It doesn’t hurt when it comes.

 

A slithering cold from the point where they touch, sliding up from her fingers to the slopes of her arm, crawling into her heart, tugging an invisible string that pulls a wry smile across her lips — ushers her to make the last few minutes, hours, a moment to remember.

 

Most of them tend to be strangers.

 

Jinsol’s lost count how many times she’s bumped into someone at the grocery store, the park, school, work, and knew their time was up.

 

An accidental brush of the elbow, a tingling chill climbing up her arm, nestling in her chest, makes her turn — start a conversation more meaningful than the weather, a piece of their life they’re willing to share, before they go.

 

She doesn’t bat an eye anymore when she happens upon their body a few minutes later – if she’s lucky enough, or unlucky; a heart attack, she hears the medics say.

 

Not surprised; she felt it, after all.

 

The first, second, third, times were difficult to swallow: a classmate, a co-worker, a family member. She’s learned the hard way that her ability isn’t meant to stop the inevitable.

 

“Jinsol?”

 

It’s so she could appreciate the time when she doesn’t feel it — doesn’t feel death’s chill sliding across her skin, alert her of the numbered breaths someone has left.

 

Jinsol makes a home in Sooyoung’s arms, nuzzles her neck the moment Sooyoung slips through the door, grocery bags dangling in one hand, the other nestling on the small of Jinsol’s back.

 

All she feels is warmth.

 

“You’re awfully clingy, today.” Sooyoung says, locking the door shut. “Maybe even more so than usual?”

 

Jinsol laughs at the feeling of Sooyoung’s voice thrumming across , tickling her nose.

 

“Does that bother you?”

 

Sooyoung’s smile presses against her temple. “Never.”

 

Jinsol isn’t up for letting go, and Sooyoung seems to get that, so they waddle towards the kitchen together, plastic bags rustling atop the counter.

 

“What are you feeling for dinner?”

 

Jinsol doesn’t make it easier for Sooyoung, clutching tighter as if to embed the heat emitting from Sooyoung’s skin into her heart, make it feel nothing else, erase the chill that had seized her chest three hours ago.

 

He was so young.

 

“Anything you want,” Jinsol replies, nosing the hollow space just above Sooyoung’s collarbone. “You pick.”

 

Sooyoung laughs, trying to wriggle out of her grip long enough to set aside a jug of milk, Jinsol peeling away for a second before squeezing back in.

 

“We could order take-out,” Sooyoung’s fingers scratch gently at the base of Jinsol’s waist, her sweater proving to protect nothing, pleasant heat seeping through at her touch. “Not really up for cooking tonight.”

 

Jinsol hums, kisses . “Okay.”

 

Just like every Saturday they sink into the comfort of their sofa and each other, the television flickering on to a movie Jinsol pays no attention to in favour of tracing the lines that make up Sooyoung’s fingers.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

Sooyoung’s question breezes across the shell of her ear, makes Jinsol squirm a little in her hold, pressing closer. Doesn’t matter if it tickles — there’s no freezing chill; a relief Jinsol would love to drown in forever.

 

Jinsol leans back into Sooyoung’s chest, feels Sooyoung rest her lips on her shoulder.

 

“You,”

 

Sooyoung sprinkles kisses along the slope where Jinsol’s neck meets her ear, her hum thrumming delightful embers into Jinsol’s skin.

 

“...Me?”

 

And how you’re never cold, Jinsol thinks, nails tracing the circles of Sooyoung’s knuckles.

 

In all the years she’s been with Sooyoung, she’ll only ever get in a mood like this whenever death hits too close.

 

At least it’s never been Sooyoung.

 

“Yeah, you.” She turns her head, guides Sooyoung’s chin with a finger so she could taste the warmth on her lips, chuckles at the feeling of her growing smile. “And how neither of us are paying attention to the movie.”

 

Sooyoung’s laughter bubbles against .

 

“That’s because I’m watching something much more worthwhile. What’s your excuse?”

 

It can’t be healthy, Jinsol thinks. To be constantly wondering if tomorrow will be it. If that’s when they’ll end.

 

Jinsol giggles. “Someone keeps distracting me…”

 

As she turns completely, enamoured by Sooyoung’s kisses and soft touches and the fire she always burns her with, Jinsol wonders if it’s something to worry about at all.

 

“Sounds like you need to work on staying focused a little better,” Sooyoung quips, always too eager to say something, yet never one to let go of being affectionate. “...I can help, you know.”

 

But old habits die hard.

 

“Getting to practice on you?” Jinsol lets herself fall in, fingers tracing the stripes of Sooyoung’s ribs beneath her shirt, intoxicated by the inferno that Sooyoung’s not dying today. “Sounds distracting.”

