They found themselves back in Seungwan’s room, with Joohyun somehow convinced to stay the night. She wasn’t thinking quite clearly, not after that kiss left her mind swirling with so many questions. All the answers were pointing in the same direction, though. She kissed Seungwan. Or was it more accurate to say Seungwan kissed her? But it shouldn’t matter, right? What matters is that they kissed. They kissed each other! Seungwan liked her!

Seungwan liked her, or maybe loved her, or… 

“Hello? Earth to Joohyun? Hyun? Hyunnie?” Seungwan’s voice cut through Joohyun’s thoughts.

The questions whirled to a stop. 

“Yes, Wan?” Joohyun asked back softly, clearly caught off guard.

“I was about to ask if you needed to borrow a toothbrush, since I figure that you didn’t prepare much for this impromptu sleepover.”

Joohyun nodded, suddenly understanding the gravity of the situation. She was about to stay over with her crush… her crush that actually liked her back. But this shouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary. She’d stayed over countless times in middle school, more sparingly once she went to high school, and eventually not at all. So yes, she supposed it would have been quite a while since she’d been in Seungwan’s house, and even longer since she had stayed over. Joohyun sincerely hoped that she wouldn’t do anything to make the situation awkward. She had just finally managed to kiss the girl of her dreams, her first love, her childhood crush, and she was not about to ruin it.

The concentration must have worked its way onto her face as her brow knotted, lips morphing into a serious pout.

“What?” Seungwan smirked, “Cat got your tongue?” She quickly disappeared into the adjacent bathroom, leaving only the sounds of rifling through cabinets behind her.

“No…” Joohyun drawled, “I’m just thinking.”

Seungwan reappeared, purple toothbrush in hand. The smile on her face was triumphant. 

“My favorite color,” Joohyun said, “Oh? And it’s the brand I use at home too? Why do you have this?”

Seungwan retreated into herself a little, bashfulness washing over her features. She rubbed the nape of her neck. “I guess with all the time you used to spend sleeping over, I bought it in case you ever needed to borrow one.”

She seemed to realize how much that made her sound like a miserable loser, pining endlessly over Joohyun. “Oh, but, I mean, you never really needed it because you never forgot your own, so I guess you just never used it!” She sputtered, hoping that the explanation would make her sound a little less lame. Of course, it was quite unsuccessful.

“It’s cute, Seungwan,” Joohyun smiled, “Thank you.”

It appeared that Joohyun didn’t have to worry so much after all.

After finishing their nightly routines, Seungwan and Joohyun settled in bed. They were sharing, since Seungwan insisted that it would be just like old times, completely ignoring the fact that there was a guest room that Joohyun could have easily used instead. Joohyun didn’t protest much, though. She was still floating from being able to be so close to the younger girl again.

Their fingers were laced around each other’s, their only connection on Seungwan’s queen size bed. They’re not closer than they were before, but their hands together conveyed some wordless intimacy that even more proximity couldn’t possibly communicate.

They didn’t speak much this time, letting a comfortable silence envelop them, eyelids getting heavy as they felt the exhaustion of the day’s events sink in. 

But before sleep could fully overtake her, Seungwan traced the outline of Joohyun’s face in the dim light of her room. 

They weren’t plunged into complete darkness, thanks to the bunny night light that Joohyun had gifted her years ago after Seungwan admitted to a fear of the dark during one of their first sleepovers. She was long past that fear, but still found the night light to be calming, a reminder of the older girl who always seemed to push her fears away. 

Even now, Joohyun was the very picture of tranquility. Her long eyelashes fluttered with every breath, deep inhales and exhales driving the subtle undulations of her body. Seungwan took her time admiring Joohyun, but found that her eyes couldn’t help but linger on her lips — those soft lips that she had been dreaming of kissing for years, the lips that she finally kissed just hours before. 

She couldn’t get that feeling out of her head. Her heart was still beating just as fast, so loud that Seungwan hoped it wouldn’t wake Joohyun from her gentle sleep. 

But the feeling wasn’t exactly new. It was just as exhilarating as their dance on the gym rooftop, just as wonderful as holding hands walking through the aquarium. Yet there was still something strange about it. 

