You can tell yourself that you’re both drunk, that you’re both tired, that you’re both lonely. That you’re both stuck in the same pressure cooker of fame, so tightly wound up and a nudge away from coming undone from all the stresses that come with being an idol and all that it entails.

So come undone you do.

Together.

In a hotel room in Japan during one of your breaks.

She’s only had three shots of sake compared to your six. The both of you are tipsy, sure, but also not too drunk to have alcohol muddle your judgment. Even so, you find yourselves swaying on your feet as you stumble into your hotel room, laughing too loud over something that isn’t even remotely as funny as you both think. 

Maybe you’re both just drunk on each other. Who knows.

And it’s then in that dark hallway, as she struggles to put the keycard into the wall slot to power the lights, that both your worlds collide and then inevitably come apart.

Because she gives up with a sigh, drops the card to the floor, and takes your breath away by pressing her warm lips onto yours. It takes you a hot second to realize that, yes, this is indeed happening, but when you catch your breath, you find yourself pinning her against the wall and kissing her back.

It escalates from there.

As things always do when it involves the two of you.

It’s all a tangle of limbs and a lot of tripping over clothes as you both fall into the nearest bed, the moonlight filtering from the parted curtains like a spotlight onto your heated forms.

.

.

. 

The next day you wake up in that same bed. , rumpled, cold.

Alone.

And yet somehow unsurprised.

.

.

.

It’s now a couple of months later and you find yourself in another one of your dour moods. And like the masochist that you are, you grab a six pack from the fridge, head on over to the balcony, and stare at the slumbering city with only alcohol as company while your mind drifts back to that fateful night.

There’s still a lot to unpack about it. But your brain and your heart can only handle one memory at a time, so you compartmentalize things in your head. Store things in boxes to be filed away and only opened at your most vulnerable. When you’re about to fall asleep, when you’re feeling particularly down, when she smiles too brightly in a crowded room and the sharp pang in your chest forces a box to open in your mind’s eye.

That box in particular.

Your most favorite one.

The one of her smiling from ear to ear as she came down from her high, her chest heaving up and down as beads of sweat rolled down her flushed skin. You remember resting your head on her inner thigh, just watching and taking it all in. It took her a while to regain her bearings, but soon enough she reached for you, grabbed hold of your hand, pulled you up and took your breath away with another searing kiss. 

And so it began anew.

In the darkness of that hotel room in Japan, she whispered your name like a fevered chant, breathless and heady and oh-so-desperate. And it filled you up and broke you at the same time.

Because after that night it never happened again.

.

.

.

She called it a mistake. A momentary lapse in judgment. She couldn't even look you in the eye as she said that. You took that as a small blessing. It would add insult to injury if she had seen your world falling apart as those words left her lips.

So feeling numb all over, you just nodded your head and agreed with her, as if doing so would make all the feelings and all that’s happened any less true.

But deep inside, something in you broke.

And now here you are. 

Still the same Byulyi on the outside, just all sorts of miserable from within.

It’s in these quiet, private moments like tonight when you let your guard down and just let the pitiful, wretched side of you out of the shadows and breathe.

Nursing your third beer, the city lights start to blur and bleed together like a distorted painting from all your unshed tears.

You keep them at bay with a soft sniffle, foolishly trying to hold onto your last iota of pride for as long as you possibly can. You fail of course, you always do. And for a moment you wonder if that memory of your night in Japan will ever just be a memory and not something that only serves to tear you apart at the seams.

Because after weeks of pretending like nothing’s wrong, you have finally come to grips with the bitter truth that the persistent pang that you’ve been feeling in your chest is just the fragmented shards of your heart that have been rattling around and piercing at you in the most inopportune of times. Like when she makes the silliest jokes, when she gets excited over something mundane, when she pretends to be annoyed at your incessant teasing.

When she’s doing nothing but just simply existing.

For whatever reason, it felt especially hard earlier today.

As she always does, Yongsun brought her A-game during your back-to-back university gigs — turned up the charm a hundredfold, a literal ray of sunshine. 

