Her and Jiyeon.

They were in love once. Really, really in love once. So much so people would not only envy them, but wonder how the heck people like them, or a feeling like that, could exist. Juyeon used to place all her bets on that, on the love they shared, however, something went wrong along the way. 

She didn’t know what, didn’t know when or how they let it happen, but it did, and now she wasn’t too sure of where they were going, nor could she tell where they stood with each other and if both of them were simply avoiding the inevitable with that push and pull they have been playing like a mindless game.

It was kind of tricky — this whole thing of pretending to be alright for the sake of not putting under the light what they insisted on ignoring. It was tricky and it was useless, a lost battle none of them was willing to acknowledge the defeat.

A part of her, the one that held on to hope in its purest form, wanted to believe that they were just going through a difficult phase. After all, every couple did and they weren’t exempt from it. But Juyeon knew better — they were better. She knew her girlfriend like the palm of her hand, had Jiyeon mapped out inside her heart like her guiding light, and she could tell there was something going on with her just by the strange hesitance the older woman had been displaying and the hurt she tried to hide.

Because she was hurt. She was aching and that was the whole point of their conflict. Jiyeon was doing her best to keep up with the normality, was moving mountains and seas to not bother Juyeon or make her worried, but she was in pain, she was desperate for a relief Juyeon had yet to discover where to find, and the younger one didn’t remember ever tasting goodbye in Jiyeon’s kiss the way she did now.

Jiyeon looked at her as if they were always a minute away from parting. Jiyeon touched her with devotion without realizing the sadness and yearning that sneaked into her grasp or the trembling fingers Juyeon wished she could comfort. Jiyeon held her in the middle of the night with clenching fists on the edges of her shirt in a silent plea for her not to go, to stay with her, all while being oblivious that she was the one letting go bit by bit, and when the fearful words they bit back got too loud, it was Juyeon who had to hear they scream until she went deaf.

And she would do it for both of them if she had to, would be whatever Jiyeon needed her to be, but there was only so far she could go on her own, and Juyeon never learned how to be selfish enough to turn a blind eye to the suffering of those who she loved.

“You’re late.” 

Her voice echoed the second the door of her room cracked open and she could feel Jiyeon freezing in place with her hand still wrapped around the handle, pondering over what to do and how to not make it known the obvious regret in her face.

Juyeon could be angry at her — being late to one date could happen, but being late to every single date they managed to come up with in the past two months felt like a goddamn joke — but she didn’t. She didn’t complain, nor did she express her frustration like she usually would. She just remained there, sitting on her bed while the moon lit up the place and shoved on her face how Jiyeon’s belongings had disappeared without a warning, without her notice.

And waiting.

She stayed there, waiting ever so patiently for her girlfriend to be brave and step closer, to understand that it was alright, that she wasn’t mad, and that all Juyeon wanted was for her to be honest and talk before the damage became impossible to fix. 

“I’m sorry,” Jiyeon mumbled with a type of uncertainty she rarely used. “I missed my timing and the traffic didn’t help.”

Juyeon pulled her phone down to look up at her girlfriend, almost chuckling in endearment at the slight shyness on the older woman’s body, the disheveled hair, and the wrinkled clothes due to the run she had to go through to get there before midnight.

She still was head over heels.

She still was so deeply in love that Juyeon wanted to cry at the sight of her.

She still was a er for that woman and everything that she was, just like when they started dating and even before, when they were simply close friends who liked disguising themselves as each other’s soulmate. The years weren’t capable of changing that and after almost a decade of knowing her, all Jiyeon needed to do was call her name and she would be running to her and for her, fighting demons and defying armies just to make sure that she was well, that Jiyeon was happy and fulfilled despite everything else.

But it wasn’t just about that, was it?

Juyeon guessed it could no longer be.

Her shoulders fell. “It’s okay,” Juyeon reassured but it did nothing to ease the frown on the older one’s forehead. She sighed when their eyes met and Jiyeon stopped herself from launching in her direction, waiting for permission. “Come here,” she tapped on the space between her legs, opening her arms to welcome Jiyeon when she rushed there in search of comfort.

Jiyeon’s back pressed her front and the younger one laced her waist to hug her tightly, resting her chin on the older one’s shoulder and letting her adjust to their embrace the way Jiyeon always did.

“You should’ve called,” she whispered as Jiyeon’s hand went to caress her nape. “Seola had already warned me you probably wouldn’t get here on time.”