 

She really should stop thinking about death so much.

 

—

 

Sometimes the cold doesn’t greet her at all.

 

On days like these, when her patients’ health are improving, a bump from a stranger doesn’t cause death’s chill to climb up from where they touched, and all Jinsol has to worry about is searching for the coupons in the crooks of the car seat for a discount at McDonald’s, she thinks about the future.

 

“Do you want to have kids?”

 

Jinsol admits she should’ve given some warning, at least wait until Sooyoung finished swallowing down her drink before popping the question.

 

Apologies flutter past as Sooyoung chokes, helps her out by slapping her back, laughing as she watches her cough out Coke.

 

“Really?“ Sooyoung sputters, tinged with flushed cheeks. “Couldn’t have at least asked after I put my drink down?”

 

Jinsol takes a napkin, swipes at the corner of Sooyoung’s mouth before leaning in, replacing it with her lips as an additional apology, tastes the salt from their fries and the sweetness of her drink.

 

“Too late now,” she muses, feels Sooyoung forgive her with a turn of her head, capture her in a playful kiss.

 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Sooyoung says, pulls away to tuck ebony strands behind Jinsol’s ear. “Do you?”

 

“I do,” Jinsol pauses, considers their future; long, steady, tangible. They have time. “Not ready for one now, of course. Someday, maybe.”

 

Sooyoung nods, reaches for her hand, kisses her knuckles; a promise. “Someday.”

 

If Sooyoung keeps this up, Jinsol thinks it won’t take long before that time comes.

 

—

 

Seven years, two months, and three days since they’ve first started dating.

 

Ten years since they first found each other: with Sooyoung stumbling into her at a college party, drink spilling over her shirt, causing a train-wreck of collateral damage with Jinsol’s own cup of beer painting Sooyoung’s jeans —and the poor couple making out on the couch.

 

Jinsol couldn’t look away from Sooyoung’s apologetic smile.

 

“I didn’t like this outfit anyway.” She’d said, enamoured by the soft hue of pink on Sooyoung’s cheeks, hoped to ease the slew of apologies Sooyoung still threw her way.

 

They had laughed it off together; Jinsol couldn’t stay away from her after that.

 

Somehow, Jinsol had convinced herself that they would be forever. On off days, maybe there’d be a little seed of doubt, perpetuated by a series of bad luck that has her feeling colder even without a single touch.

 

But it never mattered how many people she’d bump into in a single day who were freezing in death’s hands, knew she’d always come home to someone warm, have Sooyoung kiss the chill away, light her up in blushes and relief and happiness like it was the first time.

 

“All right, I’m off.” Sooyoung’s arms slip through her jacket’s sleeves. “Won’t be back ‘til nine, but I ordered from that favourite restaurant of yours, so don’t worry about cooking anything. Just make sure to have fun with Jungeun and Jiwoo, okay?”

 

Jinsol rolls her eyes, leaves the couch to follow her out the door.

 

“Still don’t know why you bothered picking up an extra shift — on a Sunday, might I add, but buying me off with food?” She leans in, smiling. “I guess I could handle a few hours without you.”

 

Sooyoung’s laughter reels her in. “That’s the spirit.”

 

Breaths mingle, mist of heat spreading across , anticipates the summer fire on Sooyoung’s lips—

 

Winter greets her instead.

 

It can’t be.

 

When she feels it, that dreaded cold that slithers from a kiss that has always been warm, Jinsol’s too busy thinking about why —why, why, why, why, why, to process that Sooyoung’s already slipping away.

 

“See you later,” Sooyoung promises like she always does. Innocently. Ignorantly.

 

No, Jinsol thinks, it’s wrong. It can’t be. Don’t go.

 

Jinsol stumbles, stops Sooyoung from disappearing behind a door — maybe even forever, desperate to capture every touch, feel for the fire that’s no longer there, fingers growing colder against Sooyoung’s cheeks, despair sinking deeper into her stomach much like the confusion wrinkling Sooyoung’s forehead.

 

“Sol?”

 

It can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be—

 

Jinsol lurches forward, aims for lips that have never failed to keep her ablaze, have always seared her chest with heat that lasts long after Sooyoung’s already gone to work, rekindled as soon as she comes back home.

 

Sooyoung’s freezing.

 

No.

 

No, no, no, no, no.

 

“Jinsol?”

 

She whimpers.

 

It can’t be Sooyoung. Anyone but Sooyoung.

 

“Stay, please, just—” she croaks, can’t let her go out, not now, not when there’s a chance, not when she could lose her; not when she will lose her. “—please, don’t go.”

