*might talk about dancicng&singing competition stuff in SOPA.

(Time: inescapable, inevitable, moving)

There's a tiny clock on her wrist, bright red numbers. It's supposed to tick, supposed to move, supposed to tell her when she'll meet her soulmate. The time will run to zero when they've met, moving numbers will become stationary—the ticking that signified uncertainty transforming to the silent stability of forever.

Hwang Eunbi's clock hasn't ticked for as long as she can remember. For as long as she's looked at it, she has seen only zeroes. Nothing else. The bright red light doesn't bring anticipation to her like it does for everyone else. It's a looming, painful reminder that maybe there's not someone out there for her. Maybe her soulmate is gone, dead, left her there. Maybe she's never had one to begin with.

…

The first time she actually remembers looking down at the timer marring her wrist she’s three, a few weeks away from four. Her mother is in the kitchen cooking dinner when she walks in, bare feet pounding on the floor with every step—she never did know how to keep quiet when she was that young.

“What’s this?” She pulls on her shirt, gesturing to her wrist when she turns to look at her, all warm eyes and smiles.

(She can’t see it, of course. She’s the only one that’s able to see the numbers on her wrist, but everyone knows that there’s a clock on each person’s wrist, so it’s easy to guess what she’s talking about.)

“It’s a timer. When it stops ticking and reaches zero it means you’ve found the person you’re supposed to be together forever with.”

She remembers staring at the red numbers for a moment and not completely getting it, and murmuring a quiet “oh” before running off to get back to the toys she’d left strewn on her bedroom floor. The thought of clocks and numbers and forevers are very far from her mind then.

It isn’t until much later that she wonders why her timer is at zero already or why she’s never seen it with any numbers besides zero.

…

“Hwaaaang!”

Honestly, Hwang Eunbi can’t explain the weird combination of annoyance and fondness that overcomes her when the too familiar presence lets go of her mother’s hand and runs toward Eunbi, nearly tackling her to the ground. (Even to this day, she still can’t explain it, chalks it up to one of those things that will probably always be a mystery.)

Jung Eunhi- or Eunha, has been her friend for as long as she can remember. So many of her memories—of their memories—involve each other that she can’t really pinpoint a time when they weren't together.

Their mothers had apparently been old friends, excited to have children who would be born around the same time, wanted them to be friends. Well, they've gotten their wish—Eunha and Eunbi had always been together, part of each other’s lives, best friends.

“Get off!” Eunbi complains, trying to shake Eunha off of her arm. The older girl had jumped on her, clinging onto her and chattering excitedly.

“Aww, you’re mean.” Eunha’s eyes are filled with mischief. “Did you miss your nap again? Is that why you’re always so cranky?”

She pinches Eunha’s arm, and the girl yelps in pain, letting go of her and immediately whining. “Mom! Hwang Eunbi pinched me… again!”

Hwang Eunbi don't care if she is younger than Eunha. Eunha is spoiled, likes to tease, thinks she can get away with whatever she wants—she probably can, because as bratty as she is, she’s that charming kid with a cute fluffy face and sweet smile that draws attention and makes people want to indulge her.

It’s annoying.

But at the same time, it’s something she’s grown used to. And even though Eunha can be a complete pain, she’s still fun to be around, even when she acts like a total crybaby.

“Sorry,” Eunbi murmurs, not to Eunha—never to Eunha, whose crocodile tears and quivering lip are suddenly gone the moment Eunbi says it—but to her mother, who probably doesn’t want her daughter being hit or pinched. It’s not that she wants to say it, but Eunbi’s mother probably would have made her say it anyway, so may as well do it before she’s upset with her.

“No, no, it’s fine, Eunbi,” Eunha’s mother assures her. “Why don’t you two go and play?”

Eunbi looks at Eunha, who is smiling expectantly. (See, annoying.) She grabs the other girl’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I get to pick what we play to make up for you pinching me, right Hwang?”

“Fine.” She has to restrain herself  from squeezing Eunha’s hand too tightly.

(Together: companionship, united, close.)

It’s probably something they’ll always be.

…

The next time she even thinks about the timer on her wrist is when she’s seven. She’s at Jung Eunbi’s house, the two of them inside, playing around with some instruments. It’s something they picked up not too long ago after Eunha had seen it on TV and absolutely insisted that they try it. Turns out, it’s not such a bad idea and they both enjoy it—even joined the artclub at their elementary school.

Originally, Eunbi thought it was going to be a phase that Eunha went through. In their years together, there have been a lot of phases: Pokémon, aliens—that one’s still present, though, no matter how much Eunha likes to say she’s over it, explorers, bug catching. They’re all things that are the be all end all for a short period of time until, without warning, there’s something new to replace it.

When Eunha first insists on singing and dancing "seriously", it’s not something Hwang Eunbi expects to stick. But it does, and she’s glad. They have a lot of fun with it, and it’s worth it.

“Oh!” Eunha exclaims when they stop to take a break, like she just remembered something really important. “Did you hear about my sister?”

Eunha’s sister is a lot older than them. In high school, Eunbi thinks. “No, what about her?”

“She came home the other day yelling about something,” Eunha explains. “I thought she got into a fight with one of her friends again, but I guess the timer on her wrist reached zero just as she met some older girl at school.”

“Oh…” It’s the first time they’ve ever talked about the timers, about finding a soulmate. She thinks of the zero on her own wrist—red and halted and hanging over her head, a weight ready to crash down on her—and shakes her head. “That’s… cool, I guess.”

“I asked her about it,” Eunha says. “She said that everyone has a timer and that it only reaches zero when you’ve met the person you’re supposed to be with. It’s...normal”

“Yeah, I know. My mom told me before.” She really wonders why the thought of zero is starting to bother her now. It hasn’t before… maybe because she’s never thought about it.

