.”

Irene sighs, “I’ll get it, just…” Irene looks at Seulgi who’s singing and bouncing around the area like a kid, “collect your child or something.”

Joy laughs, pushes her shoulder, a hint of mischief shining in her eyes, “Sure.”

Irene lets the delivery guys go inside, making sure that the order’s complete before proceeding back.

But she stopped at the doorway the same time Wendy did.

The soft brush of Wendy’s fingers on Irene’s arm sends her reeling back to the times she watched romantic movies because, finally, finally they got something right.

Slow motion does exist; time significantly losing its natural laws when her eyes met Wendy’s in a split second.

And that’s the moment Irene knew that she should have trusted her instinct.

She should not have offered help. Should have reminded herself that sometimes, the devil takes in human form, and her favorite shell is Joy. You’d think that after years of perfectly devised pranks—specifically just for Irene— that solidified her and Joy’s friendship, Irene would be smarter.

But no, she still got caught on Joy’s scheme like a bunny walking naively on a lion’s trap.

Somewhere, at the back of the room, voice sounding awfully familiar, someone laughs.

Joy.

Everyone stopped what they are doing, looks at Wendy and Irene expectantly. Like they are supposed to put on a show, a spectacle, for holiday drunk eyes to consummate. Wendy gulps nervously when Irene looks up.

“Kiss!” Someone shouted, it was Yeri, “It’s mistletoe, you have to kiss.”

“Yeri, I think they know that,” another freshman reprimanded, probably Saeron.

“You’re blocking the door,” a quarter back said after chugging impatiently on his red cup, “don’t be a killjoy and make out.”

“There wasn’t a mistletoe at the door earlier,” Irene said rather calmly, it scarier that way, “Joy.”

“Well, there is now,” Joy shrugs, “kiss.”

Irene’s eyes flits towards Wendy, and Wendy’s looking at her too. It reminded Irene how she treated Wendy these past few days, cold and pensive, spoke to her in monosyllabic words, mostly yes, no, and okay.

And times when Wendy tries to engage her in conversations, Irene would pretend she didn’t hear anything. It went on for days that eventually Wendy stopped trying.

Irene will admit—at the price of her ego and broken heart—that she misses it.

Wendy’s voice.

Even if Irene’s not talking back, and it could hardly be considered a conversation, Irene enjoyed hearing Wendy’s voice drone on and on about pastries and running and mathematics. There are moments where she finds herself chuckling, and was grateful that Wendy was too absorbed in her own stories to realize that she succeeded on eliciting a reaction from Irene.

“Don’t mind them,” Wendy says, her voice a little lower. God she missed it, Irene’s knees buckled, “we could just walk away.”

Irene swallowed hard, straightened up, “What if I don’t want to?”

Wendy looks at her, eyes wide, “What?”

“What if I don’t want to walk away? What if I really want to—”

Wendy avoids eye contact and laughs loudly that Irene steps back, “What? Kiss me?”

A jab on Irene’s stomach, a strong punch right in the gut, that’s what it feels like. Irene wants it to leave a mark, maybe a purple bruise, so she could finally put on a face to that terrible sting.

She opens like a fish struggling for air before taking another step backwards. She glances at the oblivious crowd, spotting Joy’s face, “Remove the goddamn mistletoe.”

Loud boos and screams of dissatisfaction rang from the supposedly audience and Irene ran to the bathroom, closing the cubicle before burying her face onto her hands.

Her lips shook, eyes watering, she looks up to prevent her tears from falling.

Stupid, stupid.

I’m not going to cry.

She did.

 

 

“She just…” Irene complains, “she’s just not interested in me, is she?”

Irene went out of the bathroom after Joy came barging like the giant she is, assuring Irene that there won’t be any mistletoes miraculously appearing on doorways tonight.

Joy’s eyes soften, pulling Irene into a hug.

“I mean, I reached out to her…” Irene laughs, “a lot of times, and she outright rejected me.”

“She did?”

Irene shrugs, “Well not really—” Irene thought of the instances where she made a move only to be disregarded, “but it didn’t look like she loved the idea either.”