It was strange to have the older girl in her bed again, even though the sheets, the blankets, and the pillows had all remained unchanged over the years. Joohyun was older now, and took up a lot more space on her bed, not that Seungwan minded.

She was just as beautiful as she was when they first met, perhaps even more beautiful. 

After staring for too long, Seungwan was sure that the older girl was asleep. Conflicting emotions of contentment and simultaneous yearning pulled at her heart. Though their relationship was finally rekindled, Seungwan couldn’t help but worry that the distance might increase again, that something unexpected would happen to pull Joohyun away from her. All she could do was hope that wouldn’t happen.

The aching in her heart only increased. Seungwan felt a confession rise in , only to linger on the tip of her tongue.

She can’t find it within her to suppress the growing feelings, rising from the bed to get a glass of water — anything to quiet her thrumming heartbeat. 

Seungwan took a few steps toward her door, but turned to look once more upon the figure of the peaceful Joohyun.

She whispers, “I think I’m falling for you, Joohyun. And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

As she quietly twisted the door handle and stepped out, she didn’t notice how Joohyun’s eyes fluttered open.

The next morning, they were caught by Seungwan’s mom as they stepped through the kitchen on their way to the front door. Upon seeing Irene, the older woman broke out into a grin. They exchanged the obligatory small talk, a lengthier conversation than Seungwan would have liked, seeing as she was grumbling excuses of them needing to get to school on time. 

When Seungwan was finally able to pull Joohyun away, her mother wrapped Joohyun up in a hug, one all too familiar, too comforting. 

Joohyun really missed this.

Too quickly, Seungwan whisked them out the door and they set off on the walk to their high school. The scene was so familiar, reminding Joohyun of when they were younger. They used to walk shoulder to shoulder when the path got narrow. And the path was even more narrow now, with the trees lining the street having grown significantly since Joohyun had last walked this way. The roots almost threatened to trip her, yet Seungwan’s hand in hers was all the assurance she needed to keep her balance.

The trees backed off, and the street turned, opening into a view of a park. Joohyun’s heart melted at the sight of it. 

They used to stop by these swings, and—

“Hey, Joohyun,” Seungwan prodded.

“Yes?”

Seungwan had already begun breaking away, walking quickly towards the swingset Joohyun was fixated on. She wrapped her arm around the chain of the swing, lifting one leg off the ground as she started to spin absentmindedly. “You remember how I used to stand on these and scare you to death?”

“Yes…” Joohyun repeated, with more hesitation. She cringed, a preemptive reaction to the suggestion that Seungwan do it again.

But Seungwan didn’t.

“Why don’t you do it this time?”

Joohyun balked at the suggestion, jaw dropping down in shock. “Me? Do something as reckless and terrifying as standing on the swings with no support?”

Seungwan smiled, eyes flashing with some indescribable emotion. “Why not?” She asks, stopping her swaying and planting her feet on the ground, eyes meeting Joohyun’s with determination. 

“Look,” she began, letting go of the chain and walking slowly towards Joohyun, each word matching her pace as she collected her thoughts. “I swear I’ll be right here to catch you.” She looked up at Joohyun, breaking her gaze from the ground. “Don’t you trust me, Hyun?”

Seungwan’s cheeks raised as her lips turned into a pout, eyes rounded and wide, almost making an innocent plea of their own. With Seungwan looking at her like that — asking her like that — how could Joohyun say no?

Joohyun doesn’t nod, doesn’t mutter her acknowledgment of Seungwan’s request. All she does is take a few purposeful steps towards the swingset, and Seungwan had her answer. The younger girl’s face lit up as she darted behind Joohyun, readying herself to be a spotter just in case Joohyun did end up slipping. Though Seungwan was certain she would be fine, part of her couldn’t help but worry anyway, and the worry certainly wasn’t aided by Joohyun’s clear anxiety written all over her face, etched into the way the corners of her lips quivered up and down.

Hesitantly, she took one step onto the swing, hands gripping tightly onto the chains. Seungwan’s arms were hovering by her waist, providing some support to ease Joohyun’s nerves.

