The Apartment

She opens the door to find her room-mate sitting on the floor, her back leaning on the couch, hands pit-patting nervously on the coffee table in front, legs curled up. She looks up at her, a trembling smile appearing, shaking, at the verge of tearing down – it tuts, unsure, unsteady, like butterfly wings. This is how Yongsun knows that something is wrong - when her best friend stays quiet instead of rushing to greet her home.

The lights are dim and the atmosphere feels heavy, gloomy, wired clouds hanging from the ceiling, ready to storm and Yongsun feels it reeling inside of her, the pressure sinking, the worry building up – the urge to get to Byul, console her, running down her fingers on her hair, rubbing her skin with assurance, shielding her from all that it’s bad in the earth.

Byul wasn’t expecting it to happen, not this soon. She was aware that it would, eventually, come to an end, but not this abruptly, not this way – not her having to deliver the news to Yongsun. Hours ago, she has encountered a letter under the crack of the door and, at reading it, she felt a pang of agony, salt coming to the corner of her eyes, waves of overwhelming sensations at the thought of having to depart from this apartment that has been home for her – having to locate new memories on new furniture, different spaces that this worn room.

For over ten years they have been renting this small, tiny flat near the college they both attended. Between these thin walls that have witnessed so many tears and laughs, they have built a long-lasting, unexpected friendship that has endured fights and misunderstanding, that has faced troubles, experienced moments of silence and cold treatment. Ten years of long conversations, yells and subtleties, of confidences and secrets, of sharing a life with someone else- for better and worse, Byul has always known that, once home, she would have Yongsun to lean on, to rely on. It has been wonderful, despite all the up and downs, all the moments she doesn’t want to recollect because she is ashamed of them – but she wouldn’t change a thing: not the odd beginning when she showed up in front of Yongsun’s door with a suitcase full of dreams, bright expectations, a tilting smile treating to disappear out of anxiety (the spring of her life, she was ready to bloom in between shacking agitation and a racing, pounding heart). Yongsun accepted her, protected her, helped her to grow and mature: she has nurtured Byul to turn into her beautiful self, she has always been behind all of her successes. She doesn’t know how to navigate through the world without Yongsun, how to speak or act in front of others she isn’t comfortable with – she has shown her how to be confident and strong, determinate, self-reliant. And now everything comes, suddenly, to a halt, a full stop: the end of her twenties, an age of self-discovering, of overcoming, of falling in love, of having feelings horning, pressed between her rib-bones, lacing her to this place that she has to abandon. Her life has changed, evolved, has been upside-down, broken in pieces and mended again, she has written it all on the ceiling of her room, on the stars – everything she is coats the very same walls, this house has been brought to life because of her and Yongsun, all of their memories contained deep inside the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Yongsun asks, walking to her side, rushed steps and a forlorn gleam, glancing over Byul carefully, stewed about whatever that is hurting her, making her look this miserable. She eyes the letter laying open on the counter and, in an impulse, she takes it, reads through it. The welcoming beam quickly subdues to a worrying pout, wrinkles on her forehead, lips pursued. “So time is now,” she mumbles to herself, the papers swaying on her hands, moving in slow-motion in mid-air. “I was aware it was coming this year, but not so fast,” she adds, dropping on her knees, her cheek landing on Byul’s shoulder with a loud sigh. “It that so what is troubling you, right?,” she asks, hand plopping on her thigh, rubbing gently on Byul’s jeans. Byul nods, sadness bathing her pretty, starry eyes, letting Yongsun come closer, to pet her arm, warmth spreading from her fingers to her heart.

She can see why Byul is affected by the news, but she should have been aware of it – they have been postponing the inevitable, it is just normal that their landlord is fed up with them, even though they have always religiously paid and never caused mayhem. They are done with frat-parties and all nights studying sessions, they have overgrowth this place, this apartment meant for students. It has been ten pleasant years and the lease is over finally, for real: it’s time to move on, search for another place to call home. It's not a big deal – she can take over the job to look for a new apartment if it is a burden to Byul: if leaving affects her so much.