The words slip past her lips without her even thinking about it. “How much time do you have left?”

Eunha’s eyes darken for a moment before she looks down at her wrist, biting her lip. Eunbi wonders why. It’s not a strange question, is it?

“A lot,” Eunha finally answers. “You?”

She doesn’t know why the answer bothers her the slightest bit, why it feels unwelcome to her ears. “A lot,” Eunbi lies. “That’s normal, right?”

Zero isn’t normal, but no one needs to know that.

Eunha nods, a smile back on her face, but it seems kind of strained, forced. Not the usual carefree and annoying-looking grin. Maybe she just doesn’t like talking about it. Forever isn’t something seven year olds typically think about, after all. “Come on, let’s go and play again.”

She grabs Eunbi’s hand and pulls her back toward the yard. Again, Eunbi pushes thoughts of their previous conversation away. It’s not something she needs to worry about.

Not yet.

…

Being older has Eunha laughing sheepishly as boys run up to her and ask how much time she has left. Every answer is a “Sorry, I still have a lot left,” and despite the words, she doesn’t really seem that sorry about it. Hwang Eunbi is never seen such simple words break hearts like that. One time, some boys from the year below them even cried. Apparently, she had reached zero when she was in the hall, saw Eunha and swore that she was her soulmate.

Eunha had brushed it off with a charming smile and some comforting words before sending her on her way. It still didn’t stop the tears, though.

“Being so popular is tiring,” Eunha complains, leaning back in her chair as they’re sitting in class that morning, waiting for their teacher.

Liar. You loved it. Eunbi turns around and looks at her. “I don’t know why they would want someone like you.”

Eunha seems taken aback. “Hwang! Why wouldn’t they want me? I’m a very attractive and wonderful person, after all!”

Eunbi snorts. “Yeah, if only they knew you.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“What do you think?”

“I think that you’re mean and jealous.” Eunha sits normally again, leans her head on the desk so they’re looking at each other. Her tone is serious, voice low and quiet when she speaks. “I never knew so many people reached zero just like that. I never noticed it before…”

“Yeah, me too.” She hasn’t noticed it before, but it seems like an almost weekly occurrence that someone’s timer will reach zero and they find their soulmate. (That’s probably an over exaggeration, she thinks later. But when you’re surrounded by people finding what you can’t have, perceiving it as never ending isn’t so odd, is it?) “You still have a lot of time left?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

They don’t get to say more after that since their teacher walks into the room and begins class.

…

Eunbi isn’t sure when things start to change. Unexpected until she realizes that it really isn’t, unwelcome until she knows it’s a feeling she’d always want to have. They’ve always had a very easygoing relationship—one where things just sort of happen without them even realizing it, where they could easily fall into a steady rhythm that’s all their own. Pitch can change with one little tweak, though, and that's exactly what happened.

Even then, the tug at her heart—something beyond friendship or fondness—when she sees Eunha, or the warmth that rises to her cheeks when she thinks of things that could be is an odd, unexplainable feeling.

Possibilities, maybes and could bes are things she shouldn't think about because there is no hope, no chance of anything remotely like that. None.

Not when Eunha’s clock is still ticking while Eunbi’s is defunct.

It wouldn’t be fair to hold her back… it’d be selfish. She won’t do that, no matter how much she’d like to. She won’t.

Detached. Apathy. Those are easier. Those would be so much easier to feel. But Eunha is a magnet. She draws people in, makes them feel something—most of the time without even trying. It is impossible to feel apathetic around Eunha. Impossible.

She's been drawing Eunbi in since they were little kids—snotty, sniffling brats who met through their mothers’ mutual friendship. No matter how much Eunbi has said over the years that Eunha is annoying and insufferable and can be the worst to deal with, she never looks away.

Oh, actually she never wants to look away.

I am not falling in love with my best friend, is what she tells herself, but really, she knows it’s far beyond that point. She’s already past the careful, do not cross zone and there’s no going back… which really .

Thank, Jung Eunbi. Really, thanks.

…

I can’t think like that. She’s lying in bed, tossing and turning in the middle of the night. She’s been trying to come to terms with this newfound feeling, still doesn’t completely understand the details that accompany the how and the why, but she’s become a little more adept at putting it into words.

The moment she is able to pinpoint is when Eunha was stressing herself out over getting better, over not getting surpassed. Because it hurt to watch Eunha practices so hard like that. It was painful to watch Eunha feel so inadequate and willing to break herself, leaves an unsettled feeling in Eunbi’s stomach, an ache in her heart. She never wants to let it reach that point again—where Eunha very nearly does break herself and snap in two, while nothing Eunbi says gets through to her.

But it’s not like that now. Finally, her words reached Eunha, finally everything settled. There’s no more of letting her heart break as she witnesses Eunha sink deeper and deeper into dark and murky depths where there is no reaching her.

(Eunbi will always fight to reach Eunha, though. She won’t ever willingly let Eunha—someone she loves—drown in her insecurities and doubts, won’t give up until she’s able to grab her hand, to reach her, to pull her out.)

Love.

She still wants to laugh at the word. Just double over and laugh to the point where people would probably dub her insane.

It’s just so ironic though—falling in love with someone you can’t have.

With a soft sigh, she rolls over in the bed, eyes falling on the person who has caused all of this.

Eunha had asked to come over after the incident where she’d nearly snapped and hit Kageyama earlier, when Eunbi had stopped her and finally made her see reason. Eunbi had agreed, partly because she still felt a little bad about head butting Eunha that hard.