It was a sight to behold.

And damn if it didn’t make your chest ache just watching her work the crowd with that blinding smile.

You’re not even sure how you managed to make it through six gruelling hours of that without breaking down. Hell, you consider it a small victory that you managed to hold it together until now. 

You empty out the rest of the can in one go, finding solace in how the bitterness of beer seems to mask the saltiness of your own tears.

Tears that you hastily wipe away with the back of your hand, an act of futility since your eyes seem intent on shedding more tonight.

Whatever, it’s not like anyone can see you now.

And really, the only person you don’t want to see you in this deplorable state is in an apartment three floors above yours right at this moment, probably already nestled underneath her warm duvet, watching a movie on her phone like she always does to lull herself to sleep. 

You sigh as you lift the tab with one hand and open a fresh new can of Hite. You’re going to wake up all bloated and hungover tomorrow — but that’s a problem future Moon Byulyi can deal with.

Though the thought of being on the receiving end of one of Yongsun’s knowing looks when you sluggishly amble into the van next morning drives you to take a rather long swig, almost downing half of the can in one go. 

Whatever her thoughts are about how you spend your nights sometimes, Yongsun’s mercifully been keeping them to herself. It’s rather uncharacteristic of her, yes, but perhaps the woman feels more guilty about everything than she’s letting on.  

You sigh yet again.

It’s half past midnight, but you’re not surprised in the least when your phone lights up on the table with a few messages from your manager. It’s like clock work, the perfunctory texts recapping the group’s day, and manager-unnie is as predictable as she is reliable.

You give the screen a quick glance as you tilt your head back and swallow another generous gulp. From the preview you can see that she sent the group chat some fansite photos and also a few press ones from today. Out of habit more than curiosity, you tap on one of the messages and allow your screen to fill up with an image of the four of you.

It was taken when you girls were working the photo wall during your first university stop of the day, still early enough for there not to be a single strand of hair out of place as you huddled close together in your usual formation, arms around each other and hamming it up for the cameras.

Everyone looks good.

Yongsun, especially.

In spite of it all, a ghost of a smile appears on your lips.

You swear that woman has never taken a bad picture in her life. 

But then… you pinch the screen with your thumb and forefinger and then move them apart, zooming in closer to your faces...

It might be the alcohol… it might be the tears… but whatever it is, tonight you make an effort to actually look at the image. 

And now your heart breaks all over again. This time for her.

Looking past the perfect veneer, you finally take notice of how her megawatt smile doesn’t really reach her eyes. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, it hasn’t, really, not for the longest time. Not since… well, Japan. 

And the thought of this makes your heart expand and shrink all at the same time.

You swipe right to look at the next picture. Your eyes zero in on the hand that’s clutching your side so tight that your dress bunches up a little by your hip, like she’s worried you will  disappear if she eases up even the tiniest bit.

A lump forms in your throat at the sight.

You’ve been so caught up in your own feelings that you’ve inadvertently turned a blind eye on hers.

By breaking your heart, it looks like she also broke hers in the process. 

How ironic. And sad. So damn sad.

It opens up a flood of memories and thoughts that you’ve been repressing for a couple of months.

Like how sometimes you catch her staring at you when she thinks you’re not looking. Sometimes you even see the pain and longing in her eyes that’s not at all dissimilar to the one you carry from time to time.

But then you meet her gaze and all of a sudden her mask slips back into place. 

But you can never forget. You probably will never forget. Just how she looked at you that night in Japan. Like you were the only thing that mattered. Like you were her whole world. And hey, maybe you were, or still are, but she’s probably too scared, too burdened by responsibilities, to ever do something about it other than run away.

It . It hurts like hell.

To suspect deep down that someone loves you with every fibre of their being, yet they’re not brave enough to choose you. To love you. 

That while you’re not an afterthought, you’re also not a priority.

You turn your phone face down, unable to bear the image any longer.

