Soojin smiles proudly to herself as she finishes the last of the dishes. The house is silent, save for the sound of the heater as it occasionally kicks to life. It’s been silent for hours now. She enjoys the silence, always has. But there is something about this silence that squeezes her chest and reminds her that Shuhua is angry.

No, not angry, upset. Shuhua is upset.

It’s silly and childish, Soojin thinks, the way Shuhua is holed up in her room and refusing to talk to her.

At least Soojin managed to turn the unexpected silence into something productive. The house is clean and, with Shuhua holed up, there isn’t anyone to leave the jar of peanut butter on the counter (lid off) or the cupboards open. Everything is neat, orderly, and…

And, well, it all feels a little lonely.

Soojin wants to blame Shuhua. Not for the neat and orderly part, but for the lonely part. The part where Shuhua flits in and out of the kitchen, twirling around Soojin as she croons sappy tunes. The part where Shuhua leans in to whine for a taste test of whatever Soojin is making. The part where Shuhua hugs her from behind, whispers something undeniably saccharine in her ear, and runs away giggling like a rowdy school child.

Soojin wants to blame Shuhua for all those parts she isn’t partaking in. But maybe it takes two, Soojin sadly realises.

The hallway is cold despite the heater roaring in the living room. Miyeon isn’t home yet, another late-night schedule. She probably won’t be home for a few more hours, hours Soojin had originally planned to spend with Shuhua until she decided to spend their rare moments of spare time locked away.

Soojin stops in front of Shuhua’s door. It would be easy to knock, she wants to knock, but there is this wicked thing called pride. It sits in her chest like a king on its throne, nose held high and unwilling to accept defeat. And so, with a sigh, Soojin doesn’t knock, she just carries on despite the ache in her chest telling her to go back.

Maybe music will make it better, she tells herself. Something to fill the void of Shuhua’s voice, Shuhua laughter, Shuhua’s warmth. It won’t, she knows, but she chooses a playlist before she disappears into the bathroom. The slow rhythm is like aloe on the radiating heat of a sunburn, and when the hot jet of water hits her skin, Soojin exhales a long sigh.

The hot water is what she needs.