Of course, she will always hold this rooms dear: it has been so convenient and it has brought Byul to her for which she is absolutely thankful – Byul has been the light upon her existence, the excitement in her ordinary life, breaking with jokes and laughter boredom, the shield against the cold, vast universe: she is her constant star, always pointing home (Byul has always meant home to Yongsun, the place she wants to be, the one who makes everything better just by being). It took them a few weeks to connect, to click, to befriend but, after the awkwardness, after adjusting to sharing and each others’ names and company, everything became appealing, new and fresh and interesting, delighting Yongsun with brightness and care. Since then, they have been inseparable, to the point of even going on holidays together, never growing tired of each other company. And even if they occasionally disagree – and fights and bickers and throw tantrums and fists, - they quickly kiss and make-up, their friendship way too important to break-up over a petty quarrel (Byul is far too essential, she is terrified she wouldn’t be able to bear a day without Byul with her, without her squabbles about stupid things or her encouragement, her praises, her torrent of niceties that put blush on her squishable cheeks that Byul loves to tease, without her nose crunching up in enjoyment, exploding in a fistful of laughter, without Byul holding onto her when embarrassed, hiding behind her back, using her as a shelter when ashamed or delight, giggling to her heart content). She has been so happy in between these walls, graced with a soul-mate who is so willing to continuously stick by her side – she is grateful to her good fortune, the fate that has put Byul on her path, the destiny that lays ahead for them (a road they will walk together, as they have always done). They just fit together, a match made in heaven – and as cliché, as it is, Yongsun believes in that, - despite disagreements and fights, they are so similar, sharing the same opinion over all the important matters, the same silly sense of humour, similar taste in music and movies and food - Yongsun finds that, with Byul, her soul is at ease, she doesn't need to pretend, force a smile to assure her: she can show her personality as it is (easy-going, loud, a whole crack-head, and Byul will accept all of her antics, align with the tunes she sings, with the thumbs of her heart-beat). They are just alike – they have got used to each other, have learned to match their behaviours, to understand the other with just a sight,- and sharing with Byul has been as easy as to breathe, just as natural as her own heart-beat.

“Well,” Byul breaks the stillness that has fallen among them, “we will better find another place,” and her voice sounds coarse when she bids her good-night, leaving her behind to wonder, to worry over the fact that they have to move.

Yongsun tilts her head in surprise – it is not like Byul to just go, leaving an unsolved problem that they should work on together, but it has been a hard day, she knows, complicated and exhausting, so she lets it slide, yawning, her head falling on the sofa – the light from the TV sheen on her eyes, dusting them with hues of blues and autumn.

Curled on her bed with the lights off, only the night creeps from the window, a line of moonbeams painting the covers with silver, colouring in metallic shades the shadows of old phantoms swirling around her –  memories hunting, the pieces of her own heart.

Byul has been awake for hours, tumbling and fumbling over, mulling the situation, weighing it. She has been considering her options. She can foresee a life without Yongsun, who is always shining, always beaming, always a blessing for her. It will be hard and exasperating, like living without air – it feels impossible and, yet, it is the only chance she has to get rid of her feeling, her iridescence love for her that has only grown highest with the years. Yongsun is so lovely and bright, a smile ready to beacon on her, she is always shining, gleaming and Byul is so blinded by her: she is all and everything she can see, she is the shape of her world, the foundation of all she does, the meaning that beats, caged, inside her heart. And Byul is tired of loving Yongsun without expectations, without measure – deep as the mountains, biggest than the sea, - loving her is all that she does, Yongsun is the sole reason of Byul’s life even if she doesn’t mind, ignoring her feelings despite all the times she has pressed them to her, all the moments she has told her – Yongsun brushes it aside, calls her greasy, cheeky, a jokester. It hurts to persist, to insist on something she is not allowed to, it is pointless chasing her when she only stems her advances when she doesn’t even care, - when she touches her and it lingers on her mind for days, or when her words twirls and swirls and she puts colour to her chest just to whitewash them next. She can’t do it any longer, she needs to stop following her because it only brings despair, hopelessness, a broken heart. Love shouldn't hurt this much, but it does, and Byul wants it to stop, needs to stay away from her - find a life without the binding force that Yongsun exerts over her. 

