The night air is chilly as expected for a harsh winter night, and Bora finds herself out alone. She can hear the noise behind the glass doors, a cacophony of crying sounds (which she knows come from Siyeon) and laughter. It’s a weird mixture, Bora thinks, but it fits them.

She places her arms against the cool metal and looks up to the sky. She’s always loved black skies like the one tonight, scattered with few stars that refuse to form a constellation, darkness filling the space between them just enough to admire each one of them individually, how bright they shine, how they seem to dim in and out of existence, how small or big they look—but she knows better than that. Nights like this remind her of the emptiness that plagues her mind, the one that seeps into her thoughts and leave her gasping for air, for something to echo the want she so desperately seeks.

When Minji announced she was leaving, Bora expected to break. She expected tears, to drown herself with the what if’s and if only’s, to feel something-- But she doesn’t; she never cried, she didn’t ask questions, she smiled at Minji and against the seams holding her heart together, threatening to tighten with a force that will leave her dizzy and enraged, that will make her see red because Minji is leaving them, leaving her, and it isn’t fair.

It isn’t fair because Minji showed her a world full of possibilities, a world where those what if’s became their reality, their truth, where they would move forward and not backwards but Minji left her behind, left her to chase after her because Bora has always wanted the truth, has always chased love with an almost childlike want—but alas, she found that truth is, more often than not, bitter and cold and suffocating.

She stares at each star dotting the night sky pointedly and she can’t help but think how, tonight, they serve as a mirror for her thoughts. The thought makes her want to laugh.

“Bora?”

The voice is familiar yet unfamiliar. Sweet and slightly groggy from the alcohol but with a sharpness that is so her, so affectionate it sends a shiver running down her spine.

She stops herself from turning her head back because she doesn’t know what she’ll do if she acts first. So she waits. She always does when it comes to Minji.

Minji pads over to her and leans back against the railing, and it’s when she hears a sigh and a soft it’s so cold out here, that Bora lazily turns her head to look at her. Seeing Minji in the dark, long black hair cascading over her shoulder in soft waves almost takes her breath away, if it weren’t for the gaping hole in her chest.

“What are you doing out here by yourself? It’s freezing.”

Bora shrugs, subconsciously stretching the space between them, the burning warmth that is Minji’s presence beginning to close in on her and she can’t take it. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

Minji giggles and Bora feels it more than hears it, eyes closing with the need to—with want. It scares her how much power Minji has over her, over her emotions and body; how Bora’s body is wired to reciprocate every touch, every smile, and every sound. It frightens her, but the thrill of it is what renders her unable to move completely away and closer instead.

Minji shuffles closer and she hesitates, causing Bora to turn her head over her shoulder because Minji never hesitates. She fully takes all of her in now—the blush adorning her cheeks, the twinkling of her eyes, down to her nose and lips and back up again and Bora’s fingers twitch. She wants to reach out, to touch, to taste, to have and take but when she sees the ring on Minji’s finger she aches, she hurts, she burns and crashes because regardless of the harm done, Bora can’t tear away from the eyes that seem to gaze beyond her own, eyes that slip through the walls hiding and locking Bora’s innermost desire to take that which she cannot have, ablaze with the thrill of Minji’s love, and attention, and care.

Minji demands, and God forbid Bora disobey.

Bora scrambles for a way out and the best she can come up with is a weak, “You must be excited, huh? To finally get the love story you’ve always wanted.”

Minji’s eyes linger on hers, brows furrowed together as though Bora had spoken another language, lips trembling with words Bora wants her to say, needs her to, but will not; because it’s not like Minji to give back, and it’s unlike Bora to demand. That’s not how they work, and yet their carefully crafted dynamic starts cracking under the pressure of the unknown.

“Hm? Oh. It is. I’m happy, we are—we’re happy.”

Minji says abruptly, pushing off the railing.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Yes, Bora, everything’s fine.”

Bora startles at that, at the bite in her voice and the way pulls downward and all she can see are teeth.

Something falls out of place around them then, the once chilly wind turning icy, one that settles deep in their bones with a sharpness that cuts through them and leave them bare, exposed to the harsh reality that this is all there is, all there will be, because they came out unprepared. Exhausted and unsuspecting.

Bora feels the fire within her flicker with irritation because Minji shouldn’t be the one to snap first, shouldn’t be the one to cry or reach out because she’s happy, she has a girlfriend- fiancé-- whom she loves and who loves her, she found the kind of love that burns passionately in all the right places because it’s good and fulfilling and—

She shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be all that Bora feels.

But Bora is exhausted. She’s tired of this back and forth that’s been going on for years, of pulling and pushing, of bearing the brunt of Minji’s love.

She’s so ing tired.