Jiyeon's answer didn’t come as fast as usual, it didn’t even come through words since the faint stiffness in her body after it didn’t go unnoticed by Juyeon’s trained perception, and that alone was what the younger one needed to confirm that they had reached their limit.

“I couldn’t,” Jiyeon’s voice didn’t raise much while seriousness prevailed over uncertainty. “I had to see you.”

She shifted inside their contact, turning just enough to be face to face with the younger woman, and the shaky breath Juyeon released once a hand cupped her cheek denounced she was well aware of where this was going.

“We’re not working out, are we?” 

Juyeon ducked her head in defeat after brief seconds of denial, hating the knot on and the burning in her eyes — saying that out loud hurt more than she was ready to endure. Jiyeon was speechless for a moment but she didn’t take long to understand what was happening, what she had missed inside her bubble of confusion, and neither did she attempt to conceal how hard it was for her to acknowledge that too. 

“We’re not,” she answered, at last, and both of them winced at it, taking a minute to breathe the same air and sit with it. 

“Why?”

Jiyeon hesitated.

“I don’t belong here anymore.”

“With me?”

Jiyeon was silent again and Juyeon bit her lip, squeezing her eyelids at the sound of her heart snapping piece by piece. 

That was no news, actually: it was undeniable that they both have been struggling and they could see on each other’s face how hard of a time they were having.

Jiyeon have been out of it. The younger one could feel how she have been in and out of love with everything and everyone, dangling between accepting her desires for what they were and fighting them as if the future that called her wasn’t that important, and Juyeon, for one, have been in and out of touch with people and her surroundings, cultivating a kind of unease no one but her could bring peace to and feeding the same worries and dreads Jiyeon had even if she was the only one who could recognize that.

It was bigger than them sometimes — the monsters hanging on their shoulders with intentions they couldn’t read properly, this tension they tried to dodge but who was always there, poking at them and making them flinch. Being aware for so long of these circumstances, of the idea that there was nowhere they could run and hide from what was saved for them, and that it was a matter of time for final words to be given, didn’t help in facing the truth so closely, and it was exhausting. 

Exhausting to be put in such an impotent position, exhausting to be so defenseless and vulnerable now that they weren’t together on this anymore. They weren’t battling the same battles or striving for the same goals like they used to. Hell, they weren’t even on the same page or being moved by the same fuel, and if Juyeon had ever risked thinking that her nightmares could come true, then she should have been more careful.

“Not just with you,” Jiyeon tried.

“That’s ridiculous, Jiyeon, who said—”

“Juyeonnie,” she snapped the younger one out of the desperation starting to swallow her before she got carried away. “We both know there’s something wrong and we… I have to take care of it before it’s too late.” 

Resistance left Juyeon’s body as she shrank on her seat.

Jiyeon wasn’t open to negotiation.

“There’s nothing I can do?” 

Jiyeon let out a shaky sound at her whispered, teary attempt, and their foreheads found each other while Jiyeon caressed the younger one’s skin with the back of her fingers in apology.

“That’s not up to you, my love,” she reasoned. “Just like that’s not your fault. It’s not you that I want distance from, never you. It’s from this place, this city, these people, and I know that if we don’t do this while we can, I’m going to hurt you.”

“How can you be so sure?” 

Juyeon wanted to protest so badly... Juyeon wanted to scream her lungs out.

“Because I’ve changed,” she caressed the younger one’s nose with her own. “I’m not myself anymore, and out of everything I thought I was and wanted, you’re one of the few that remained the same.”

“Then…” Her voice faded.

Then stay, she wanted to say but she chose not to — Jiyeon would crumble down if she did.

“I have to go, Juyeonnie,” came in a soft, and unashamedly hesitant, but firm way. “There are different things I want to try now, there’s someone else I would like to be and this person is far from here,” her other hand went forward for her to cup Juyeon’s cheeks as Juyeon swallowed the mess jumping on the tip of her tongue, trying to engrave on her skin how Jiyeon’s warmth felt against hers before it slipped away. “I’m not happy anymore and I can’t let it punish you too. You deserve more than that,” she choked up. “And so do I.”

Juyeon pushed back the tears that were about to overflow.

Everything in her was yelling for her to beg Jiyeon not to leave.