She doesn’t want to offend Yongsun but, by morning, she is determined, has made up her mind – she is going to find a flat for herself, apart from Yongsun and her eternal sunshine burning her chest, rumbling on her head. If she is absent from her life, Byul will be able to survive, to forget the nag of her heart, to flourish under someone else's caresses, someone else's kisses that are now forbidden to her. Maybe then she will find happiness, peace, a place to belong to herself alone. And she will prove her own worth, how much she has grown, though it will also bring her to despair, tears falling down missing what she can not longer have - and that it's contained between the four walls of this room and that resume to Kim Yongsun. 

Yongsun is convinced that nothing has to change, that there is no reason for them to part ways. Way when they comprehend each other so well? Byul is her best friend and nothing will be home if she isn’t there. And it is so convenient to be together – not just to share the expenses but she has grown so accustomed to Byul’s presence it feels weird to think otherwise, aberrant. It’s impossible to imagine a day going by without Byul at the end of it, sitting on their old, ragged sofa, running to greet her, a smile evergreen on her face, her voice lulling her with her whereabouts, her inquiries and demands. For life is a bore without Byul – dull and plain: Byul is the splash of red on her monochrome world, the energy she requires to keep going on. She doesn’t want to be separated and she is sure that there is no need for it – they are so well suited together, it is foolish to think otherwise, stupid to even consider looking for a new room-mate, not when Byul exists, not when she is the only person she would chose to live with. Byul is what she wants to see first thing in the morning, hair a mess, eyes half-closed, puffy with sleep, potty lips she wants to taste, savouring her dreams, swallowing her complaints about ungodly hours to be awake. Byul is her happiness, all the butterflies orbiting inside her chest – like tides rise to the moon, so does she to Byul, her heart beating at the same pace as the sound of her name that is constantly trapped between . She doesn’t need to know that she has fallen for all of her charms, that she has her smitten just recalling the texture of her voice, that she counts the stars on her eyes when she looks around, tracing her contour flurry on the sky – she is never tired with Byul, who spreads her good-natured humour, who injects her vitality, energy, even when she acts random and weird and makes her heart flutter in delight, muting the words she expects to hear (the words that will finish this sweet suffering that is loving her beyond explanation, without expectations, free and wild, a love that has bloomed naturally with the passing of the days, with every new side of Byul that she has discovered). In the end, she is the decalcomania that Byul has drawn, the other side of her, the shadow that the moon casts over the stars. 

“I’ve been looking for places,” Yongsun says one afternoon, with them both piled on the couch, the TV half-forgotten in favour of silly conversation and just being together, chatting. Byul stops mid-sentence and blinks at her, confused, shocked, “do you want me to show you?” she offers, gleaming, fishing her phone from her pocket. Yongsun has been searching on the internet and has a list of interesting offers that might work out for them - they don't have much time to waste, the contract is expiring in a few weeks and Yongsun doesn't want to hurry, wants to choose what suits them best (wants Byul to be involved in it as well). 

She hasn’t seen it coming and she is not ready to rip her heart – she is not prepared, but she would probably never be, so she swallows all the anguish and puts a smile on her lips. She doesn’t want to burden Yongsun but she has to tell her, has to be blunt and explain her considerations, the fact that she can not live with her any longer – that it isn’t her fault but that she is the one to blame.

“Unnie… I’ve been thinking that we might be better living in different places,” she stutters, a stream of mumbled words she doesn’t feel but needs to be real – she can’t afford more sleepless nights counting all the times she has said her name, it is becoming unhinge, unhealthy for her mind. Yongsun’s mouth hangs open, surprised. This is not the idea she has for them – it is quite the opposite of her dreams.

“Why?” it takes a whole minute for her to come to her senses, to process Byul's sentence, to reply to her, who is watching her, expectant, waiting for her answer.

Biting her lips tentatively, she explains herself.

“I have crazy shifts lately,” she begins but Yongsun is shaking her head, stopping her from continuing.

“So, what?” she cuts her – so far it hasn’t been a handicap, just more lonely hours to pass alone on her side. It really means nothing - it sounds like a petty justification. 

“I don’t – want to disturb you with my comings and going,” she quickly mutters, the worse excuse she can utter – because the truth will only hurt her more than lying to Yongsun does (because the truth will only accelerate their farewell).

“Are you – sure?” she wonders, staring at her, a serious expression that doesn’t match her well – Yongsun is hardly solemn with Byul.