“Minji,” she sighs as she’s suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of trepidation. Something shifted, and the unexpected nature of it has Bora’s heart trembling with anticipation.  “Minji. Is something the matter?”

A huff. “No.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

A scoff. “No.”

“Have I done something to—“

“Why haven’t you done something, Bora?”

The venom laced in her words takes Bora aback, and she blinks once, twice, three times. How can she answer to that, really? What hasn’t she done for her?

She fights the urge to bite back because she knows how Minji gets when she’s angry, she’s been with her years to know how to navigate through this storm.

When Minji’s angry, the want to lash out and do harm are not unknown to neither of them. When a fire burns for too long the smoke that lingers endanger the comfort of the people involved, the heat too suffocating to breathe, skin too hot to be close.

Bora feels like that now, the sole witness of the storm that breaks out of Minji’s eyes and into the open. A shiver runs down her spine—whether it’s from the wind or Minji herself, she doesn’t know.

She takes a breath to calm herself because one angry person in the room is enough, but before she can open Minji beats her to it.

“Why are you so okay with this? Why are you so calm? Do you even—“ and she stops, and her eyes widen, and hangs loose as the hand with the ring closes and Bora notices the strain, she wants to tell her that she shouldn’t strain herself like this, that it’ll hurt, that she’ll regret it in the morning—but isn’t that what all of this is about? The regret, the pain? Siyeon had told her once that everything— love is pain, because pain is a primordial state, we hurt because we care, because we love; and she had wanted to laugh, she had wanted to mock Siyeon for her rather innocent take on love despite the hole in her heart telling her otherwise.

“--Do you even care?”

That sets it off for Bora. “Of course I care, Minji! I care. I care so much it hurts me, but you are the one leaving,” she steps closer to her now, “You are the one leaving,” she raises her hand to push Minji away, that is her intention, “Leaving. Not me,” but her hands tug back, pulling Minji close to her, lace like hair tangling between her fingers as she holds her tight, in place, because it truly is unfair how much power Minji exerts over her.

“You’re running away because outcomes like this one never get any easier. Because that’s all you do. And I can’t, Minji, I can’t lag behind and wait for you to give me a scrap of your emotions anymore. I can’t- you’ve made your choice, a decision that we—that you weren’t supposed to make! What else can I do, Minji, if not…” she trails off because her voice gives out, because she’s tired, because even after all this time she can’t stand the sight of Minji crying, of Minji hurting, because their complicated tale of woe might kill one of them in the end, but Bora be damned if she let that person be Minji.

Even after all this time, Bora can’t refuse Minji.

“You have her now, Minji. You have Ha—“

Minji shakes her head, her tear stained cheeks accentuating their pinkish hue, plum lips stretching upwards and Minji can feel the veins in her wrist contract and expand with each beat of her pulse, as though it was an entity of her own. The staccato of her heart pounding through her entire body, making her hands still-but-shaking, her neck rise tall and eyes shaking but at the same time hardening against the absolute, the certainty, focusing them on Bora’s, on each nearly imperceptibly twitch of and it’s insane how alive Minji feels, how the weight of her ring burns against her skin and threatens to sink her but the emotions swirling in Bora’s eyes are enough to make her feel afloat, as though nothing could ever harm her.

Because Bora loves her. She’s known. She’s always known of the absolute.

“I wanted you, you know” her lips curl into a smile, she feels it, feels the pinpricks in her eyes. For a moment she’s able to feel every movement in her body; every drop of her blood passing through her veins, her heart muscle contracting, and the tip of her tongue hits her bottom lip, warm and wet and it creates a spark, it sets her every being ablaze, and she smiles wider, fully, and she knows she feels ridiculous and her cheeks hurt and she can taste the salt on her tongue, can feel the burn in her eyes and she laughs, “I wanted you, Bora, since the first moment I saw you. Really saw you. I wanted everything from you. Whatever you could give me and God it’s insane how much and how ardently my heart calls out to you,”

White noise curtains Bora’s senses, I wanted you I wanted you She. Wants. Me, and it’s drowning itself out until all she can hear is how fast her heart’s beating, how hot she feels, how much she loves Minji. And as she feels the tears in her eyes her hold on Minji’s hair soften, like it’s an external declaration of her love, a way of saying that that’s how she always will be.

“I wanted you, but—but you never made a move, and I didn’t want to jeopardize what we had, and—,” Minji chokes on air and it feels like the air is being pulled out of her lungs and she’s breathless, but she can’t stop because if she stops now she absolutely certain she will never get this opportunity again. The chance to love and be loved, unconditionally, unrestrainedly, and it’s already so liberating Minji craves for more. “—and, , Bora, I was so scared of how strong my emotions for you are because I never felt anything like this before, not even for--,” not even for Handong, goes unsaid. She claws at her chest, her heart, and the sight of a desperate Minji pains Bora more than she’d ever admit. “And I know it’s too late, I know that that boat has already sailed, I know, okay? But—, I need it. Please.”