 

Why today? Why not tomorrow? Two days from now? A week from now? Years from now?

 

Their talk of Someday comes to mind, their future shattering completely; every dream Jinsol’s ever had of them together now shortened to seconds, minutes, hours.

 

All she has of Sooyoung is whatever time has left to give her.

 

“Jinsol? What is it?” Sooyoung cups her cheeks; Jinsol nearly flinches at the way frost ghosts from Sooyoung’s palms, biting into her skin. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

 

Jinsol doesn’t feel the tears until she mentions it, Sooyoung’s thumbs wiping off whatever slips from her eyelids, every gentle a chilling reminder that this is it. It’s happening.

 

Sooyoung’s dying today.

 

How? When? Why? Where? By what?

 

It’s too early. She’s still young - she’s too young. She still has so much time to spare, so much of the world to explore, so much more memories to make with her.

 

This can’t be it.

 

This can’t be all there is to them.

 

“I—“ Jinsol thinks about what’ll happen if she says it; realizes that Sooyoung’s someone she can’t control, but the truth is something she can.

 

She can’t predict what the knowledge of dying will do to Sooyoung.

 

“Y-You don’t need to go in today, do you?” Jinsol tugs the end of Sooyoung’s jacket, swallows down the sob climbing up . “It’s just an extra shift; you can let it go, it’s not important—“

 

“But I already—“

 

“Sooyoung, it’s only work,“ Jinsol’s fingers curl into fists, white knuckles and jittery lips fumbling to hold her love closer. “It’s not worth it, it’s just— it’s just work…”

 

“But it’s still important to me,” Sooyoung clasps her hands, runs her thumbs across the slopes of Jinsol’s fingers, attempts to bring back colour. “Come on, you know how hard it’s been; I can’t let them down—“

 

“Just this once,” desperation is never a good look, but Jinsol’s not here to keep up appearances. “Please, I - I need you to stay. I want you to stay.”

 

“Jinsol…”

 

It probably doesn’t make sense to Sooyoung. She knows she’s coming off silly, maybe even unreasonable, but she hopes Sooyoung’s kindness looks past this.

 

Sooyoung kisses her tears away.

 

“Okay. I’ll call them; tell them I can’t make it.”

 

Jinsol didn’t think she’d cry harder, but she does, relief and happiness spilling down her cheeks, the familiar touch of warmth returning with every brush of Sooyoung’s lips on her skin.

 

She chases for that heat, thankful Sooyoung’s chosen to stay, whimpers at the taste of soft ember on .

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” Jinsol’s grateful for Sooyoung’s trust, always believing, never questioning. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

 

She tries to capture every one of Sooyoung’s laughter, memorize this moment where oblivion’s just a closed door away.

 

At the bowling alley, she tries to tell Sooyoung I love you every second she can, in little moments when Jungeun and Jiwoo aren’t listening, too busy with each other to notice her clingy hands, whispered affections, chaste kisses.

 

She tries not to think about what could’ve happened if she’d let Sooyoung go, wonders what death had in store for her. Was it a car accident? A fight? A fire?

 

As Chief of Police, it could’ve been anything.

 

That night, in the comfort of their bed, Jinsol holds Sooyoung long after her lover’s already fallen asleep, counting her soft breaths.

 

“I love you,” Jinsol mumbles into her neck, writes a promise against her pulse, featherlight and barely there, vows to make sure it never beats to zero.

 

—

 

Jinsol wakes up to Sooyoung’s routine flurry of kisses and I love you’s, ticklish and warm and something Jinsol could never get tired of.

 

“‘Morning,”

 

She’s managed to extend Sooyoung’s life, give her another day, at least. Jinsol is grateful.

 

She ignores the fact that Sooyoung is supposed to be dead; that waking up to her lips, her sleepy smile, her tender caresses across her stomach, this moment— none of this is supposed to happen.

 

She’s not supposed to have this, anymore.

 

Jinsol pulls her in, taking in everything that is Sooyoung. “Good morning,”

 

It’s Monday. But with how Sooyoung’s still warm even when they’re saying goodbye at the door, her hands lingering around Sooyoung’s neck, she’s reassured that death isn’t coming for her, today.

 

“Be careful,” Jinsol can’t help but make sure it stays that way, tucking loose strands of red behind Sooyoung’s ear. “Stay safe, and don’t do anything reckless, okay?”

 

Sooyoung arches a brow but grins all the same. “You too, Sol.”

 

They kiss once more at the bottom of the stairs, Sooyoung’s promise of “see you later,” ringing true in her ears before they separate, Sooyoung disappearing into her car, Jinsol sliding into Jiwoo’s.

 

“Ready for another day?” Jiwoo’s all shine and smiles, somehow never dull early in the mornings.