It wasn’t like she didn’t understand. She had been there before, knew how maddening that detachment from oneself could be, but Juyeon still wanted to drop to her knees and promise Jiyeon that she would give her all the space, time, and support to do whatever she needed; maybe she didn’t think Jiyeon had to leave to find herself or become that person she had been idealizing. Maybe Jiyeon could do it right there, by her side, while Juyeon protected and catered to her so she wouldn’t have to be stressed about anything more than her personal journey.

But, being honest, that would be unfair. With Jiyeon, with her, with them. And acting as if she, alone, could solve things so easily would be going in the complete opposite of what Juyeon defended and did.

There were explanations behind all this, explanations that went way further than what Juyeon had knowledge of or could put a finger on. Jiyeon wouldn’t break up with her for nothing and dismissing that was the same as ignoring what had been making Jiyeon so uncomfortable, so out of what she truly was that she had to take such a drastic decision despite it being just as painful for her.

And Juyeon got it. She was a long acquaintance of the feeling of satisfaction that lacked its essence, the very thing people craved for, and who urged the longing soul to look for new horizons — she got it, she really did. 

But that didn’t make it hurt less. 

That didn’t make parting ways less of a torture. 

That didn’t stop the love she had for Jiyeon from twisting with a muffled cry as Jiyeon did all she could to keep her whole.

She didn’t want to live without her. She didn’t want to live a life where Jiyeon wasn’t by her side — Juyeon had forgotten how it felt like without her. The world outside was cruel, there were many mysteries she wasn’t ready to decipher yet, and Jiyeon was what kept her anchored in the hope of better days. Jiyeon was the brightest star in her universe, the only creature capable of competing with her love for the moon, and not having her around with that glow that made her difficult to stare at was equally disorienting as being expelled from the orbit Juyeon had created a safe haven for herself in, the single orbit she couldn’t erase from her natural trail. 

And Jiyeon suffered with that just the same. The younger one could sense it in the way she never stopped trying to be closer, in the way Jiyeon held back what was going through her in order to not make this more difficult than it already was: they loved each other too much and that was the problem. They needed and craved each other too much to let go of the red string keeping them as one — it was already a part of them —, and even when the ground underneath their feet quivered with melancholy, Juyeon didn’t doubt Jiyeon’s feelings for her. 

Not for a second, not for a beat in her faltering chest. 

Jiyeon didn’t have to say it out loud or scream her love for everybody else to hear it. Jiyeon moved with love, Jiyeon breathed and danced with her love purposefully placed on her sleeves for Juyeon to admire and own it because it was hers, and the younger one could only imagine what it was for her to be who was putting the final dot on their story.  

So Juyeon breathed in what was left of her stability and relented — for her girl’s sake, for their own sake —, and instead of begging and saying things she would blame herself for later on, the taller one guided her to her lap, to which the older woman obliged without complaints, hugging her as close as she was allowed to while Jiyeon hugged her back and calmed down the storm getting furious inside their hearts.

In the end, Juyeon figured, this didn’t have much to do with them as a unit, how genuine their feelings were, or how far they were willing to go to make them work. This was about them as individuals, about questions no one else but them could get answers to, and more importantly, this was about Jiyeon and the course to self-discovery Juyeon had no right to interfere in.

So she wouldn’t.

“What are you going to do?” She sank her nose on Jiyeon’s chest to smell the weak hint of her perfume there. 

“Travel,” she whispered. “To the States first, then Thailand,” she continued, laying a comforting massage on the younger one’s nape. “Afterwards… I haven’t decided yet.”

“No staying?”

“No staying.”

“You’re going alone?”

“Yes.”

Juyeon gazed up by reflex, the expected frown on her face earning a weak giggle from Jiyeon.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay,” she kissed the tip of Juyeon’s nose, then her forehead to ease the lines there. “I’m a grown-up, and an adventurer shouldn’t be scared of adventures, right?” 

Juyeon scowled, like she always did, and Jiyeon giggled louder — like she always did. “You may be a grown-up, but I know you and the type of trouble you can get into,” the light scolding was followed by her arms getting tighter around the woman’s waist. God, she would miss her so much. “Promise me you’ll take care.”

“I will.”

“Promise me you won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Juyeonnie…” She faltered, incapable of not seeing the different meanings those words offered, but the younger one persisted and Jiyeon gave up. “I promise.”

Juyeon nodded, roaming around with her focus to stop her tears until a deep exhale left her. 

“You have a home in me, Jiyeon,” their eyes locked. “That won’t ever change.” 