Joy hums handing her a red cup, “Let’s drink on that. But if anyone asks, tell them it’s eggnog.” Joy winks at her, face still worried though, “and if you end up having no one to kiss at New Year, just know that Seulgi and I are always available.”

“If this is your way of comforting me, then you really are the worst,” Irene bumps her shoulder on Joy’s arm, she’s too small to reach her shoulder.

“I mean, it’s Wendy’s loss.”

Irene couldn’t help the pout that forms on her face when she saw Wendy preparing at the makeshift stage, guitar on one hand. Rosé comes up too, and Irene saw Wendy mouthing her thanks with dreamy eyes and maybe, maybe Irene could not take it anymore.

“I’m going to sleep early tonight,” she whispers at Joy, “I still have to pack early tomorrow.”

“Oh right,” Joy says, “Tell mother and father Merry Christmas from me and Seulgi.”

Irene grins, “I will… and please, if you can help it, go to bed early too. You’re still going to Ansan, right?”

“Yeah, that’s if I can stop Seulgi from bringing the large elf to our room,” Joy laughs, eyeing her girlfriend who’s hugging the bear elf near the Christmas tree.

Irene chuckles, giving Joy a hug, “Merry Christmas, Joy. I’ll drop by to your room tomorrow for your presents.”

 

“So this song,” Wendy began shyly, “well, I don’t really know what to say,” she runs her fingers through her blonde hair, even blonder under the pretty lights, “uhm, anyways. I just want to wish everyone a happy holiday!” She laughs, soft giggles echoing in the mic and Irene’s face heat up.

“Also,” Wendy added after adjusting her guitar, “this is for you.”

There’s no name, no hint, but Irene’s already set on stone that it wasn’t for her.

Nothing more heartbreaking than knowing that without needing validation.

She pulls away from Joy, eyes permanently fixing towards the owner of the voice. Joy leans in, “I thought you’re leaving?”

“I thought so too,” she said unconsciously, mind going haywire.

 

Have you got color in your cheeks?

Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the type

That sticks around like summat in your teeth?

 

The crowd went wild, cheering Wendy on.

Irene’s not familiar with the song so she just focused on Wendy.

Wendy, her annoyingly blonde and smug roommate.

The lyrics floating into her ears like tiny electricity of heartache, words that’s supposed to be soft and sweet, sounds sharp like a knife, white hot pain, silvery and cold.

 

Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you're in deep?

I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week

How many secrets can you keep?

 

Irene shivered on her position when Wendy’s closed eyes opened, roamed around the room before stopping at her. It was fast, Irene must have really imagined it, but then Wendy looks at her again as she utters the next words, and Irene knows she didn’t just make it up.

 

Do I wanna know

If this feelin' flows both ways?

 

“Joy,” she murmurs at her side, and Joy gets it. She shoved a red cup on Irene’s hands without saying anything. Irene took it in one large gulp. The strong liquid marks a straight line down , and Irene trusts it to blur her senses so she wouldn’t feel how suffocating the air is.

 

(Sad to see you go)

Was sorta hopin' that you'd stay

(Baby, we both know)

That the nights were mainly made

For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day

 

Everyone dissolves into the background. Noises all static. The only sound clear enough to be heard was Wendy’s voice, smooth and rough around the edges. Sending Irene aloft, making her stomach lurch.

There it is again.

That dizzying feeling. No butterflies. Just pure sunshine.

 

So have you got the guts?

Been wonderin' if your heart's still open

And if so, I wanna know what time it shuts

 

Wendy stopped singing, her strums halt and the scene went back to normal, “Clearly, I don’t have the guts, that’s why I’m singing.” She laughs nervously and the crowd laughs with her before she strums her guitar again.

 

Simmer down an' pucker up, I'm sorry to interrupt

It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of tryin' to kiss you

 

Wendy stops again, and the drunk students singing along yells in disappointment. Wendy laughs awkwardly, “I’m not good with words so… this song, just listen, okay?”

 

I don't know if you feel the same as I do

But we could be together if you wanted to

Do I wanna know

If this feelin' flows both ways?