“Minji—“

“Please, Bora, just once. Please, just--,” she grabs Bora’s hands and pulls them up until they’re touching her face, and Bora tenses because what is happening?

“Minji, I…”

“Please, Bora. Just one. Just one last time.”

Minji demands, and Bora obeys.

Bora runs her right hand down Minji’s face, softly caressing each curve—ending its journey at her neck, where she stretches her fingers to hold her, to have her, whilst her left one pulls her by the chin and—And she’s kissing her, and it’s not fireworks or violins or butterflies. It’s smolders, a low burning heat that doesn’t flicker, just burns, no different than any other touch or graze between the two, but it’s just there.

It’s there. Dewy lips against her own, it’s need and longing and want all hitting her after each press of their lips, it’s everything and more all mashed up ready to sweep away all doubt, regret, sorrow—it’s wrong, but it feels right, and it makes Bora press harder, deepening the kiss with an urgency that makes her entire body roar.

She should feel suffocated, drowning, but all she feels is the tip of Minji’s tongue against hers and she drags her hand from her hair, brands one around her waist and pushes her up against the railing, and Minji moves to grab the back of Bora’s head with a possessive grip that makes Bora wonder, has she felt like this for as long as I have? Has she loved me for as long as I have?

Minji bites down on her lower lip, hard, and Bora’s head swirls because if this is their only chance, the only time they’ll ever give in to themselves, to each other, they might as well make it count—but this does count, maybe more than that, more than anything, because this is years and miles of everything in them and between them and she doesn’t want this to be a fluke. She’s certain Minji feels the same.

Their kiss loses its intensity but not its passion, and soon they find themselves in a comfortable rhythm. She feels Minji’s hand tightening around her neck and Bora bites back a moan as she skirts her hand further into Minji’s shirt, before settling comfortably in her ribs, just below her right , fingers playing a tune alongside her skin, and she wants more.

Minji keeps kissing her until she isn’t anymore and they break apart, hot and breathy and gasping for air, yet neither of them move away from each other. It’s then, when she opens her eyes and sees Bora’s expression, that makes Minji think about how stupid she was to be this oblivious to Bora's desire. 

She feels the wetness in her eyes again, and she takes her time to memorize every inch of Bora’s body before softly pushing her away. Bora understands. Painfully so.

“I—“

“You—“

They smile at the awful cliché they are in and if this were a different situation, Bora would’ve rolled her eyes at the awkwardness of it all.

She concedes, as always. “You first.”

Minji smirks at this, but her eyes are beaming with a sort of tenderness that has Bora blushing all over again.

“I should… go.”

Bora hums, tries to swallow past the lump stuck in . She vaguely remembers Siyeon once telling her that you can cry with your throat ("It's the globus sensation, unnie; it can happen when you're sad"), and she thinks that maybe this is what that is like.

“Yeah,” is all she says. She isn’t looking at Minji in the eye anymore, she can't bear to, because all that was undone before cannot be redone, and it takes time to piece what’s broken together again, and—

“Bora?”

“Yeah?”

She looks up and Minji is smiling, the kind she gives when she’s happy, the smile that resembles the sun and the sea and the stars—a smile so bright and warm it burns Bora’s eyes, being, but that she takes and carries with pride because she knows Minji is happy, and that’s all Bora’s ever wanted for her.

“Thank you.”

And she leaves. This time, Bora looks back and isn’t at all that intimidated anymore by her retreating figure. She watches as Minji hugs every girl tight, almost reluctant to let go; hears Gahyeon’s at what time will Handong unnie arrive tomorrow?, and catches Siyeon’s gaze from across the room. She knows Siyeon’s aware of what transpired on the balcony, even without knowing the details, and she knows she’ll have to explain herself to her later, but her concerned gaze isn't burdening anymore, and so she smiles back reassuringly.

She turns her back away when she hears the front door opening and the click that it follows, and if she willed herself and looked down, she would see Siyeon’s and Minji’s shadows as they walk to the latter’s car—but instead she looks up, and to the sky, and sees that the once distant and scattered stars are now a constellation that illuminates the dark, and for once the emptiness plaguing her mind fills, and the gaping hole in her chest is no more.

And she wonders if this is what love feels like. If it’s supposed to make you feel both lighter and heavier, not with burden or with sadness or with anything, really, but she wonders if love is simply just existing in yourself and in others, the kind that fills you to the brink but never spills  because it’s well measured, it's sincere.

It's being. 

Bora smiles, and as the whoosh of the wind reaches her ears and the cold embraces her wholly, she mutters a quiet, “No. Thank you.”