Okay, maybe not. She probably would have agreed anyway. Really, she’s just happy to see a change in Eunha’s demeanor after that.

They had argued for a few minutes about sleeping arrangements—Eunha insisting they share the bed because “My body is too tired and sore for the floor. You don’t want me to get hurt, do you, Hwang...” while Eunbi is reluctant. In the end, Eunha wins. She almost always does.

Eunha’s face is smashed against the pillow, her limbs sprawled out everywhere, open and drool all over the pillow. God, she’s truly an ugly sleeper. Anyone who says Eunha is beautiful has never seen her like this.

She’s not. Beautiful, she means. Well, she is. It’s hard to explain. Eunha stands out, draws attention—for her looks, personality, skills—but a lot of people don’t know the real Eunha.

Not like Eunbi does.

And honestly, she’d say that seeing Eunha real and genuine—with a smile that’s warm and inherently happy, one that lights up her whole face, not fake and put on, exaggerated and a perfect calculation—is something that is beautiful. It’s beauty that’s not superficial like the girls who follow Eunha around at school see. Instead, it’s something innate, something that only those Eunha allows to see into her heart will know. Because despite her flaws and imperfections, Eunha is beautiful. That’s what makes her beautiful, real.

.

…

After a performance, another loss, is when things really do change. It’s the last chance of their second year of high school, which means they have one more year, one more time. They have to do it.

Comfort after losses is either hit or miss with Eunha—she either accepts it full force or wants to pull away from everyone to be completely isolated.

Today is the former.

They haven’t actually talked much—they don’t really have to because sometimes just being there is enough. Eunbi’s just glad that Eunha isn’t pulling away and shutting her out.

They’re in Eunha’s living room on the couch, both leaning against an arm of it, facing each other, toes touching. It’s dark outside, Eunha’s parents are out, leaving the two of them alone. Not a word needs to be said for them to simply understand that it’s a night Eunbi will be staying over.

“I just want to win once,” Eunha finally says, breaking the silence between them.

"That's just a competiton..."

"No, I want to win once."

“I know,” Eunbi sighs. “We will. Next time, we’re going to win.”

Eunha nods slowly, accepting her promise. With a soft sigh, she moves forward, pushing Eunbi’s drawn up legs out of the way and flopping onto her stomach.

“Hey! What’re you doing?” She’s not expecting it, and they’re a tangled mess of limbs, a clash of elbows and knees.

“Getting comfy,” Eunha answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, as if lying all over your best friend is completely normal.

It’s not comfortable, but when Eunha adjusts her position so she’s lying more on Eunbi’s chest instead of her stomach and they’re looking at each other, she realizes it’s not that bad.

(Minus the warmth rising to her cheeks at Eunha’s closeness. That’s kind of bad, and something she’d rather not be teased for at the moment.)

But Eunha surprises her and doesn’t say anything remotely resembling teasing. She’s completely serious instead. “Hwang, thank you.”

That’s even more surprising. “What for?”

“You were amazing today. We wouldn’t have gotten that close to winning if it wasn’t for you.”

She’s taken aback by the sudden praise. “Uh… you’re welcome…”

Eunha continues, not done with her thought. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t did it out for us… I’ll work harder next time and—”

There it is. Self-deprecating tone and all. It reminds her of third year of junior high when things had been at their worst. Eunbi frowns and flicks Eunha in the forehead, stopping the rest of the words before they can come out—as if that will stop Eunha from thinking about them. “You really piss me off when you say stuff like that.”

“Sorry…”

“Quit apologizing, idiot. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You’re amazing… just like always.”

Eunha looks genuinely surprised by the praise, her eyes wider than they had been the moment before. “You think so?”

Of course I do. “Yeah. And one day it’s gonna work out, so quit worrying and saying you’re not good enough. Because you are. You are good enough.” You always are.

Eunha looks like she’s contemplating the words, but finally nods slowly. “Okay…” She rests her cheek against Eunbi’s chest, tangles her fingers in the front of her shirt. Eunbi, I’m glad you’re always here. I’m glad that I can always rely on you. Thank you. Thank you for being there. I don’t know what I’d do—”

Her heart pounds at the words, chest tightens. She has always known Eunha felt this way, but to hear it… to hear it means a lot—lets her know that Eunha cherishes her presence as much as Eunbi cherishes her. “You don’t have to thank me, . I want to be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Eunha smiles—really smiles for the first time all night—and hugs her tightly. Eunbi’s hand may or may not wander to Eunha’s hair, resting there, fingers twining in soft curls.

(It’s not her fault if it does. It’s completely involuntary.)

They stay like that for a few moments, are only able to hear their own breaths over the silence of the dark room. Things are comfortable between them, steady. Eunha has seemingly gotten over the loss. Everything is okay for now.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Eunbi asks after a moment, pointing to the remote on the floor next to the couch.

Eunha snatches it up quickly. “Only if I pick.”

“You picked last time!”

“My house, my rules.”

“You picked at my house last time!”

Eunha ignores her and flips on the TV, immediately surfing through channels for something to watch.

Eunbi grabs the remote from her hands. “Guests should pick. Have some manners.”

“You’re not a guest, Hwang,” Eunha singsongs. “We practically live at each other’s houses. Being guests went away a long time ago.” She pulls the remote back and holds it out of Eunbi’s reach.

“You’re gonna pick one of those horrible cheaply made action movies. Probably about aliens like usual. Or one of those stupid romance movies.”

“Those aren’t that bad if you actually try them!” Eunha slaps Eunbi’s hand away just as it comes close to getting the remote and moves it out of reach again. She smirks, knowing she has the advantage because she’s still lying on top of Eunbi, who has to struggle to reach her. “And besides, you have horrible taste! If it was up to you, I’d have to suffer through some horribly gruesome horror movie!”