 

“At the hospital?” Jinsol scrunches her nose, thinks about the endless pages of patients for the day, and the inevitable cold that comes with them. “Never.”

 

Concern stamped on the back of her mind reminds her that there should be consequences for letting Sooyoung live longer than she’s meant to, strike some sort of balance, wonders if there’s any at all, if her gift is meant to be used for something like this.

 

Except it doesn’t really matter, she thinks. It’s Sooyoung.

 

She’ll cheat death again and again if that’s what it takes to keep Sooyoung home.

 

—

 

Is keeping someone alive a life worth living?

 

Jinsol thinks yes, it is. Because it’s Sooyoung.

 

“Hey,” Sooyoung takes her hand away from her spatula, twirls her out of happiness so contagious that Jinsol doesn’t question the impromptu slow dance. “You’re everything I love; did you know that?”

 

Yes, Jinsol thinks, feels Sooyoung pull her in, kiss the space just below her ear, her laughter tickling the edges of her jaw.

 

“I do, now.” Jinsol giggles, leans further back so she could feel Sooyoung’s chest rise and fall against her spine, turns so she could kiss her cheek, yes. “You’re everything I love, too.”

 

Maybe that’s why she refuses to let go.

 

Sooyoung holds her tighter as if she can’t bring herself to let go either— yes, and all Jinsol could think about is how her life has always been about being with Sooyoung.

 

She wants to live like this forever.

 

“Oh crap! The onions!” Sooyoung’s scrambling for the frying pan, grabs the spatula teetering off the edge of the countertop, Jinsol laughing at the entire mess of them. “Sol, babe, why’d you put the heat on so high?”

 

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting to dance in the middle of cooking, okay.” Jinsol chuckles, squeezing up behind Sooyoung, peering over her shoulder to watch her skillfully save whatever’s left of their dinner. “You were the one who twirled me into it.”

 

“You should’ve twirled away then,”

 

“Away from you?” Jinsol grins, turning to kiss the curves of skin on her neck. “Never.”

 

“Poor onions.”

 

She’ll spend a lifetime— or two, or three, feeling for death’s chill and keeping Sooyoung warm, be her fireplace.

 

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

 

—

 

She wonders if Sooyoung’s oblivion will always be something preventable, or if it’ll eventually become something completely unavoidable.

 

Seven days later is when frost hits again, Sooyoung’s kisses chilling to the bones.

 

Jinsol masks her flinch, squashes the prickle of panic and fear crawling in her stomach, driven to keep Sooyoung safe.

 

“Are you feeling okay? You don’t feel sick or anything?”

 

Sooyoung’s brows furrow, confusion lining her smile. “What? I feel fine, Sol. Maybe even a little too fine with all the fun we had last night.”

 

Jinsol ignores the automatic flush blooming beneath her cheeks, focuses on what matters more — delaying the inevitable.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“To work? Like always?”

 

“How’re you getting there?”

 

“Taking the subway, unfortunately.” Sooyoung sighs, brushes her hair back, tendrils of red draping a little past her shoulders; it’s getting longer. “The car broke down on the way home yesterday, remember? It’s still at the shop. But they did say it’d be ready later this afternoon, so there’s that. Why?”

 

It’s unreasonable to keep Sooyoung from going to work; she’d undoubtedly start questioning her, maybe even doubt her completely.

 

Better to narrow down what could cause her death, direct Sooyoung elsewhere, avoid it entirely.

 

It stings, the realization that she’s playing with Sooyoung’s life like it’s minesweeper, one misstep and she detonates, blowing up dreams of a future that’s already supposed to be long gone.

 

“Can you just take the cab today?”

 

Sooyoung frowns. “But fare’s expensive. I have a pass anyway, so—“

 

“Please,” Jinsol grips her arm, ignores the chill spreading into her skin, watches the way Sooyoung’s eyes colour in thought. “It’s still a long way, so at least have the trip be comfortable.”

 

It’s horrible. Controlling the choices Sooyoung makes like she isn’t her own person, moral lines drawing themselves across the mess of worry in her mind.

 

Would this be considered an exception?

 

The cold lining Jinsol’s arm warms up as fast as the small smile lighting across Sooyoung’s lips.

 

Sooyoung never seems to grow tired of listening to her.

 

“All right.”

 

Relief bleeds through Jinsol in waves, from the excited leap to capture Sooyoung in a grateful kiss, to the hidden tears building up beneath her eyelids for another day she gets to have with Sooyoung.

 

A thought nags her mind, picks at the back like a scab, a scenario Jinsol refuses to acknowledge, buries it six feet under all the possibilities they still have together: would Sooyoung even want to keep living?

