This is a tale of two strangers, unlikely to meet under normal circumstances but never impossible if their threads has long been woven, intertwined and conn—

“Unnie! That !” Yerim announced from behind Seulgi, who sported a pained expression, and dousing a bucket of salt to the wound, she added,“Right, Joy-unnie?”. The other maknae just smiled lopsidedly at the fake maknae, who reluctantly left the chair (or in Yerim’s terms, “Unnie, please move away! What you’re about to read is the act of a genius that is Kim Yerim”).

“Are you gonna erase what Seulgi-unnie wrote?” a hunched Joy perched on the table beside her, asked.

“What? No! I’m just gonna tweak it a bit and add more substance to it,” Yerim replied, popping her knuckles in preparation. “Seulgi-unnie wrote that earnestly with every fiber of her hopeless romantic self. It’s a waste to eras—Oopsie!” Yerim batted her eyes at Seulgi, in faux apology, the evil pointy finger hovering over the backspace button of the keyboard. 

“Sorry, unnie. Accidentally hit the backspace button with my pointy finger.” Seulgi rolled her eyes, it was clear that it was intentional, already used to the spawn of the devil’s snickering – and the loud high five of the two devil’s spawn, as if rubbing her back can comfort her wounded pride.

Seulgi dropped herself off the sofa and listened to loud clacking of Yerim’s digits over the keyboard, smashing her way into writing an epic story with Joy oooh-ing and aaah-ing next to her. The hush hush conversation the two are having between breaks just making her feel more -hurt.

In a loud voice, she mused, “Is it so wrong to be a hopeless romantic?”

***

It was a fine Saturday morning. The sunlight peeking through the slits of their curtains, warm, bright light waking up the slumbering figure covered in the crumpled sheets on the bed. The murmur of traffic and birds chirping serve as a good alarm clock to the still sleepy individual fumbling with a hand over the seemingly wide space next to her. Nervousness and worry jolting her awake, the space next to her lacking the usual warmth of the body that’s supposed to still be pressed up on her side. 

“I-Irene,” groggy voice calling out softly to the still air of their bedroom, “Joohyun,” she waited for an answer but only the distant murmur of vehicles and soft twits of birds outside their wide window responded. She sat up, holding the soft crumpled sheets to cover her modesty. She checked the clock on their bedside table and noted that it was only 8:15 in the morning. Where is her girlfriend and why is she gone so early in the morning without telling her?

(“So, where is she, Yerm?”

“Quiet, unnie. You’ll find out soon.”

“Is she a criminal here? Did she kill someone? Come on!” Joy shook the irritated maknae’s shoulder, begging to be let in on the pot she’s cooking.

“Unnie!” 

“Okay, okay. Geez, quieting now.”)

Wendy went out of the bedroom clutching the sheets over her body, too wired to pick up clothes to throw on. Fresh coffee smell permeated in the living room, the sound of meat sizzling and grease along with it. She went over to the kitchen. “Joohyun?” Her girlfriend didn’t respond, eyes focused on the pan before her. Back still turned towards her, the blue oversized shirt she discarded over the course of the night was worn by her girlfriend. Shirt falling just above her milky white thighs, seeing Joohyun in her clothes still makes her feel things.

Their weekends would often start with the two of them waking up almost at the same time, still next to each other. Somehow she felt silly for worrying, for getting nervous when she couldn’t find her girlfriend next to her and the bed a little colder without her. But it’s their weekend routine and she can’t help it, seeing her do the most mundane things ebbed that feeling away. Maybe Joohyun was planning on greeting her a good morning with a breakfast on bed, Wendy thought.

With that in mind, her heart felt a little lighter. She clutched the sheets a little tighter, balling it in a fist in one hand while she sent a flying kiss with the other to her girlfriend’s back busy with whatever she’s making. Sheets like a less appropriate gown trailing behind her, she made her way back to their bedroom. Making sure the door was