As she attempted to steady herself, she noticed that the swings had changed. The chains were much smoother than she remembered, with a sheen that only accompanied new metal. The set was no longer rusty, nor old, no longer squeaking with every move. 

Joohyun glanced around from her new vantage point. The whole park had been renovated, with each section of the familiar place seeming to take on a new glow. The monkey bars had a new layer of paint. The hole in the roof of the play structure was fixed. Even the grass looked newly planted. 

It only served as a reminder of the time Joohyun spent apart from Seungwan, and that reminder tugged at her heart. 

Yet the novelty brought its own sense of security, or perhaps it was just the strength of the chains that was providing her with more confidence. 

As time slipped by, Joohyun realized that she couldn’t let this chance pass her by. She’d be graduating at the end of the year, and her future beyond that remained untold. Would she have to leave Seungwan behind again, just after they found their place at each other’s side? 

She shuddered as the thought crossed her mind.

“Hey,” Seungwan said, looking up at Joohyun, “Are you doing okay up there? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” She lowered her head, turning her gaze down at her sneakers. “I know it’s kind of stupid…”

“No,” Joohyun shuts down Seungwan’s worries before they have the chance to take off. “I want to do this.”

And so she began swinging, bending her knees and swaying her body to gain momentum. Seungwan stood to the side, a grin slowly breaking out across her face. 

Joohyun was finally doing it. She was standing. She was standing and swinging! And she swore she could kiss the sky. 

The wind was whistling through her hair, carrying the scent of freedom or something cliche like that. But, in this moment, Joohyun couldn’t let the cliches bother her. For a second she felt herself letting go, feeling as though she could fly.

Perhaps that was a bad idea, though, because Joohyun loosened her grip on the chains, felt the plastic of the seat bend beneath her, slipping away.

For a second, then, Joohyun flew.

She closed her eyes, scared of the fall. 

As her hands left the chains, as her feet left the seat, she wondered if this was what the sea feels like on a rainy day, what it feels like to be embraced by blue, what it feels like to finally let go.

Then Seungwan caught her, just as she promised she would.

Like rain returning to water, returning to the tides, they rock the same way, Seungwan’s knees buckling as they fell to the rubber ground.

After the pain of the collision subsided, they shared a glance that was equal parts shock and equal parts amusement. The latter feeling overtook them. They laughed, laughed, and couldn’t stop laughing. Their breaths mingled as their laughter spilled out into the morning air. It sounded like the sky itself, how light it was.

Why was it that, in Seungwan’s arms, Joohyun felt even more like she was flying?

Chuckling, Seungwan breathed out in between laughs, “Why does it seem like you’ve been falling for me an awful lot lately?”

Joohyun was too shy to admit how accurate that statement actually was.

They stepped through the front doors of the school, hand in hand. Joohyun was not sure what kind of view she was expecting to greet them, but this was not it.

She felt the burning glare of every student in that hallway on them, and the world began to cave in. The normal churning of the waves of students on their way to class no longer felt normal. It felt like they were tides threatening to crash in on her, unable to tell whether people were weaving away or toward her. The room was spinning like a whirlpool, and Joohyun could barely keep her head above water.

She let her hand fall away from Seungwan’s as she stepped deeper into the commotion, walking towards a crowd of students that surrounded a row of lockers — specifically, her row of lockers.

Joohyun fought her way through the crowd, pushing through the rows and rows of students swaying to catch a glimpse of what was ahead of them. Seungwan could only manage to trail behind her, concern building in her chest. She knew this couldn’t be the product of one of her harmless pranks.

When Joohyun finally broke through…

Oh. Oh no.

The waves broke on Joohyun’s shore.

There were posters tacked over every locker, and not just the typical posters advertising the school band or plays, they were posters of them. Them.

There were pictures of Joohyun and Seungwan, arms and legs tangled in the fountain. There were pictures of Joohyun and Seungwan, completely soaked as they were leaving the gym. There were pictures of Joohyun and Seungwan, leaning on each other in the student council room.

Joohyun and Seungwan. 

Joohyun and Seungwan. 

Joohyun and Seungwan.

But it was more than just pictures of them together. They looked like they were in love. They knew it, the posters said it, and everyone could see it. 