 

The song ended but Irene doesn’t have any inkling idea what’s going on. Surprised that when she finally caught up on what’s happening, she’s already outside.

She’s not drunk. She just happened to sleep walk (awake)? Lose her balance and end up sitting on the cold ground.

“You should really dress warmly, and be mindful of the ice. It’s slippery,” a familiar voice lectured, helping her up.

Irene coughs, “I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

Irene shrugs the snow perched on her coat, her nose is already red from the cold. Snot threatening to make an appearance. She sniffs loudly before pulling her arms away from Wendy. Irene turns her back, continued walking in the ankle deep snow.

It took a minute, Irene’s counting in her head, before Wendy calls her out, “Hey, Irene!”

“Oh?”

“Did you enjoy the song?”

Irene waved her hand without looking back, ignoring the loud pounding on her chest, “Yeah, yeah.”

“It was for you,” Wendy said.

Irene knew that, but hearing the assurance from Wendy’s mouth feels like a slap on her wrist, stinging and stubborn. Irene stopped on her way. Grips her coat a little tighter, she closed her eyes hard before making a decision of turning her heel and walking briskly back to where Wendy is.

She balled her fist when she’s in front on Wendy, fighting the strong urge of swatting the tiny snowflakes blending on her platonic blonde hair, “It was…” Irene opens , closes it again, “it was a nice song.” It wasn’t what she’s aiming to say but— Why is it so hard to talk?

“Yeah?”

Irene nodded, “It was deep and certainly—”

Soft lips crashed into her, sloppy and unsure. Irene stopped for a moment, tries to think, but years of education failed her as the taste of cinnamon and coconut drips into her tongue. Her skin hyperaware of Wendy’s finger’s running smoothly under her scarf, marking her nape with her burning touch, tangling in her hair. So she went in too, yanks Wendy closer, allows herself to lost in the rough press of Wendy’s mouth on hers.

Months’ worth of tension all poured into one lingering kiss, going all out that Irene’s afraid she’s going to die and lose all the air in her lungs.

And she thinks, maybe Wendy can bring her back to life with her own.

When they pulled away, cheeks crimson red, and lips glistening under the pale moonlight, Irene whines, “Wow.”

Wendy chuckles, wets her lips some more, “Yeah, wow.”

Irene laughs, hold onto Wendy’s cheeks with her mitten clad hands, before leaning in again. Making sure that this isn’t just some elaborate ploy her mind created.

“I need to breathe,” Wendy said weakly after a minute, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you sorry that you stopped kissing me,” Irene says, panting, “or are you sorry for all the times you broke my heart?”

Wendy’s eyebrows met in worry, “Both. I’m sorry.”

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Irene reprimands, “you know that right?”

“Well, are you going to hear it now?” Wendy held her hand, puts it into her own coat pocket, “or would you like to wait after Christmas so I can finally take you to this nice tteokbokki place I was telling you about?”

Irene grins, moves closer, attempting to hide inside Wendy’s coat.

Unknown to them, at the staircase of the engineering building, three shadows stand still. Watching the whole scene unfold, “About time.”

Yeri chuckles, patting Joy’s back, “Right. About time.”

Seulgi looks drunkenly at both of them, “Huh,” she hiccups, “What time is it?”

A drunken freshman, Lisa, came running out screaming on top of her lungs, something Joy and Yeri did not understand, “Sana all!”

Seulgi giggles and imitates the word, “Sana all!” Fist bumping with Lisa before the latter runs back again inside, complaining about how cold it was and how stupid the three of them are to be hanging outside.

Seulgi stood up, “I think I’m gonna—”

Joy groans, sweater drenched in vomit, Yeri laughs evilly at her state.

Merry Christmas indeed.

 

 

Several tteokbokki dates, movie nights, and endless intense make out sessions later, Irene finds herself on top of Wendy. Not doing anything, just lying on top of the blonde. Feeling the soft breathing and loud pounding from Wendy’s chest.