“Those aren’t that bad,” Eunbi insists. “You’re just a big crybaby like you’ve always been.”

Eunha’s mouth drops open, she looks incredulous. “Crybaby? I am not a crybaby, Hwang! Maybe the only reason I ever cried was because you would pinch and hit me. You’ve always had a horrible temper.”

Eunbi finally wrestles the remote away from Eunha’s hands, but drops it on the floor immediately after because Eunha starts tickling her.

“Dammit! You idiot! Stop that!” she chokes out between laughs.

Eunha is smiling triumphantly. “Did you think I’d forget how ticklish you are, Hwang? I’ve got this to hold over your head for all eternity!”

“! Stop it!”

Eunha laughs too, leaning in even closer. “Not until you say I win.”

“Like hell I will!”

It stops so suddenly, she doesn’t notice it for a moment. Eunha freezes, the laughter dies down, and they’re just staring at each other. Their faces are so close. So very close. Only a breath away.

Suddenly, Eunbi is uncomfortable, is sure her face is bright red upon noticing their proximity. But Eunha’s is a little red too, and it’s strange. It’s—

Eunha leans down and kisses her. It’s tentative, unsure, but it’s nice. It’s so nice and feels right. So she kisses back—without even thinking, honestly. It’s just a natural reaction.

They break apart, and look into each other’s eyes. That’s when Eunbi remembers. Timers. Soulmates. Being like this with Eunha isn’t supposed to be right.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispers, looking away from Eunha’s face, from her swollen lips.

Eunha touches her face gently, turning it back toward her so their eyes are locked once again. “I wanted to. But I won’t do it again if you don’t…”

It’s probably a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. But she can’t help that all of the pent up feelings built up and ready to explode choose right now to completely rush forward and eliminate any rational thought she may have. And she wants to be selfish. For once, she wants to.

“Don’t be stupid. I want to.”

Their lips meet in another kiss, one that feels like forever even though it really isn’t.

…

It’s so easy after that. At least, that’s what she wants to think. They’re still best friends, attached to each other from years of being by each other’s sides. But it’s nice—a little unbelievable, but still nice—to touch, to kiss, to exist as more than just that.

For short periods of time, she’ll forget the ever present reminder that she doesn’t belong with Eunha, ignore the doubts brought on by the zero on her wrist. But those thoughts can never stay away for long. Because ultimately, when Eunha’s timer runs out there won’t be any more of this.

(Of course, they’ll still always be friends. No matter what happens, she can’t imagine walking away from someone who has been such an important part of her life. But still, the reminder of what was and what could have been will always hurt even if she comes to terms with letting go.)

Eunha won’t tell her exactly how much time is left, only that there’s a lot. And when she asks, Eunbi lies and tells her the same. It seems promising. It seems like it could work. But there are so many odds stacked against a random relationship like theirs—one outside of the entity of soulmates.

Everyone says you’re drawn to your soulmate, that you’ll find them no matter what and any previous threads of relationships past are cut. Denying the inevitable is stupid, especially when there exists something as powerful as a soulmate—someone who can shatter your whole world and rebuild it all anew in just one instant.

(Eunbi knows she stands no chance against that.)

It’s like a stab to the heart thinking that one day Eunha will meet the person who completes her while Eunbi will be left behind—alone and forever incomplete.

Still, it doesn’t stop them, doesn’t pull them apart.

It doesn’t stop Eunha from whispering a quiet “I love you” against Eunbi’s chest one night.

It’d hurt so much less if you didn’t, Eunbi thinks. But it doesn’t stop her from curling her arm around Eunha’s waist and drawing her in closer. It doesn’t stop her from enjoying the warmth radiating from Eunha’s skin and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. It doesn’t stop her from murmuring an “I love you too.”

…

It takes everything she has to stop herself from turning around. Class is really boring that day, drags on. The teacher and a student—a particularly outspoken girl—somehow got into a conversation about soulmates. Of course.

No one is paying attention to the discussion at the front of the class, or if they are, it’s only vaguely so. There are kids hiding other work behind their books, on their phones, sleeping. Eunha is another story, though.

Which brings Eunbi to her current dilemma. Eunha’s seat is behind her, and she’s been subtly kicking Eunbi’s chair for the past five minutes, trying to get her to turn around.

She wants to turn around, but only to throw her English book in Eunha’s stupid face. Too bad she can’t do that, though. The chance of getting caught is too high.

(There have been enough times where she’s gotten called out on in class for reacting to something Eunha did. She does not need another instance of that, thank you very much.)

She’s half paying attention to the conversation going on, vaguely listening to the words as she tries to ignore Eunha’s foot on the back of her chair every few minutes.

“Finding your soulmate prevents divorce, makes relationships more stable. There’s less domestic violence. Things are better this way and everyone should at least acknowledge that.”

“Yeah, but no one wants to wait around for someone if they have a lot of time left,” the girl argues. “We should be allowed to have our fun while we wait.”

Eunbi looks up from what she’s drawing in her notebook when a piece of paper lands on her desk. A note. Really? Are they back in junior high?

Still, she opens it and immediately recognizes Eunha’s handwriting. I think we should break up. This conversation has made me see the light.

Eunbi wants to laugh, doesn’t because of class going on, but scribbles an equally sarcastic note back. Who says you can break up with me? I’ll be the one breaking up with you. And she subtly throws it back to Eunha’s desk when no one is looking.

Eunha’s laughter is muffled behind her hand, but still noticeable. That, and she kicks Eunbi’s chair again. Idiot.

It’s kind of ironic that they’re even joking about this, isn’t it? Neither wants it to get to that point, but here they are writing stupid notes and acting like it will all be okay when they do get there.

