To some people, nights might be the best time of the day; to hangout, drink, smoke,

or to suffer like Irene.
or to chill like Seulgi.

Irene walked down the side path every night, Monday to Saturday, 10 PM. She would walk with heavy steps, scarf lingered around her small neck, super thick sweater to shield her from the unpleasant night wind. Her mind was always full of the desire of getting on bed as soon as possible. Irene was a cashier for a small-but-always-crowded hotdog merchant past the Oxford Street near the intersection where traffic lights were never off. To her nights were a time to be dead.

And every night every time she went home, she would see a busker standing with her guitar, with either jumper or an oversized sweater, singing in jolliance by the sidewalk.

Seulgi was always there each night. Busking. Singing. With a guitar she had owned for fifteen years, she named it Isla, and the pick, which had not been named yet, a standing mic she borrowed from her band at uni, and.. well, nothing else. But sometimes a box of ciggarettes tucked out of her pants' pocket. To her nights were a time to be alive.

Irene passed by Seulgi busking everytime. It was always crowded around Seulgi. People enjoyed her singing for her voice was, Irene had to admit, damn gold. And she got pretty face too, though. And it was like... she was fully aware of it because the way she enchanted people with her expression and aura while playing the instrument were damn way too good.

Irene would stay there for a moment every night she went home. Enjoying Seulgi's performance amidst the crowd. She got to have music at last. Seulgi always ended her performance bowing and smiling and giving herself an ovation. Oh, what narcissist. But, holy, she was hot. Honestly speaking.

Seulgi was always singing pieces by Hank Williams. The first time Irene saw her she was singing 'I Saw The Light' and today, Seulgi sang 'Lovesick Blues'.

Nothing much ever really happened. It was almost like a daily routine for Irene to pass by Seulgi's performance after working. And it wasn't a new thing to see Seulgi being playful during or after her show. Sometimes they exchanged glance for seconds. Irene was used to it now.

See, nothing much ever happened. But from that one night and on, Seulgi never sang Hank Williams' songs ever again. Instead, some new songs Irene wasn't really familiar with. The song was always different each day, but the lyrics were somehow connected to each song like a story, like a narrative. And that Saturday night, Seulgi sang some pieces of the lyrics that left Irene to happen to like nights.

Seulgi wrote and sang songs about Irene since day five they met.

The tired, amazingly, magnificently, Goddess-like, graceful young lady in a beige scarf.