#

Wendy sighs for what could be the nth time that morning. She shakes her head as she crosses her arms at her chest, face devoid of any emotion. She didn’t want this. She told the label ‘no, I won’t do it’—but they had already made up their mind. 

She’s gonna be in this unit no matter what.

Nobody knows how much it’s costing her, just to be in this room with her.

“I’m sorry,” Seulgi whispers as they sit by the very far end of the conference room table.

The A&R team is briefing them all about the unit. All seven women, accompanied by their managers, are sitting in this huge conference room, getting the details of what could be the label’s new project.

They’re discussing the details of the song. They’re talking about performances and photoshoots—and they’re talking about forming the most elite girl group the industry has seen.

In any other circumstance, Wendy would have been thrilled.

She’d be jumping on her seat, excited to get it all started. After all, she is at her best when she’s singing. She feels most like herself when she’s performing. She would take any chance to go on that stage and do what she does best.

Yet, at this moment, all she wants to do is leave this room. She feels her chest tighten as every minute passes by, watching the back of her head as the other woman sits near the front of the room.

Wendy’s anger is quickly spiraling into sadness. Soon, that sadness will once again become anger. Then, the cycle would go on and on until it all boils down to one thing: this nagging sense of longing that doesn’t seem to have an end.

“Seulgi? Wendy? Any thoughts?” the man from the A&R team sitting at the front asks them, perhaps trying to get their opinions on the song. 

The whole room turns to them, including her, and Wendy—despite herself—is unable to look away. Their eyes meet from across the room and just like clockwork, Wendy’s breath gets knocked out of her lungs, her heart beating louder than ever. 

It takes all of her to look away and turn her attention to her hands resting on her lap. She shakes her head in response.

I don’t have an opinion on this song. I want this to be over.

“Nothing to share at the moment,” Seulgi says on their behalf, holding that Red Velvet flag tall and proud.

Wendy wants to apologize for not being more present but they’re best friends. Surely, Seulgi understands.

“Okay.”

The meeting continues and they move on to choreography.

Now, they’re talking about who they will be working with and about the overall vibe of the choreography. But these words come flying in and out of Wendy’s consciousness because she feels a particular pair of eyes still glued to her.

She knows who is staring. But she doesn’t have it in her to look up.

If their eyes meet one more time, then hope will start to bloom in her heart. Maybe, she still cares.

And you see, hope… hope is a violent, violent thing.

****

Wendy is the first one who leaves the room once the meeting adjourns.

She encourages Seulgi to stay and mingle with the rest of the girls.

If they ask about me, tell them I’m not feeling well—which, technically, isn’t a lie.

She doesn’t feel well. Not in the I’m sick kinda way, but in my heart is shattering into a million pieces just sitting here kinda way. But there is no time right now to explain that.

She heads straight to the lift, quickly hitting the button to the basement where her car awaits. She had arranged a separate ride for her and Seulgi, not letting her heartbreak get in the way of Seulgi’s experience with this collaboration.

Wendy is aware of how monumental this is: four generations of elite talent coming together to form what they call, is the Avengers of K-pop girl groups.

It’s crazy how big this truly is, and Wendy is honored to even be considered for this lineup. But it’s hard to celebrate this win when she feels her whole body ache just being in the same room as her.

We cannot control what moves us. This, Wendy learns the hard way.

The doors of the lift are about to close when somebody puts up a hand to alert the censors. Suddenly, the doors are sliding open once again, revealing the very person she’s trying so hard to run away from.

Taeyeon looks out of breath as if she ran from the conference room to catch up to her. Their eyes meet in an instant and Wendy quickly averts her gaze, suddenly finding her own shoes interesting this time.

The older woman gets into the lift as well, taking the space next to her.

She’s not, by any means, invading Wendy’s personal space but she’s close and it’s a small space. Wendy could feel the warmth emanating from her body; and if Wendy’s going to be honest, she could feel her nerves, too.

Why is Taeyeon nervous to be around her? She doesn’t have a right to feel that towards Wendy.

She’s the one who walked away.

She doesn’t get to feel bad about it.

Time seems to have slowed down so dramatically as the lift makes its way down. How long does it take to go from the 3rd floor to the basement parking level? Seven million years? 

“You can’t keep doing this,” Taeyeon tells her; the first thing she says to her in so many months. Wendy has lost track of how long it’s been since they last spoke. And maybe that’s the first sign that tells her she’s not over it.

We could never count what is not done.

Wendy opts not to say anything and just keeps her eyes on the digital monitor of the lift. They are now on the first floor.

She sighs in relief.

The parking level is next.

Predictably, Wendy hears the ding of the elevator as it comes to a stop. As the doors slide open, Wendy wastes no time in getting off.

She walks fast toward the direction of where her car is parked, her mind focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Her whole body just wishes to get out of this place and away from the person who still, somehow, manages to hurt her even when she’s no longer in her life.

Perhaps, that’s why it hurts—because Taeyeon decided they were done, and Wendy simply wasn’t ready for it.

“Seungwan-ah,” Taeyeon calls her name, her footsteps padding behind Wendy. “Please talk to me.”

Wendy wills her whole body to just keep moving forward. She is done being told what to do. She is done being the emotional punching bag of women who cannot handle their own feelings.

I’m done.

I’m done.

I’m—

All of a sudden, she feels a hand pull ever so gently at her wrist. The pull halts her movement and the next thing she knows, Taeyeon is standing in front of her. 

Suddenly, all the feelings she’s been trying to ignore start to bubble up .

This is not good.

To be honest, Wendy didn’t know what to expect.

In her head, Taeyeon was celebrating her heartbreak. In her head, Taeyeon is the villain of this story. But what she sees is the opposite of the images she’d painted of her in the last couple of months.

Taeyeon’s eyes are glassy with unshed tears, her lips quivering ever so slightly as soon as their eyes meet.

There is pain there but what completely takes Wendy by surprise is the softness she sees.

Despite the tears b in Taeyeon’s eyes, Wendy easily spots the tenderness in the way she looks at her. It’s familiar. This gaze, she’s seen this before.

This was always the way she looked at Wendy—as if the younger girl was the sun. And Taeyeon was the moon orbiting around it, hungry for the light it shares. 

“Talk to me, please,” is what Taeyeon says. She’s pleading. There is subtle desperation there—and for the older woman to allow herself to be this vulnerable, it’s saying something. 

Wendy is suddenly so confused.

She was the one who walked away from her, didn’t talk to her for three days after they’ve consummated their relationship; and she was the one who sent that that text: let’s end this. i’m sorry.

Months of butterflies in her stomach. Almost a year of going on secret dates, trips to places only they know about. Phone calls that lasted unt