She reads Eunha’s response, hastily thrown onto her desk and is torn between smiling and rolling her eyes. As if, Hwang. There’s no way you’d be able to break up with this beautiful face. I don’t care about whether there’s some stupid soulmate there or not.

They both must have looked like they were not paying attention because next thing she knows the teacher is calling on them. “Jung Eunbi, Hwang Eunbi, is there something funny about this?”

Eunbi freezes, unsure of what to say, but Eunha is quick to recover. “I actually was wondering why we put so much faith in the idea of soulmates. Who’s to say that I can’t find someone that I love just as much, if not more, on my own? Isn’t that what loving someone should be about? Not finding your perfect match in one chance instant, but finding someone you’ve grown to love on your own.”

Damn. Eunbi wants to bury her face in her hands and never look up again, but since everyone’s eyes are on them, she remains calm. At least she thinks she does.

A bunch of the boys in class sigh at Eunha’s words, as if they think this gives them a chance with her.

The teacher seems surprised by the words, taken aback by Eunha’s smile. “Well, regardless of the issue, let’s get back to work. Open your books to page…”

Eunha kicks the back of her seat again when they teacher isn’t looking. This time, Eunbi turns around and sees her smiling. She smiles back.

Even if this is what they both want, what they both feel, there’s no guarantee that years from now it will be the same. And that just makes everything more difficult.

…

“I don’t believe in soulmates,” Eunha declares. It’s late one night, and they’re doing homework together in Eunha’s room—the brunet sprawled across Eunbi’s stomach and reading her textbook while Eunbi leans against the pillows of the bed, using Eunha’s back as a pad to do math homework. It’s not the most practical method, but it’s good enough for them. The closeness is nice.

Eunbi sets her pencil down, trails her hand over Eunha’s back, gentle. “You say that now, but you’ll change your mind when you meet yours.” She leans back against the pillows and rubs her forehead, hoping that the lump in won’t prevent her from saying more.

Eunha turns to look at her. “What if I don’t even have one?”

Eunbi wants to laugh. “Don’t be stupid. Of course you have one. Everyone has one.”

Except for me, but you don’t need to know that.

“Well then, what if I don’t want to meet mine?” Her voice is petulant, has the slight whiny lilt to it that Eunbi knows so well from years together. It’s Eunha’s defiant tone, the one where she declares she’s not doing something and does not back down.

The difference now, though, is that she doesn’t know what to say. She’s become so accustomed to dealing with that side of Eunha that she usually knows exactly how to respond. But now… now, she doesn’t.

“Hwang?” Eunha sits up, turns to face her. All thoughts of homework are forgotten.

Then you could be mine, she wants to say. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were.

But she doesn’t say that. Instead says, “You’ll want to. Even if you say now that you don’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because everyone says you can’t resist getting drawn in by your soulmate when you meet. You’ll forget all about this when that happens.”

Eunha frowns, brows furrowed as she thinks about Eunbi’s words. “You don’t know that.”

“Maybe I don’t, but it seems more likely than not.” Eunbi looks down at her lap, away from Eunha’s face as she says her next words. “Let’s just enjoy this while it lasts, okay?”

It’s silent, and for a moment she thinks Eunha is going to refuse, but then she hears a soft “Okay.”

She looks up, realizing that Eunha doesn’t seem pleased with her words, doesn’t seem satisfied. For a quick moment, Eunha’s galaxy eyes are dark—filled with sadness, fear, and a bit of anger. But as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone, almost like Eunbi imagined it. “Eunha?”

“I wouldn’t forget you,” Eunha mumbles. “I could never forget you, Eunbi.”

Her heart constricts at that, torn between happiness and sadness. Happiness because this—whatever this is—is real, true, will leave a mark on both of them… something almost like forever. But there’s sadness because it isn’t, and this will break someday. All good things come to an end. Realities can’t touch dreams. Even unbreakable things can be shattered when an even stronger force sweeps in.

Nothing lasts forever. Not them, anyway.

Eventually, all they’ll have left are memories, and who knows if those will even be something they look back on? Years later their memories from right now could be useless, could be collecting dust, a photo album stored away in the darkest corners of an attic—never even looked at anymore.

She doesn’t want that. Not at all.

Eunha leans forward, resting her hand on Eunbi’s arm. “Don’t forget me, okay? Please don’t—”

I could never. Would never. “There’s no way I could.”

Even though it’s a promise forged through their shared determination, desire, punctuated with a sure touch, it doesn’t feel like one. Promises should be built on stability, aren’t supposed to break.

This one could. Would.

Because all things break in the end. Deteriorate. No longer exist.

But she hopes that’s not all they’ll amount to. She hopes with all of her heart that they can beat all of the odds even if that’s something more akin to a dream than a reality.

…

If it’s possible, Eunha pulls her in even closer, kisses her soft and slow. Their breath mingles together. They’re so close, no part of them left untouched. Everything is familiar.

When they're together like this, it feels like they belong. With hushed whispers, and soft gasps, with sure, steady, and gentle fingers, loving presses of lips against skin, they move—in sync, together, a slow burning with every touch, the thudding of their beating hearts.

Alive. Together. Meant for each other.

“Hwang Eunbi,” Eunha breathes out, blunt nails digging into Eunbi's skin, leaving marks that prove she belongs there.

“Eunha. I—” Eunha's lips are on her, then. Kissing her hard, searing, wanting.

Something has never felt so perfect, so right.

…

Eunha is tired, about to fall asleep when she feels Eunbi's fingers tracing soft circles on her back and leans down closer to whisper softly in Eunha's ear. “Do you regret it?”