“I can’t believe we really embodied that gay oblivious thing,” Irene says, her voice sounds adorable, cheeks squished on Wendy’s pillow as her lips touch Wendy’s neck, “Why are we so dense?”

Wendy gushed, too flustered to talk.

“You kept on flirting with everyone,” Irene complains.

Wendy chuckles, regaining confidence, “Rosé’s my bestfriend.”

“Sejeong?”

“I was trying to get your attention, okay?” Wendy heaves, “I even borrowed a pen.”

Irene used her hands as a support, moving up and looking at Wendy. Her hair framing their faces, “But Krystal gave you one… and you accepted it! My pens are prettier you know.”

“Are we really going to fight about pens while you’re on top of me?” Wendy grins sheepishly, “ I could think of a lot of things that we could do in this position.”

But of course, she’s joking. They both agreed on to wait, not to rush things. But can you blame Wendy when her mind goes straight to the gutter whenever she sees Irene wearing short shorts and shirts that totally hugged her curves? Or when she stares a little longer with spoon on when Irene ties her hair into a bun during their dates? Because dang girl.

Irene pretended she did not hear her innuendo (thank God, because it flustered Wendy too) and drags on with her complaints, “And oh, remember that one time in the music room? And the mistletoe thing?”

“Yeah, why do you always bring that up?” Wendy blew air on her bangs, “I panicked, okay? And I thought I already fixed things when I serenaded you in front of everyone.”

“Yeah, right after breaking my heart.”

Irene gets off on top of her and sits cross legged instead.

Wendy leans on the headboard, reaching out for Irene’s hand, “I thought you’re just confused! So I acted like an . I already got an earful from Rosé, I thought I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

Irene scoffs, “Deserved.”

“I just can’t believe the girl I like likes me back.” Wendy’s eyes widen, “THAT THING ONLY HAPPENS IN FANFICTION, OKAY?”

Irene’s mouth curved upwards, her nostrils flare. Clearly stopping herself from laughing, “And you totally acted like some badly written character back then.”

Wendy chortled when a small smile pops into Irene’s lips.

“Love, I’m sorry.” Wendy whines, elongating her words.

She held Irene’s nape, stopping midway. Irene’s eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

“Nothing—I just…” Wendy shook her head, their noses bumping, “how did I get so lucky?”

Irene laughs taking the initiative to close the gap and Wendy swears on all tteokbokki stores that she’d take Irene to each one of them, sing her to sleep every day, and let Irene slap her , albeit begrudgingly, every time she wants.

When Irene draws back, lips all sore and hair disheveled, Wendy fought the urge to reel her back in.

She coughs, distracting herself, “has anyone ever told you that you have Dumbo ears?”

Irene frowns, glares at Wendy, “Really? Really, Wendy? We just had a moment and that’s what you’re thinking?”

“Why—yeah,” she laughs, pushing any temptations at the back of her mind.

Irene crossed her arms on her chest, “I hate you.”

Wendy’s smiles, planting a soft kiss on Irene’s forehead, “Love, I think we already established that you don’t.”

Irene groans, “Why am I in love with you again?”

“I don’t know either, but hey, surprise surprise, I’m in love with you too,” Wendy grins before she shuts Irene up with another kiss.

 

 

I don’t know if any of you read author’s note so heads up. This is going to be long but you can skip it and move on :))

• The title of this fic is based on Arctic Monkey’s Do I Wanna Know, it’s basically written around that song.
• I began writing this on October 22, and I just finished it... today. The story’s been littered in my head like a jigsaw puzzle and I only had a solid time to finally arrange the last pieces today. And if you noticed any disparity in writing it’s because I wrote the scenes randomly.
• Probably the longest one shot I’ve ever written. Self-indulgent because I just want to write a College x Roommate AU (cliché is my jam!), it was crack at first and now I’m not so sure what it has become. Lmao, I don’t trust myself with organized plots because I never followed one.
• “Sana all” is a Filipino phrase you say when you’re envious of something and you want the same thing to happen to you as well, like for instance, when you see two couples being lovey dovey, you say, “sana all”.

That’s all, hehe, I probably won’t be writing much after this.

Advance Happy Holidays!