 

—

 

In hindsight, she should’ve realized it.

 

The choices Sooyoung makes can change in the middle of the day, steer her back towards oblivion.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Sooyoung’s already slipping away from the line, “remember, I like my coffee black.”

 

Jinsol doesn’t think much of it at first, busy moving forward, finally reaching the cashier.

 

She waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

 

Sooyoung’s been warm all week, lulled into a routine of forgetting, foolishly fallen into the comfort of expecting it to stay that way, believed that the heat of their hands linked together a few minutes ago meant Sooyoung was safe for the entire day.

 

It’s not until she’s waiting for their order that Jinsol remembers her love is on borrowed time.

 

Sooyoung. Sooyoung. Sooyoung. Sooyoung.

 

Jinsol scrambles out the door, barely squeezes out apologies through the crowd of customers lined up for overpriced drinks, scouring for red hair in a sea of brown and black.

 

“Sooyoung!” She whips around, hates herself for never asking where she was planning to go, why she suddenly had the urge to leave, curses under her breath. “Where the hell are you?”

 

It’s not Sooyoung’s fault; it’s not like she’s deliberately chasing after death – though sometimes it feels like some invisible force keeps stringing her along towards it.

 

But would she be more careful, more thoughtful of her choices, if she knew she was already meant to die from the start?

 

Jinsol taps on speed dial, listens to it ring, hopes Sooyoung answers and stops whatever she’s doing — whatever might get her killed.

 

The line clicks.

 

“Sol?”

 

Jinsol almost collapses in relief. “Sooyoung, where are you?”

 

“Oh, just—” Something crackles in the background, sounds like plastic, or paper, Jinsol isn’t sure. “Around. I saw something pretty and thought of you.”

 

Jinsol doesn’t know how to feel about that, doesn’t like the thought that Sooyoung’s endangering her life because of her. Even worse, Sooyoung doesn’t know that.

 

“Just—” her gaze flounders for red hair, can’t find her in the waves of people rushing about. “Come back now, okay?” 

 

“I will, hold on.” More rustling through the line, “I won’t take long.”

 

Jinsol bites her lip, ignores how her heart picks up. “Sooyoung—“

 

“I’ll be quick, I promise.”

 

She shuts her eyes, hates that Sooyoung endlessly makes vows like she has all the time in the world to keep them.

 

“Can’t you just tell me where you are?” Jinsol continues wandering off, forgets the drinks undoubtedly growing cold. “I’ll meet up with you instead,”

 

“And ruin the surprise? No way,” Sooyoung’s frustratingly too sweet for her own good, hates that she’s a romantic at heart. “Besides, I’m heading back now. See you soon.”

 

“Wait, don’t han—“

 

Dial tone greets her back.

 

Jinsol ignores the panic bubbling in her chest, reasons that just because Sooyoung’s off on her own, it doesn’t mean she’s still meant to die.

 

She should’ve at least taken her hand before she left, extra reassurance that Sooyoung’s still a lit flame.

 

She spots Sooyoung across the street, bouquet between her fingers, flowers arranged in a spectrum of colours almost as bright as her teeth, seemingly unable to keep her grin from painting her lips, patiently waiting for the stoplight to turn green.

 

Jinsol’s not as patient.

 

The moment the cars stop, the crowd moving forward, Jinsol rushes through them before Sooyoung could even get to cross.

 

“Sol?” Sooyoung’s gaze had been buried in the ocean of colours, feet still stuck in the same place, just by the edge of the curb. “What are you—“

 

“Don’t scare me like that!” The words freefall off her lips before she could swallow them down, surged by the aching fear still rattling her rib cage. “Do you know how worried I was?!”

 

Confusion swirls in Sooyoung’s eyes, tinges of disbelief shading the edges of her irises.

 

“What? I just went to get flowers—“

 

“You can’t just do that!“ It’s difficult, the way she recognizes Sooyoung’s frustration starting to build, winding up in her rigid posture and stiffening jaw, yet Jinsol can’t stop. “You can’t just go off on your own like that, okay? It’s not safe.”

 

“I don’t need supervision, Jinsol.” Sooyoung’s expression sours, voice cutting, a knife’s edge. “I’m not a kid. And you’re certainly not my babysitter.”

 

“It’s for your own—“

 

“—Good?” Sooyoung finishes, scoffs, brushes her hair back. “What is up with you lately?”

 

Jinsol doesn’t know how to answer that without the truth, dodges it entirely much like the way her eyes stray everywhere else, avoids Sooyoung’s gaze in favour of biting back her tongue.

 

Sooyoung’s index lifts her chin, warmth spreading through her skin; there was nothing to worry about, after all.