The group comes first. Over her happiness. Over your happiness. Over a future that you can both build together, filled with more than just longing glances and deprived desires.

You could be her greatest love. She could be yours. But in order for that kind of love to flourish, it needs to see the light of day. For a love like that cannot survive in the shadows, hidden from the world and tucked away like a dirty little secret.

But you’re an idealist living in a realist’s world.

And your kind of love is typically stifled and forced to survive behind closed doors and stolen moments and whispered words.

It has all the potential to be great, if only afforded the freedom to be so.

“Byul-ah?”

You almost chuck the can off the balcony in fright. Thankfully, you just end up spilling a little bit of alcohol on your lap.

This woman will really be the death of you.

You didn’t even notice her enter the apartment, let alone hear her approach the balcony. “How…?” you say, dumbly.

Yongsun lifts a hand and shows you the keychain dangling from her finger. 

Oh. 

She hasn’t used the key to your apartment in months. Not since things got awkward after… you know.

You take a moment to gather your bearings, willing your heart rate back to normal. You glance at her pajama-clad self, a frown marring your features. “What are you doing here, unnie?”

“Did I scare you?”

“Nah, sometimes I just like pouring beer down my pants,” you deadpan, looking away and dabbing your pajama bottoms with the back of your hand in lieu of a napkin. You know she has already seen the tear tracks on your face and your puffy, bloodshot eyes, but thankfully she doesn’t call attention to them.

Instead, Yongsun steps out onto the balcony and sits herself down on the chair beside yours. Instinctively, you share the blanket you’ve draped over your shoulders with her and she murmurs her thanks as she shifts closer.

“Can’t sleep?” you begin anew after she settles in.

She shakes her head, letting wisps of her hair escape from her loose ponytail. “I was going to — but then I…” she trails off, and then chews on her lower lip. “Have you… have you checked your phone yet?”

“I saw the messages,” you nod, before taking another sip. “Manager-unnie’s?”

“No, not that,” Yongsun says, and then waves a hand, refusing your offer when you shake the can in her direction. Throwing a not-so-discreet glance at the empty ones by your feet, she sighs and just says, “Instagram.”

You throw her a quizzical look.

“The oppas.”

Ah.

Of course.

You saw their post earlier, during the drive to the second university schedule of the day. 

“They looked great in their matching tuxedos.”

“They do. Happiness suits them,” the older woman hums in agreement. Yongsun looks at the city skyline for a moment and then breathes out, as if in awe, “They actually did it.”

“I never doubted they would.”

You can see her playing with the hem of her pajama top out of the corner of your eye, gaze still locked in the distance, seemingly lost in thought. “They’ve talked about eloping and getting married in the US for as long as we’ve known them. I thought it was more of a pipe dream, I just never thought they’d go through with it.”

“Why not?”

“Their parents, this country,” Yongsun simply says, saying more than enough in those four words.

“So? Who cares?”

She looks at you then like you’ve grown an extra head.

You merely offer a shrug. “At the end of the day, they will live with their own decisions, not their parents. Not other people,” you murmur quietly, twisting the can round and round between your palms, coating your skin with moisture. “It’s their lives, their happiness. It’s easy for a lot of people to tell someone what to do, but no one walks the walk but you.”

“That’s easy to say, but—”

“Unnie,” you cut her off gently. “Does others' approval really matter if you can’t live with the decisions you’ve made on their behalf? If someone’s calling you selfish for choosing your own happiness, what do you call forcing another to bend to your will for the sake of your own comfort? Who’s more selfish then?”

She doesn’t have an answer to that.

“The oppas did something brave, let’s just be happy for them, alright?”

“Of course I’m happy for them,” Yongsun quickly says, looking a little put out that you had insinuated otherwise. “I just—I wish…” she starts and then lets out a sigh. 

“You wish what?”

“I wish I was brave and strong enough to go after what I want like they have.”

Oh.

“What… what is it that you want then, unnie?”