“Yes,” she breathes the answer, letting the air go, letting Yongsun go with the sun, to the place that she belongs. She doesn’t argue, doesn’t fight, she glances at her, quietly. There aren’t more words exchanged and, soon, Byul moves to her room.

Yongsun can’t believe it – can’t believe Byul.

She doesn’t understand and she doesn’t want to let her go – she doesn’t want to lose her heart, doesn’t want to be far away from the person she most adores. But, if that is what she wishes - if she is really tired of her presence if living with her is so complicated, is annoying her… she will respect it – has no other option, it won’t halt her feelings for her that have been rotting inside of her since the first time she saw her falling sleep on her lap, covered in papers, her hands, inked, warm on her side, the fragrance of lilacs and jasmine coming from her soft, long hair. She remembers brushing it then, combing her flocks delicately, softly not to wake her up, fingertips caressing her forehead, feeling the creases of worries and hours of study. She smoothed them, poured all her love into the gesture – and she chuckled, her nose wriggled up.

Yongsun sighs rubbing her tired eyes and tries to think of reasons to explain but everything falls behind. She could bring whoever home, it has never been an issue - but she never came over with a lover, they have always been the two of them, nothing interfering between them. She considers that, perhaps, she wants to live with one of her sisters - just as she might, if Byul persists on this foolish of living apart, - but she quickly recalls that her two siblings are abroad and she can't come up with more explanations so she reckons the shape of her cute nose, twitched up, making room for her smile and lets the night cradle her, soporific her mind into a peaceful blackness. 

It is just a terrible coincidence that Byul is dragged by her job to stay out of Yongsun’s way – leaving early in the morning, coming back late when she is already asleep. It is most inconvenient and Yongsun misses her – misses the bickering, the nagging, the punching on her shoulder, the annoying way she has to keep her interested, enamoured. Byul’s absence cuts her raw, leaves scars on her flesh that taste like her – like bitter good-byes.

It is not intentional but it works in Byul’s favour to avoid Yongsun; she can’t face her, can’t see the blunt pain inside her eyes, the gloom, the burden she has put on her chest – because it’s clear that Yongsun doesn’t want what she demands (what she needs to heal and that it is more than just time). She has been pretty optimistic to find a way around Yongsun – a way to keep her heart sane while running away, escaping a situation that is only scratching her sentiments: she can’t stay here, she can’t breathe, observing her not noticing, not realising her feelings when she carries her heart on her sleeve, just for Yongsun to see– it is much to bear. She checks another flat and submits the payment for a whole year, quickly getting the issue solved – and she texts Yongsun about it, shows her pictures, receiving dull answers and fake happiness in answer.

Living with Byul is like living with a ghost, a memory played under her lashes, fluttering, ethereal, tangible but blurry: an old photography, so torn and weary, the colours fading. She hasn’t been around much, too busy with work and looking for a new house.

She, too, has been searching and can’t wait to tell her, despite the lack of her presence, Yongsun hasn’t forgotten her – she is embroidered deep inside her heart in colourful threats. She has found a good place and she is considering showing it to Byul, to ask for her opinion as she has it in every other aspect of her life – she always values Byul and Byul asks her back, always assured having each others’ sides, - but she isn’t home when Yongsun comes after a long tour, when she arrives craving for nothing but a quiet night jabbering over a movie, making fun of the lines. She misses Byul – has been missing her even the few, scattered moments when she was actually there, will miss this flat enormously, with her whole chest, all that it represents, all that it contents, the accumulation of instants, flashing by her eyes, all the laughter and the tears, all the silly conversations, all the hesitation, the fluctuation and changes of their lives: they won’t follow to her new house and that’s why it will never be truly a home for Yongsun (Byul is what makes the heart of her home, the warmness waiting to greet her, welcoming her in with hugs and screams and laughs, as noisy as only Byul can be). She misses her greatly: the clinginess, her grease ways, how she is so demanding and so annoying, such a little brat – she misses it because it means Byul: because this is what she is and Yongsun has been loving her for too long to just forget it now.