 

“Jinsol,” She’s too patient, too giving. “I’m fine. And I’ll continue to be fine. You don’t need to stress about me, okay?”

 

Jinsol wishes it were true. But she knows better.

 

Sooyoung’s attempt at easing her is futile. She doesn’t have the heart to correct her.

 

“We have all the time in the world, so don’t waste it worrying about me.” Sooyoung leans in, a chaste kiss on the corner of Jinsol’s lips; playful, light, reassuring. “I could never leave you. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

 

Would Sooyoung still make these promises if she knew the truth?

 

Colours fill Jinsol’s vision, Sooyoung’s hands ushering her to hold the bouquet, almost chokes up at how Sooyoung shifts, kisses her forehead, searing her ablaze – a gentle fire Jinsol knows is only temporary.

 

They go back to retrieve their drinks, cold and no doubt not worth the effort to keep, but Sooyoung doesn’t complain, tangling their fingers together towards the park, Jungeun and Jiwoo running around the playground — scaring off any kids that try to come closer.

 

Jinsol settles for the bench, prefers to let the crippling panic that seized her just moments ago spill from every soft exhale, clutching the flowers close as the trio finds joy in reminiscing the past on an old small slide.

 

When they get home, Jinsol makes sure to keep the flowers secured in a vase.

 

—

 

Consequences come for her in the shape of purple-blue spots on her skin, bruises spanning across her left rib cage, gradually morphing into a giant blot, mirrors rows of indents shaped like rungs on a bumper, as if she’d taken on a hit-and-run in her sleep.

 

She doesn’t know when it got there, if it had started as something small, only to grow the longer she kept Sooyoung to herself.

 

The scarier, more likely, possibility that Jinsol refuses to acknowledge worms its way through her head, slithers behind her eyes, conjuring up an image she’d rather forget, but the thought is already there: did she somehow save Sooyoung from getting hit by a car?

 

Jinsol hides it beneath their blanket just as Sooyoung turns over, starts her morning ritual of good morning kisses and sleepy mumbles of “I love you,” whispering them back with equal fervour so that maybe Sooyoung won’t notice the delicate swelling on her skin.

 

It works, for a little while.

 

Until Sooyoung’s fingers start tracing her ribs, unable to swallow down a hiss, flinching under her touch.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Jinsol moves to divert the attention, redirect Sooyoung’s focus to her lips, not the sliver of pain tumbling on her tongue.

 

She plays with the little hairs on the back of Sooyoung’s neck.

 

“It’s nothing,”

 

Sooyoung frowns, always attentive, gaze shifting to her fingers, finally notices the blueberry spots littered on her skin.

 

Jinsol hates the worry painting Sooyoung’s expression.

 

“What happened? Did I do this to you?”

 

It makes her laugh, the irony of it all, how it’s frighteningly true and yet, not.

 

Jinsol pulls her down, focuses on easing the worry off Sooyoung’s mouth; capture her bottom lip, melt into a kiss of reassurance, hopes Sooyoung can feel that she isn’t to blame — even if the universe continues to remind Jinsol that she is.

 

“Honestly, I don’t think you could kiss me hard enough to do this,” Jinsol teases, aims to rile up Sooyoung in a way that distracts her completely, throw Sooyoung’s questioning glances out the window. “You’re just too soft.”

 

Sooyoung huffs, mocks offence, plays along but never does anything else than kiss her like she always does: heavy enough to feel, light enough to have her crave for more.

 

When they uncurl from each other to get ready for work, Jinsol pretends she doesn’t notice Sooyoung’s lingering gaze.

 

It’s not until they’re getting dressed that Jinsol asks the question that’s been boiling in her head.

 

“By the way, I can’t tell if I remember it right, but did you go somewhere in the middle of the night?”

 

Jinsol rummages for an outfit, black tresses damp over her shoulders, towel secured around her torso, purely bluffing knowing she wouldn’t have anything to lose; she could just chalk it up to: I thought I heard something; probably just a dream.

 

“Oh, sorry, did I wake you?” Sooyoung’s surprise bleeds through her voice, glancing back to watch her fumble with the cuffs of her sleeves, struggling with the buttons. “Hyejoo called asking if I could help her out with the paperwork, but then I saw you turn over in bed and, as weird as it sounds, looking at you made me realize I didn’t want to leave. So, I called Chaewon to help out instead.”

 

The revelation has Jinsol reeling, both with relief that Sooyoung’s been spared, and the bitter truth that all it’ll take is one moment where Sooyoung decides to just go.

 

Jinsol tugs her closer by the hand, chuckles at how a button slips loose, adoring the way Sooyoung always complies despite the curiosity etched in her eyes, the struggle she had with the cuff, forgotten.