Yongsun looks at you at that moment. Really looks at you. And it brings you right back to that night a few months ago, and it takes all of your strength to continue holding onto her piercing gaze. “I want a lot of things. None of them easy,” she eventually admits.

“But you know what,” she continues after a beat, holding your stare unwaveringly, like she’s both seeing you and seeing right through you at the same time. “I guess nothing worth it ever is, huh?”

You break eye contact.

And after months of her being the first one to always pull away, that’s something new.

.

.

.

“I want to be brave too,” she says after a few moments, pulling her feet up onto the chair and hugging her legs close to her, sounding every bit as tiny as she looks right now. “You know me, I’ve always been stubborn about getting things that I want. But... I haven’t been that person in a while. And I think I’m starting to hate myself for it.”

“Then go one step at a time,” you tell her. “Do something brave every single day. Big or small, doesn’t matter. You can be that person again.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you down the rest of your drink in one go, and then crush the can and put it down with the rest of the empty ones by your feet. “Heck, start tonight. Call the CEO’s and tell them that ‘We Got Married’ is a bad idea and you don’t want any part of the show. Or I dunno, text Hyejinie and tell her the truth — those cookies she baked were hardly edible. Maybe even—”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Yongsun admits softly, interrupting your rambling. “That night, Byul-ah… it wasn’t a mistake.”

Whatever you were expecting, it surely wasn’t that.

“No?” You clear your throat, trying to even out your voice as best as you can. “What do you call it then?”

“A long time coming.”

.

.

.

“Unnie, that’s so greasy.”

Her laugh cuts through the night air. It’s the most genuine one you’ve heard from her in a while. And dammit if it doesn’t make you feel like she’s just thrown you a lifeline.

Who are you kidding, of course she has.

And you’ve been in your depressive funk for so long that you’re not even mad at how easily hope has slinked its way back into your chest.

“I’ve learned from the best,” she tells you when she sobers up, giving your shoulder a little nudge. And then her expression levels out to something more serious when she blindsides you once more with another soft spoken, “I’m so sorry, Byul-ah.”

Treacherous as ever, your eyes start to blur again with tears, but this time you manage to blink them away.

“I got overwhelmed and then I panicked, so I pushed you away,” Yongsun murmurs so quietly that you have to strain your ears just to hear. “I’m sorry for hurting you the way I did.”

You close your eyes briefly, just letting those words wash over all the broken parts of you like a salve. There’s still a lot of hurt to deal with, a lot of tricky things to navigate through, but like your father has always said, a genuine apology is always a step in the right direction.

“I…” You twist the silver ring on your finger, before settling for a quiet and sincere, “ Thank you.”

You didn’t even know you needed to hear that until you did.

The tightness in your chest ebbs by a generous degree.

And warmth explodes in your heart at the hand that suddenly envelops yours, and all of a sudden, it’s like you’re finally breathing again.

.

.

.

“Hey?”

“Hm?”

“We have an early start tomorrow. What do you say, let's go to bed?”

That gives you a moment’s pause. The two of you haven’t shared a bed since Japan. And so you can’t really help the wary look you throw her way. “Just to sleep... right?”

“Just to sleep,” she rolls her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Baby steps, remember?”

Yes, of course. 

So you leave the rest of your beer on the table, take her offered hand, and allow her to guide you into the bathroom so you can freshen up for bed.

You’ll take what you can.

You’re not one to complain. For as long as they’re heading in the right direction, even baby steps feel like a monumental leap.

“Ddun?”

“Yeah?”

“What changed?” You ask her sometime later as you both settle in your queen-sized bed. “After all this time… was it really just seeing oppa’s post?”

“I guess… seeing where I could be made me think of where I am right now, where I want to be, and what I needed to do to get there eventually.”

“And that involves me?”

“Of course.”

“Where do you want to be, unnie?”

“With you.”

“Why?”

“You’re an important part of my goal.”

“And what’s your goal?”

Through the darkness you see her eyes shining brightly at you, a smile curving up the lips you’ve dreamt of every night. “To be happy.”