“Dyke Council President,” One poster read. “Class lesbian,” emblazoned on another.

It was spelled out clear as day, even echoed in the whispers of the onlooking students.

There was no denying the truth.

Seungwan meekly tried to grab ahold of Joohyun’s hand, an attempt at supporting her, but Joohyun pulled away. 

The crowd backed up, leaving Joohyun and Seungwan a spotlight in center stage, but Joohyun didn’t sign up to be an actress. She never wanted to be everyone else’s entertainment. 

She wanted to fly away.

Joohyun had been an ocean for as long as she’s known.

Leagues of water underneath a surface of impenetrable glass.

It used to be that people could shout words into the water, just a few decibels more than the din of seagulls and waves. 

The ice was a wall, insulating the sounds until they were mere vibrations, ripples undersea.

At the center was Joohyun, a pearl in an oyster, secure in her calcium carbonate confines.

But a diver had ripped her from the deep, put her shine on the surface for all to see. Their words were no longer a passing din. They were as overwhelming as the waves, crashing down on her barriers, wearing away at her surface, destroying what luster she had left.

Joohyun has been an ocean for as long as she’s known. Suddenly, she doesn’t want to anymore, doesn’t want to be this churning, tumultuous deep.

The bell rang. The crowd around her shifted, students dispersing as they left for their classes.

Joohyun didn’t move, couldn’t move.

So Seungwan moved toward her instead, taking cautious steps to close the distance between them. She looked at the spread of posters in front of them, mind numb. She had half a mind to get closer, start investigating for any sign of the culprit. But the other half of her didn’t need to know right now. She didn’t care about what the other students thought. She didn’t care about what the posters said.

She cared about Joohyun.

She placed her hand on Joohyun’s shoulder, unsure of what kind of reaction she could expect. 

All she felt was the shake of her shoulders and the falling of tears. 

Joohyun couldn’t bring herself to speak, bottom lip quivering. Even the motion of turning her head to face Seungwan seemed to take all the energy she could muster.

Seungwan watched as tears trailed down Joohyun’s cheeks.

“It’s… It’s going to be okay, Hyun,” She said hesitantly. “It doesn’t matter what other people think, right?”

Pressure began to build, a typhoon rising from the deep. The glass finally broke.

“Doesn’t matter?” Joohyun asked, voice breaking between tears and anger. She pushed Seungwan’s arm away, as though it was a weapon aimed at her heart. Seungwan recoiled, almost hurt by the action. 

Joohyun balled her fists, arms tense at her sides. “See, Seungwan,” She began, anger written into her angled brows, “You just don’t get it. You don’t understand.” Throwing her arms up, she continued with indignance, “This may not matter to you, but it means everything to me. It. Means. Everything.” 

The emphasis on those last words rang in Seungwan’s ears. Ringing, ringing, ringing. It wouldn’t stop. How could she say that? After all this time Seungwan spent caring for her, thinking about her, loving her… how could Joohyun say that she didn’t understand her? Seungwan had done nothing but try to understand her.

The growing silence between them became overwhelming. Seungwan had to cut through.

“If I don’t understand, why don’t you just go and run away again, Joohyun.”

And so Joohyun did. The mounting storm in her chest propelled her as she tore down the hallway, one foot in front of the other on the linoleum tile. 

All she left behind was the slam of the heavy metal doors of the school entrance, resounding through the empty halls.

Seungwan watched as her figure retreated, disappeared. She whipped around to face the egregious display. Only now had her thoughts cleared enough to process the sight, posters arranged like a sacreligious triptych of messy adhesive, a condemnation of her love. 
It was unfortunate. At any other time, she would have loved seeing these pictures, like a personal photo gallery of the memories she made with Joohyun these past few weeks.

Instead, all she could do was dig her fingers in, and begin tearing the pictures apart.

Then damn her love.

In the following days, the school released an announcement against bullying and the spreading of salacious rumors. The official statement made no specific reference to the events that transpired, but every student knew what it was referring to. 

Joohyun appeared on the morning announcements the next day to reiterate and further the school’s position on the matter. Her face was stone cold, her voice icy. There were no puffy eyes or red cheeks, just the reappearance of the facade that she had perfected over the years. 