 

She kisses her, gentler than the passionate nights they’d occasionally have, deeper than the chaste greetings and sweet goodnights they always promise each other before bed, grateful that somehow, by divine intervention— maybe, this was a sign that Sooyoung is meant to live.

 

“It’s not weird,” Jinsol whispers, eyes fluttering open, hears Sooyoung’s sharp inhale like she never has enough air around her, lips a breath away. “I love you.”

 

Sooyoung hums, leaning back in, kisses her with “I love you too,” as Jinsol fiddles with the sleeve, slotting the button into place.

 

—

 

Jinsol didn’t think Death could have a face.

 

But it does and it’s hers.

 

“Jinsol?” Sooyoung waves a hand, briefly catches her attention from the ghost lingering just behind her. “You look pale. Are you feeling okay?”

 

Jinsol blinks, brain sputtering to form sentences but it’s hard to grasp words when her own face follows like a shadow near Sooyoung, quiet, almost unobtrusive, like it wants to leave — but can’t.

 

“I-I’m fine,” she pinches her arm, jumpstarts the syllables, drifts her gaze back to Sooyoung. “Just feeling a little under the weather, I guess.”

 

Sooyoung takes her hand, guiding towards the couch, flicking on the television. Death trails after her.

 

“How about you just take it easy for a bit,” Jinsol can’t help but follow her, eyes tracing the phantom staying too close to Sooyoung. “I’ll cook up something for you.”

 

Jinsol doesn’t respond, throat lodged in silence as Sooyoung walks off to the kitchen, Death looming over her shoulder like it was a kite stuck with its string wrapped around Sooyoung’s neck.

 

She recognizes the outfit Death wears, almost scoffs at the realization of it: a slim knee-high black dress she wore for a dance where Sooyoung had asked for her hand — and Jinsol had kissed her, instead.

 

Was it to mock her?

 

She doesn’t know why she’s sure it’s Death, but she just does; a nagging feeling in her gut, taking in every inch, blonde tresses she used to have — all those years ago, slipping past its shoulders as it circles Sooyoung, watches Death lean in as if to take a closer look.

 

Sooyoung has no clue.

 

Jinsol jumps, nearly shouts, afraid that one touch is all it takes to lose Sooyoung, before Death retracts its hand, turning to her.

 

“Jinsol? What is it?”

 

Sooyoung’s juggling between holding the ingredients in her hands and keeping her attention on her, Death peering over Sooyoung’s arm.

 

Before Jinsol could muster a word, tell Sooyoung to move — get away from it, Death taps Sooyoung’s head, sees something flicker in Sooyoung’s eyes like a movie reel, before she shifts.

 

“Maybe I should just make soup instead, give you something warm,” Sooyoung returns the ingredients, taking her car keys dangling by the door. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

 

No.

 

Jinsol staggers towards her, shoots forward, grips Sooyoung’s arm before it could get to her jacket. Winter spikes through her hand, feels absolute zero settle into her skin.

 

So that’s what Death is doing.

 

Sooyoung’s been warm the whole day.

 

“Sooyoung, I’m fine.” Jinsol tries to keep the panic down, ignores Death’s stare piercing the side of her face. “I don’t feel like eating soup. Can I just have your signature dish instead?”

 

“Are you sure?” It’s like she’s playing tug-of-war with Oblivion, Sooyoung helplessly stuck in the middle. “Wouldn’t it be too heavy for you to stomach? You said you’re not feeling well.”

 

“Nothing else will make me feel better,”

 

Sooyoung frowns, consideration scrawled in the wrinkles between her brows.

 

“Okay,” Sooyoung hangs the keys back, lifts Jinsol’s hand from her arm to press her lips against knuckles, ease the cold fear rattling Jinsol’s skin, heat returning to her bones. “Whatever you want.”

 

Jinsol keeps her eyes on Death as Sooyoung wanders towards the kitchen, listens to the sounds of pots and pans and Sooyoung’s gentle humming, Oblivion never far enough, always just a touch away.

 

—

 

Somehow, Jinsol manages to get Death alone with her.

 

Or maybe Death’s gotten bored of watching Sooyoung click away at her laptop, responding to emails that always seem endless. Even Jinsol knows that nothing could get her lover away from the screen once her fingers have been fired up, clacking away like a well-oiled machine.

 

The first thing she blurts out isn’t a greeting, skipping past pleasantries straight towards the end; a concept she’s sure Oblivion could appreciate.

 

“Don’t tempt her to make the wrong decisions!”