It’s obvious that Eunbi is talking about more than .

Do you regret loving me?

“No... I don’t,” Eunha answers honestly, shifts against Eunbi's chest as she feels Eunbi holds her close—as if she could draw a world for just them, where this would be okay, where it would be forever. “Do you?”

“Not at all.” Eunbi kisses her forehead, brushed her face into Eunha's soft hair “Do you think you’ll ever regret it?”

Eunha shakes her head.

Even though there’s a chance of this, of them, ending and that will hurt, when she thinks back on the year they’ve spent together like this she doesn’t think she’d be able to regret it. Experiencing this has been worth it. Forever or not.

“Yeah, like hell I could." And she draws Eunha in closer, kisses her again.

…

It’s late fall when she realizes everything is coming to an end. High school, them. Everything is drawing to a close. All they know will end with different universities. Being together is no longer a guarantee. It’s still a choice that they will prioritize, that they will hold above any other option, but there is no guarantee it could be that way. There’s never a guarantee.

Everything ends eventually.

Eunha had called her—at almost midnight, no less—and asked her to come over. She gave Eunbi no explanation, no reason. Just asked. It wasn’t like the usual demand for her to come over—the annoying, almost whiny, and expectant pleas when Eunbi would initially say no.

(And yes, she would say no to a stupid request at midnight after a long day at school and practice when all she wants to do is sleep.)

No, this was different. It was just a simple request—not all dramatic and drawn out. Plain, simple, a “Can you please come over?” There’s even a please. She wants to laugh at that. It’s so vastly different than the usual “Hwang, come over, I’m bored!”

Five minutes is all it took for her to pull on a sweatshirt and quietly sneak out of her own house, walking the short distance to the one across the street that’s basically become her second home over all of these years.

It isn’t until she gets there that she thinks about getting in. After years of this, she knows how to get into Eunha’s house—knows exactly which first floor window will open if you jostle it the right way, knows which stairs to be extra careful on because they creak loudly when stepped on the wrong way. It’s become an art, of sorts. A perfectly mastered skill.

Breaking into Eunha’s house without her parents’ knowledge… what a skill to have. That one will be really useful in real world application.

It always feels a little awkward doing so without her parents’ knowledge. It feels wrong. Almost. Hasn’t stopped either of them for all of these years, though.

She’s about to head back toward the window that she always uses when a voice stops her. “They’re not home. The door’s open.”

Eunbi looks up to where the voice had come from, sees Eunha sitting on the roof, knees drawn to her chest, chin resting on them.

“What the hell are you doing up there, ? It’s cold out! You’re gonna get sick and we have a tournament next weekend! I swear if you—”

Eunha grins at her. “You know, I could have sworn that my mom was gone for the weekend…”

“You wanna repeat that?”

Eunha laughs. “No, no. Sorry, Hwang.” She’s all smiles and it is seriously too late for this. “You wanna come up?”

As if she has a choice. “Fine, but only for a few minutes. Then we’ll go inside.” It’s cold, and obvious it will be winter soon. A night out on the roof in the cold air pales in comparison to sleep in a warm bed.

This is something she’s familiar with too. They’ve spent countless times up there. When they were kids, going on the roof was a taboo. There was a constant warning that they would fall and get hurt. But one day Eunha had determined that ten was old enough to climb up there on their own. Their parents didn’t have to know about it if they snuck it in the middle of the night. So they had. Nothing bad happened, fortunately. If anything, the routine stuck and now it’s a place they can go, a place where they don’t have to talk in hushed whispers or fear waking their parents up. No, this is a place all their own.

By now, they’re both experts at climbing up there, don’t need any help from each other like they had when they were kids. Still, she takes Eunha’s outstretched hand and lets her help pull her up.

She sits down, their shoulders brushing, Eunha’s hand never leaving her own. “What’s up for you to call and ask me over this late?”

“Oh, so I have to have a reason now, Hwang? I can’t just ask you over because I want to?”

“Idiot,” she murmurs softly, nudging Eunha’s shoulder with her own. “Of course you can. It seemed like more than that though.”

“My parents are gone for the weekend. They went to visit my aunt and uncle and I hate being home alone.”

Eunbi knows that’s true. Back in junior high Eunha’s parents had left her home alone to go to some friend’s wedding under the impression that Eunha would be fine on her own for a few days. (Really, there was no reason for them to think otherwise, especially with Eunha’s loud assurances that she would be fine alone.)

Not even a day had passed and she was spending the rest of her parents’ trip at Eunbi’s house because she didn’t like being alone in the house at all.

“You still scared of the dark?”

Eunha pouts at the jab. “Am not. Shut up.”

“Then it’s that you think someone’s going to break in.”

“I do not! I just don’t like being by myself.” Alone. Lonely.

She quits with the teasing, squeezes Eunha’s hand tighter. “You should have said something earlier.”

“You don’t mind, then?”

Another gentle nudge of her shoulder. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

A smile, a nudge back. “Yeah… you are. You always are.”

It’s something that doesn’t need to be answered with words, can instead be conveyed with a reassuring squeeze of her hand. I want to be.

They’re quiet after that, just look at each other, enjoying the moment between them. They might not have many more left, so cherishing every single one is important.

Eunha is bright, radiant against the dark night sky, fits in perfectly. A bright star that won’t stop shining, that won’t go out even when clouds try to cover her.

(Each look they share, each breath, Eunbi falls more and more in love with her.)

Eunha’s hand is warm in her own, a soft and gentle touch—one that she doesn’t want to end. But it’s a touch that could break, shatter at any moment.

Time ticks on slowly, will continue to tick until their time runs out. It’s inevitable. It will happen.

…She’s dreading it.