Jiyeon swallowed hard, tracing the features of the younger woman under her with admiration written on her fingertips, and Juyeon didn’t deem it necessary for her to vocalize what was going on inside her head — it wasn’t too complicated, anyway.

Their lips met in a soft kiss that didn’t take long to become intense, for Jiyeon’s nails to scratch invisible lines on her neck and for Juyeon’s hand to trace as much of the older woman’s body as she could as they moved in harmony, in quietness, in a love that they treasured enough to not let it blind them, and when their parted, their foreheads glued out of habit for Juyeon to whisper:

“Don’t you forget about me.”

To that Jiyeon gave a fragile, breathy laugh drenched with the warmth only she had and the affection no one but Juyeon could have from her. Then she kissed her again, and again, and again until Juyeon had it known in her bones that forgetting her was impossible.

“Don’t you fly too far away from me either,” she mumbled against the younger one’s swollen lips. “It’s me who’s leaving, but it’s you who never liked solid ground.”

Jiyeon brought their tangled hands to her, pressing a chaste kiss on the back of Juyeon’s before moving away from her seat to stand up, letting their fingers disconnect on their own.

They looked into each other’s eyes one last time. 

“I love you,” Jiyeon confessed under breath. “Keep going, Juyeon.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, as expected, and Juyeon didn’t have the strength to call her or do more than be paralyzed while the older woman closed the door and walked away without the promise of coming back.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks as soon as she found herself alone and it was the notion that from there on she would be all alone that hit the announcement on the walls of her inner self that Jiyeon was gone, that even if her scent remained stuck on that apartment she, the person Jiyeon, wouldn’t be there anymore to paint the air with her tenderness and beauty.  

Sobs broke down , one after the other, while the tears were a never-ending ocean in search of solace, and Juyeon didn’t know when she curled herself into a tiny ball or how many minutes or hours she spent like this, but before her eyes closed for good what flooded her vision was Jiyeon’s smile, and when sleep came to take her with its consoling intentions, she remembered mumbling the words she wished she could have said while she had the chance. 

For weeks, her nights were spent like this, crying until she couldn’t move and allowing the exhaustion of the day to carry her to the blankness of her dreamland while the emptiness haunting her everywhere she went turned into a muffled sound for her to dodge. 

Seola, Dawon, and Soobin were her saviors throughout most of it, spending as much as they could of their time consoling her and letting her feel everything she had to feel without judgments or hurry. They were probably aware of Jiyeon’s plans from the beginning and by the resilience they expressed during her worst lapses, Juyeon could bet Jiyeon had asked them to take care of her in her absence. 

Juyeon hoped she had a shoulder to lean on too.

She hoped Jiyeon didn’t cry too much, prayed that she wouldn’t feel guilty about their end and that if Jiyeon missed their love, the memory of the words she used to soothe her in the past would help. Juyeon wasn’t mad. Not at her girl, not at her friends — if anything, she was grateful for them and everything they did —, and when it came down to it, Juyeon decided that she had more reasons to appreciate the treasure they handcrafted than to mourn something that had been, and would always be, a beautiful season in her story. 

It might have taken almost a month for her to go back to smiling with truthfulness and she had yet to correct her habit of staying awake a while longer every night to wonder if Jiyeon was alright, if she was being treated well and if her heart was being taken care of, but the bitterness she had felt in previous breakups never came, and as much as it bruised her to move on with her routine without the piece that made the early mornings brighter, Jiyeon wasn’t a bad memory, nor was she something Juyeon wished to erase.

Things were indeed less vivid without her and the clouds were a lot more stubborn than Juyeon remembered them being, but Jiyeon had taught her how to look at life without the dirty filters of ignorance and when the birds sang to wake her up, Juyeon understood it as a reminder for her to not get too stuck on her head, a calling for her to realize that although she was fighting the ropes holding her back, the sunset could reach and talk her down even there. 

Because it would be hard for some time, she couldn’t run from it. It would be difficult to tell people how they weren’t together anymore, it would be sad to watch her parents and her sister getting upset about it, it would be lonesome to lay in a bed where Jiyeon wasn’t waiting for her and it would be challenging to get rid of the older one’s presence in every corner of her life when this was the last thing Juyeon wanted, but she would have to do it, and eventually, it would pass.

The first few months would be maddening, but at some point between the fresh leaves of june and the summer wind of august they would no longer cry like the world was ending.