 

Jinsol’s gritting teeth, harsh whisper-yells as soon as she shuts the door to their bedroom, the clicking keys on Sooyoung’s laptop muffled behind it; Death phases through as if it wasn’t even there.

 

“I’m not,” Oblivion’s voice is hers, more calm, eerily too soft, syllables wispy and floaty like it’s meant to lull people to sleep. “I can’t tempt her to make the choices she’s already considering on taking.”

 

“Then what the hell did you do out there?”

 

“I shifted her focus,” Death seemingly glides towards the bed, smooth and effortless, bare feet on the carpet floor, but no prints to showcase its presence. “Simply got her to pay attention to an idea that’s been growing in her head.”

 

Jinsol fumes. “That’s the same damn thing,”

 

Death shrugs, its fingers flitting across the surface of their nightstand, lifts a photo of them captured in a frame of a time when she had finally gotten her medical degree, Sooyoung having ran to her after the graduation ceremony to lift her up into a kiss.

 

Jiwoo had been all too prepared to snap an image of it.

 

“You two are oddly sweet to each other,”

 

Jinsol doesn’t like the way Death stares at it, as if trying to decipher the happiness forever frozen in a picture, look for imperfections in a relationship that’s been built on years of quiet longing, lonely heartbreaks, biting anger — and learning how to be better through them, together.

 

She snatches it from its hands, places it back on the surface where it belongs.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Death doesn’t appear bothered, expression just as neutral as it’s always been.

 

“Why am I able to see you?”

 

“Because I’m letting you,”

 

Jinsol bristles. “Why are you wearing my face?”

 

“Because people tend to be afraid of seeing themselves. They finally learn to listen.” Death tilts its head, “But you don’t listen. Would you rather I have your lover’s face instead?”

 

“It doesn’t matter who it is,” Jinsol’s firm, crosses her arms, watches Death sit on their bed; the mattress doesn’t dip. “Sooyoung’s not going anywhere.”

 

Death hums, splays its fingers against the sheets; Jinsol wonders if it’s on purpose, how Death happens to be mapping out the side where Sooyoung sleeps.

 

“Every new day she has is another day gone for you.” Death glances back up, “Do you understand?”

 

Jinsol expected something like that; she knew there’d be some sort of balance in place, knew eventually that one side wouldn’t be tipping over in her favour forever.

 

The confirmation still knocks a bit of wind out of her.

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Maybe not to you,” Death turns its head towards the door, “but it certainly does to someone else.”

 

“And how would you know that?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” There it goes again.

 

Jinsol hates questions being thrown back at her, hates that it’s true.

 

Death’s gaze returns to scrutinize her.

 

“Why don’t you tell her the truth?” It pauses, as if there’s thought to process, absently drawing invisible circles on the bed. “What have you got to lose?”

 

Jinsol knows exactly what Death’s asking, anger boiling on her tongue, blistering her lips.

 

“Her!” She hisses, reels back her voice; she can’t have Sooyoung hear. “I’d lose her,”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“She would never let me get hurt,” the answer is obvious, painfully too much. “She’d rather die than let me—”

 

She halts, lets the syllables fade into nothing. Death’s stare is all-too knowing.

 

Jinsol seethes, the pieces clicking into place, the realization pouring over her like gasoline into , fire scorching .

 

“…Of course. You’d want that, wouldn’t you?”

 

Death stays silent, expression frustratingly neutral, lips thinned to a straight line as if irreversible, its back as rigid as its hand that has finally stopped scrawling circles on their sheets.

 

“You should use this extra time to learn how to say goodbye,” Death rises to a stand, blonde tresses falling over its bare shoulders, the ends of its dress dropping to hang above its knees. “Because no one else has ever had the luxury to.”

 

Jinsol watches Death head for the door, its legs beginning to fade.

 

She can’t let it go – not yet.

 

“Why are you wearing that outfit? Why out of everything else?”

 

“It’s when you realized you wanted to be with her,” Death starts to disappear like a fog of smoke, the space where it occupies growing translucent. “Now it’s time to realize you have to live without her.”

 

Death fades through the door like mist, follows it to find only Sooyoung still on her laptop, sipping a cup of coffee.

 

“Sol?” Sooyoung’s eyes meet hers over the rim, “You okay?”

 

Jinsol exhales. She definitely prefers not to see Death – though she isn’t naive to think it’s completely gone, padding towards Sooyoung, leaning down to press a kiss on her forehead.

 

“Yeah,” she brushes stray red from Sooyoung’s eyes, mesmerized by the soft orange glow of the sun against her irises. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

 

It doesn’t matter if she’s dying; nothing else matters except Sooyoung.

 

Death will just have to get used to seeing Sooyoung live long past her expiration date.