She turns the TV on and let it accompany her, white noises to her rivulet of thoughts, to her blank stare on the infinite of the screen. By tomorrow she will have to empty her part of the flat and she hasn’t had a chance to talk to Byul yet – she has brought boxes to share, leaving a note for her to read. Tomorrow she will get the keys from her new apartment and Byul won’t be with her, won’t take the keys out of her hand and run ahead, smirking, opening the door first – she won’t open this new door with her, she won’t enter this new chapter, she will slowly fade away, just a fond memory repeated over the years.

Byul is leaving, too, on the same day. She has texted her about that, wondering about Yongsun’s situation, if she needed more time or if she was already settled down. She has apologised, too, for not spending their last days together, making them memorable – work, she is always working too hard, and Yongsun can’t be mad because she knows how much it means to Byul, how much she has thrived to get what she has now. She is only disappointed, speculating if she would see her one last time, if she would appear, envelop her in her arms, swirl her around the flat, both breathless, laughing, with tears running down their eyes, wetting their pressed cheeks, smudging make-up.

She is on her way to a party but a sudden rush baths her with chills and heart-ache. The last night, the last time Yongsun will be there, will be hers: her last chance to see her before she will dissolve like bubbles on a summer day, floating into the sky. She hasn’t run this fast in ages – she has only been running away from her.

Yongsun is watching a rerun of some drama she has lost interest in – they used to watch them in their free time, commenting their days over the stream of words from the show. She doesn’t hesitate, she jumps onto her, squeaking in delight to be back to the only place she wants to stay – even if it’s only for a moment, it will worth the world to be back home (back to Yongsun).

“Byul-ah?” Yongsun yells in surprise, arms stretched to reach her, to hold her tight. She smiles so big, her lips reaching the corners of , feeling the texture of Byul’s back on the palm of her hands.

“I wouldn’t miss the last night in the flat, with you, for nothing,” she chuckles, pressing herself against Yongsun’s chest, snuggling next to her, rubbing her cheeks against the soft fabric of Yongsun's shirt. She is grinning, her nose all cutely squirmed up, her trend-mark mischief expression all over her face and Yongsun’s heart skips several beats, delighted with the shine that comes from Byul, the brightest of all the stars, her own constellation of happiness that lingers on Byul’s eyes and that she counts at nights, recalling her voice calling her name.

She has been so lucky all these years, to have such an amazing person at her side, always supportive, always cheering her up, making her realise when she did wrong or when she did right. She has been able to come this far because Yongsun has been with her, holding her hand. And maybe she is a coward for deserting, for wanting time alone to heal, to make the pressure bearable, to pick up all the thorns that she has prickled on her heart over the months – but, deep down she knows that nothing will cure her of loving Yongsun, she is the tattoo gleaming over her ankle, the name that she carries beneath her bones (she is trapped, there is no way out out of this feeling that has bloomed right in her core). Byul curls over Yongsun, purrs in enjoyment at the proximity, at the sound of her beating heart. With her head on her lap, her eyes staring into Yongsun’s she thinks that the moment is now. At the end of the day, they will walk separate ways, they don’t need to see each other again so, why not? She has carried her secret for so long, it would feel nice to release it, to let her know – let her understand, break her heart. It’s about time to slide the words, to end this endless suffering, to put a balm on her open chest – to be able to explain herself, even if it hurts, the truth is always better.

“Unnie, I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” she starts, getting up, becoming serious. Yongsun blinks, looks at her lips, how she is biting them in distress. “The reason why I wanted to live alone is – that I’m in love with you. And you haven’t noticed, so – it’s hard, and it hurt,” she explains. Yongsun looks puzzled, taken aback – and Byul thinks how much she will detest her for.

“You are in love with me?” but her voice is plain, no sign of angriness and, even when she can control her expressions pretty well, she doesn’t have a reason to be kind to her, to reject her nicely – that is going to be more pain. “I’m in love with you, too,” she adds, out of the blue, the words sweetly taking away the surprise, replacing it with a beaming smile, her hands holding Byul’s, crawling up to her elbows, to her shoulders, pushing her into her embrace, her cheeks colliding on her collarbone, her lips gracing the softness of her short hair that scatters everywhere, tickling, making her laugh. She is beaming, irradiating light, a joy thumbing from every part of her skin, brightening her eyes with fireflies.