But…

“Eunha?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you mean it?”

“As wonderful as I am, I don’t have that great of a memory. What is it, Hwang?” Eunha is smiling at her—that stupid grin she’s become so accustomed to. It’s the type of smile that she either wants to wipe off of Eunha’s face or brush her lips against. That decision is always such a struggle…

“That you’d give up something like a soulmate for this?” It’s still a little hard to believe even when she says it out loud. Before, the words seemed like something she had dreamed, told herself as a reassurance, but hearing it our loud… that made it real.

Eunha laughs at first, quiet and breathless. “You put too much faith in that stuff, Hwang.”

How can I not? It’s normal, isn’t it?

But Eunha continues before she can say anything, almost like she doesn’t have to think about the question. “Of course I would. I think I’d always choose this.”

The wind sends chills down her spine, brings goose bumps to her skin, but Eunha is warm. Her hand is always so warm. She doesn’t want to let go.

So don’t.

And that’s the ideal option. But it’s the unknown of the future that scares her. Getting in so deep with this may have been a bad idea. Because even if she and Jung Eunbi don’t want to let go, that may not hold true in the future. Anything could happen.

"Everything is going to change soon, isn’t it?” It will. But even when it is over, the rest of the school year will be filled with preparations for college and graduation. So much will change, will continue to change.

Eunha frowns. “Yeah... but not completely. We’ll still be together. Even though we’re going to different schools we can still live together. They’re not that far apart.”

“You don’t want a fresh start?” It would be the perfect chance.

“Why would I?”

“Because letting go now is easiest.”

There’s a twinge of pain on her arm, like someone just pinched her, but before she can say anything, Eunha leans forward and brushes their lips together, kissing her for a moment before murmuring against her lips, “Just because something is easy doesn’t mean it’s the best choice.”

She almost laughs. Almost. But instead she presses their foreheads together, swallows any protests or arguments, just looks at Eunha. Can’t tear her eyes away. “Wow, that’s deep. Where’d you get that?”

“You’re acting like nothing I say is meaningful, Hwang.” She presses another kiss to her lips, leans in closer.

“Because it’s usually not,” Eunbi manages to get out between Eunha’s insistent kisses.

Eunha stops with the kisses, but doesn’t pull back, allows their foreheads to continue resting against each other. “Rude.”

“Shut up or I’m going home.”

“I won’t let you. You’re here and I’m not letting you to leave.”

It’s said as a joke, but she wonders if there’s more meaning behind it than Eunha lets on, wonders if it applies to more than just this particular instance. She’s about to say more, but stops when she feels Eunha shiver beneath her touch. It really is cold out… “Come on, we’re going inside. And I don’t care what you say, but I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, okay.” She takes Eunbi’s hand, lets her pull her to her feet so they can head back inside, all thoughts of the cold night air forgotten, replaced with thoughts of holding each other in Eunha’s warm bed.

…

Eunbi thinks about Eunha’s words later—about what’s easy and what’s best. On one hand, ending this would be easy. It’s a break that will hurt, but will ultimately cause less pain in the long run. But then there’s the other side of it—the one where she doesn’t want it to end, where she doesn’t want there to be any sort of break between them.

It’s not that she wants to give up that easily. Because she doesn’t. She’s willing to fight for this, but wonders if it’s futile in the end—a big waste of time.

Time. That’s funny, because time is the thing that’s keeping them on edge like this. It’s what’s making this all so difficult.

(Sometimes she wishes the timers on their wrists were real, had some sort of physical manifestation. Because then she could act on the urge to smash it and stop their time from slowly ticking away.)

She can’t imagine looking down at a timer that slowly counts down their time together, that is signaling when things will break between them. For that, she’s not envious of Eunha. She wonders how Eunha can look at that every day, a constant reminder that they have a time limit placed on them.

At least she doesn’t know when it will end. Watching their time tick by with each passing day would be even more painful. Having the inevitable loom over them as an unknown is one thing. To know the exact amount of time until it is over, until they will break is horrifyingly cruel.

For that reason, she’s almost glad she has a zero on her wrist. Almost.

Even though she doesn’t want it to end—never wants it to end—running is easy. Ending it is easy.

Something that can never last is something that should be ended. Before it hurts too much and they’re at the point of no return.

And maybe that’s selfish. Maybe. Probably.

But hurting more now than later is the best option. Selfish or not, it’s the best—the only—option.

…

The snow falls slowly around them. The storm from earlier that had left heavy snow covering the whole city had tapered off to a much quieter and peaceful snowfall. It’s serene, beautiful. A memory that will stick in her head, one she’d rather remember than what she’s about to do.

Eunha is chattering about something—Eunbi’s not really sure what about, it’s hard to focus when she’s trying to gather the courage to do this—their fingers loosely intertwined, linking them together.

“Hwang?” Eunha squeezes her hand, drawing her out of her thoughts. “Everything okay? You’re really quiet.”

Now or never. “Can we talk?”

“We already are talking,” Eunha jokes, but Eunbi can see the curiosity in her eyes, the slight worry behind them. They stop walking, feet firmly planted in the snow, and they’re just looking at each other.

She realizes that Eunha is waiting for her to say what she needs to, and for a moment, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to. But then it’s tumbling out all at once, so quickly the words jumble together a little. “I think this needs to stop.”

“W-what?” Eunha’s hand goes limp in her. “What do you mean?” She asks even though she knows exactly what Eunbi means.

(It shouldn’t feel like she just shot someone dead. It shouldn’t, but it does.)