When Joohyun appeared on the projector, Seungwan should have been able to smile at seeing her love. She just frowned instead.

In her speech, Joohyun didn’t directly address the speculation, but everything from her body language to her facial expressions communicated the same thing. Denial.

She followed the school’s position word for word, stating that baseless rumors created a disruptive atmosphere and student culture that would not be tolerated.

Seungwan simply scoffed. If only they knew how factual the “rumors” actually were.

She knew that Joohyun cared about appearances, but she didn’t know that it ran this deep. She didn’t know that it would result in an open denial of their relationship, one that had Seungwan walking on clouds just days prior. Though Joohyun was denying herself, she was denying Seungwan too. And it hurt. Damn it hurt.

At first, Seungwan tried to act normally. She would swing her arm around Joohyun’s shoulder when she saw her in the halls, only to have Joohyun gently lower her arm, only to tell Seungwan that maybe they shouldn’t walk to class together anymore. She would open to speak to Joohyun while waiting in the cafeteria line, only to have Joohyun respond curtly, only to have Joohyun stop responding at all.

After Joohyun finally gave up on any pretense of normalcy or interaction with Seungwan, they didn’t speak to each other. There were no texts, no calls, not even the exchange of glances as they passed each other in the hall. It was almost as if they returned to how they were before the confetti fiasco, but somehow worse. Joohyun’s icy front was even colder, students afraid to cross her path. And whenever she had the unfortunate chance to walk past Seungwan, well, it wasn’t hard to miss how her head would turn in any direction necessary to avoid the younger girl’s gaze.

Yet to any onlooker students invested in the drama, Seungwan’s reactions appeared to only get stranger. They would expect her to be dejected, dragging herself from class to class like a lost puppy. After all, these past few weeks she was tailing Joohyun like one. But instead, Seungwan seemed to have even more bounce in her step, and an even bigger smile than she had previously. 

Some students misconstrued this to mean that maybe the rumors actually did lack foundation. Seungwan appeared to be entirely unaffected, with no abrupt changes in behavior that would indicate otherwise. But to those who were more astute, or to those who knew Seungwan best, they could tell that perhaps she was compensating for something, perhaps there was more than she let on.

Despite these subtle changes, time was indifferent to the conflict between Joohyun and Seungwan, and the date for the rally steadily approached. Although the awkwardness that had set into their relationship encouraged otherwise, Joohyun didn’t have the luxury of completely cutting off contact from Seungwan. The latter had a significant role to play in the planning of the rally, and her organizational genius was in even more high demand as the other student council members were spread thin as a result of their increased workload. 

Slowly, though regrettably belated, Joohyun made her own attempts at restoring contact with Seungwan. However, these attempts were still markedly distant. When she sent texts requesting Seungwan’s aid with the rally, they were formal and succinct, lacking any hint of warmth or affection. Part of Joohyun noticed the difference, but no part of her moved to correct it. 

To be perfectly honest, Joohyun didn’t expect Seungwan to actually cooperate. There was no hesitation to accept these requests, no sign of anger or disappointment. Even now, Seungwan was always ready to help. When Joohyun needed to confirm some plans of where to set up decorations in the gym, Seungwan replied immediately. When Joohyun asked if Seungwan wanted to arrive early to set up the popcorn machine, she said yes instantly. 

But even though she replied so favorably to Joohyun’s inquiries, their interactions no longer seemed right. The enthusiasm of the replies were corporate and rehearsed. There were no more easy jokes or even the flirts that Joohyun had come to expect. Every exchange felt forced, when they had just gotten to the point where talking — where being together — had begun to feel so natural. 

Joohyun didn’t know what to do.

Seungwan dropped her phone loosely to her side, sighing as she leaned back in her chair. She was beginning to get so tired of these petty interactions.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She groans, hoping that it’s not another text from Joohyun.

She languidly raised her phone up to her face, quickly scanning to check the sender of the message. Seungwan bolted up in her chair upon recognition.

Tall: 
I think we figured out who did it.
11:29 PM

YR:
Seungwan! Call! Now!
11:29 PM

Seungwan pressed the call button.