“Ok, this is stupid,” Byul murmurs, her voice warm against Yongsun’s skin. “Why didn’t you tell me?” and drops find their way to water the hollow of her clavicle. “Why?” she demands, softly punching her hip-bones, lifeless, weak, hardly in one piece. She fights her, demanding, sobbing, tears falling down, voice shaky, unsteady.

“Byul?” she says softly, fingers dancing on her back, reassuring, a firm pad.

“I made it so obvious, I’ve been so clingy, so greasy… It’s impossible that you never noticed,” she cusses, crumbling down, breaking down on Yongsun, but she catches her – will always do, - pressing gently, calmly, soothing the anger, her temper.

“Oh, Byul!” she exclaims, taking her into her hands, holding the bits of her, pressing them together. She clutches her, not letting her go away, escape. “I didn’t know. I assumed it was your natural behaviour, I thought you were only friendly to me and so I stopped dreaming and wishing for you to see me. I was happy to be the one receiving so much of your attention, I was contented with what I already had… I didn’t need more if that was enough for you,” she says, softly, a lullaby on her ears.

“Unnie, stupid unnie,” she mumbles, fists poking her, “why I wasted so many days when you feel the same?” she shakes her head, flocks hitting Yongsun, landing on her cheeks.

“Because we are silly,” she agrees, laughing gently.

Byul’s lips are so soft, melting already, cold with tears, salty and sweet. The sensation sends shivers all over her flesh, all the butterflies swirling in delight, songs exploding on her mind, all the colours that Byul are exploding under her closed eyes, painting in golden the night.

“I already paid a year for the house,” Byul pouts, holding Yongsun hand, throwing her belongings into packing boxes. She is smiling, looking at Yongsun, stars sailing inside her orbs. She makes her swirl, catches her, kisses her cheeks, her loving eyes, kisses all of her freckles, again and again, makes her chuckle, keeps her into her embrace – and Yongsun leans on her, head resting on her neck.

“Me, too,” she laughs, finding the situation most ridiculous. “I can’t change it now, though I would like to,” she adds, pouting. Byul kisses the pout until it morphs into a buttering smile, greater than the whole sun.

“For a year I’ll treat your place like mine, worry not,” she jokes, pulling her into another round of soft kissing under the beaming morning, the sun her hair brown and golden.

“I’m already expecting it, it’s closer to the station you take to go to work,” she chuckles, “not intended, though,” she adds, watching Byul’s excited expression. "Yonghee unnie will be happy to have you around as well," she continues, beaming. Her sister, who has known her secret, will be so happy for Yongsun and Byul. 

“And then we will move to our next new place,” she promises, giggling with her, "together. Yonghee unnie can join since she cooks," she jokes, making Yongsun chuckle, grinning, the light of the sun shining through her stunning face.

"No, just the two of us," Yongsun states, holding onto Byul's soft hands.

"Just the two of us, as it has always been," she repeats, teasingly, leaning in to kiss her again.

"This apartment has seen it all," Yongsun comments, later on, a pile of boxes by the door, ready to depart soon to their new homes. "From the beginning until now," she giggles, "since we first met until our last good-bye," she adds a smirk that quickly shifts into a myriad of tears running down. "I'll miss it. I'll miss everything it represents to me," she sobs softly, gently pressed against Byul's chest, her fingers caressing her back, hushing her up. "I'll miss you, Byul," she laments, but Byul is here, holding her, lips kissing her forehead with so much devotion, so much care, it feels impossible to feel anything but love -everlasting, eternal, young. 

"And I'll miss the payment I already made for my new flat," she comments, indulging Yongsun with a smile, "because I'll be at your place every day and every night. Now it feels pointless to even get a new place if I'm not going to be there," she jokes.

Byul opens the door of her new apartment and drops the boxes in. It takes her a few minutes to tidy the place, to get it ready. Yongsun raises her eyebrows, curious, when she comes back to the car, sitting next to her.

“Are you done?” she wonders in amazement. Byul has just dropped a suitcase and nothing more.

“Yes, I’ll leave the rest of my stuff at your place, unnie, since I’ll be living there most of the time,” she smirks, her nose cutely wriggling up, Yongsun rolling her eyes, her heart fond of the idea – her lips prepared to be kissed.