For a second she wants to take the words back, to pretend this never happened, but it’s out there now and she realizes it needs to be. Maybe that’s selfish, but it’s something that at least needs to be addressed.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

Eunha rips her hand away, her initial shock quickly turning to anger. It’s the response that Eunbi feared—expected, but feared. “Why not? If we’ve got time and we’re both happy then why does it have to end?”

“Because it will eventually! We can’t keep denying that.”

“So I’m only good enough until something better comes along?”

Eunbi sighs angrily, grips Eunha’s arm tightly. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I’d choose you every single time, but—”

“But what? Who cares what some dumb clock says? Why is there a rule that I can't find someone I want to be with on my own?”

She’s heard this before. She’s heard this so many times before, and she doesn’t get why Eunha still doesn’t understand that soulmates will trump any other relationship. There’s no chance of this lasting once their time runs out. “You shouldn’t let me hold you back. I don’t want to be the one who does that!”

“You don’t! You never do!” Eunha grabs her shoulders, holding onto her tightly. “Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see that I want this? That I need you?”

She’s breathing heavy, looks upset and frazzled and heartbroken. And there’s a pang in Eunbi’s heart because she’s the one who caused this in the first place.

“Why do you want to give up so easily?” Eunha asks quietly. She’s still squeezing Eunbi’s shoulders tightly, like holding on will somehow prevent the end. Really, it’s just prolonging the inevitable, isn’t it?

“Because we don’t have forever.” She doesn’t raise her voice, says it quietly, eyes averted from Eunha’s. “No matter how much time there is left, one day it’s going to run out. I don’t want to get to that point and have it hurt worse than ending it now would.”

“But we still have plenty of time left. Why not give it a chance and see—?”

“How much time is left?” Eunbi asks. “And I want an honest answer. If you tell me, I’ll tell you.”

It’s something they’ve never said, something they’ve always feared talking about. But she wants it in the open now. She wants to know.

“None.”

That, she isn’t expecting. At all. “None? What do you mean?” There’s so much confusion, but she can’t help but notice the way her heartbeat picks up its pace. Is there a possibility that—?

“Mine’s at zero,” Eunha mutters. “It’s been at zero for as long as I can remember. It doesn’t run.”

What?

Eunha must see the shocked look on her face because she continues. “I know it’s not normal. I still don’t understand why it’s like this, but…”

No way. There’s no way.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help that I fell in love with you even though I’m not supposed to.” Their eyes finally meet. Eunha’s are glassy, the beginnings of tears in them now that the truth is finally out. “Eunbi, say something. Please say something.”

She doesn’t. Instead, she leans in and kisses her, catching Eunha completely off guard. But still, Eunha kisses her back despite the confusion she must be feeling, and for once it feels like everything is going to work out. It’s weightless. There are no worries, no doubts, no fears. For once Eunbi is completely free because this isn’t a maybe or a possibility anymore. It’s a definite. A forever.

Because of course it would work out where they’ve had forever within their grasps this whole time, have been dancing around it, unable to see. But now it’s completely clear.

“Mine too,” she whispers when they pull apart. “Mine has been at zero ever since I first looked at it.”

Eunha freezes, in a breath slowly when she realizes what this means. “Do you think…?”

“We’ve known each other since we were babies. There would have been no way for us to know if it hit zero back then.” This is all still a little unbelievable. Amazing, perfect, but unbelievable that it’s working out this way.

Eunha nods. “And even if for some reason we’re not, there’s no way to know if there really is someone else out there, so why not continue this?”

There’s no reason to tear them apart this time. None. So she doesn’t protest, doesn’t doubt anything when she wraps her arms around Eunha in a warm embrace. They’re together. They can be together now. For all time, for all eternity. Forever.

Nothing is in their way.

“I can’t believe this,” Eunha manages to get out, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Her eyes are still slightly teary from before. “All of this time…”

“All of this time,” Eunbi repeats, feeling similar, still unable to completely process this all so quickly. Everything she wanted—they wanted—is more than just a possibility now. It’s a guarantee.

They don’t speak anymore after that. Eunha leans in and kisses her and it’s perfect. It’s the best thing she could ever ask for.

This had started as a night she wanted to remember nothing about, but now, now she wants to remember everything. She doesn’t want to forget a single detail.

It doesn’t matter that it’s freezing out, that they’re outside on a cold winter night. It doesn’t matter that snow is falling on them, that their feet are chilled and uncomfortable from standing on a sidewalk covered in snow for so long that they can feel the cold starting to seep into their bones. It doesn’t matter that their cheeks are rosy, that they’re shivering the slightest bit because they should have been home a long time ago instead of spending so much time walking there.

All that matters is that they’re holding onto each other tightly, lips locked and hearts thudding in their chests.

Eunbi pulls back first, and Eunha whines a little, starting to protest their loss of contact. “Let’s go home, Eunha.”

Eunha looks like she wants to kiss her again, like she’d rather spend all night outside just being, just existing, here with each other. “But—”

She rests her hand on Eunha’s cheek, leans in to press one last quick and chaste kiss against her lips before she pulls back and takes her hand. Their fingers are intertwined, linked. “We’ve got forever for this.”

…

Graduation brings change. Everything will be different now. No more high school, no more artclub. They’ll be at different universities that are nearby, granted, but it’s still going to be different not to see each other at school every day, and they’ll no longer be dancing together together like they’ve always been.

But it’s okay. It’s okay because they’re going to live together, share a small apartment in Seoul that’s nearby both of their universities. It’s okay because they’re together, happy.

“I love you,” Hwang Eunbi says when they’re alone together after graduation, ready to face their futures by each other’s sides.

Jung Eunbi smiles. “I love you too.”

And the younger leans in close, kisses Eunha with a sort of finality—an irreversible promise sealed between them.

(Together: forever)

It’s something they’ll always be.