As the last notes of her recent feature ring around the radio booth, Seungwan can’t help but think back to the woman waiting for her at home. 

Their home.

She fights a blush at the thought (she fails) and belatedly wonders if she is tuning in. She fires a quick succession of hearts and a couple of air kisses to the camera for good measure, the true recipient of her sudden outpouring display of love kept close to her chest. 

She wonders if she has their living room speaker on a respectable but still audible volume, mindful of the elderly couple next door, swaying to the music and the sound of her voice while doing light chores. She had dance classes earlier in the day though so she could also have turned in early for the night. Is she in her own room then, the familiar waft of lavender coming from the candle warmer and the constant hum of the television on its lowest volume keeping her company while she is away? Or is she in her bed, buried under covers that still carries the faint smell of her coconut body lotion, mini lamp (that Seungwan specifically got for her unnie to help her be at her most comfortable whenever she spends the night in her room) on and sleep earphones (that Seungwan also specifically got for her unnie to help her be at her most comfortable whenever she spends the night in her room) in? Truth be told, Seungwan would much prefer any of the two options instead of the dreaded alternative which is their actually-pretty-comfy-but-not-enough-to-sleep-in couch. She can’t help but pout at the reminder of the countless times her unnie fell asleep in the most uncomfortable of positions while waiting for her to get home. She feels another rush of blood creep to her cheeks as she wonders what Joohyun may or may not be wearing. Is it the cute dino onesie they purchased on one of their many spontaneous late night drives –found hanging on a rack at a local artist’s small studio tucked right between various food stalls, still open despite the late hours– on their way to Yeonan Pier to purchase sashimi-grade tuna on a whim? Or perhaps the egg pajama she has had since trainee days –a parting gift from her little sister who owns the matching fried rice set– fabric a little too soft from the constant washing, cared for like a child’s first plush-turned-friend? Or maybe her oversized brand shirt, immediately stolen claimed the very moment it hit the floor along with various articles of her clothing? She saw it neatly folded and draped over her vanity chair the morning after, singled out from their mess of discarded clothes still on the bedroom floor, and resigned herself to the knowledge that she is not getting it back. Though to be fair, she was also immediately pacified by her not-so-secret wish for Joohyun to wear it with thigh high boots and short shorts. And glasses, definitely glasses as well. In public. Joohyun in her brand for the world to see. Just once. Please?

Seungwan pauses. 

Should she buy pastries on the way, or cake? Maybe she should get baking supplies instead? It has been a while since they baked together, she would at least like to redeem herself. Their most recent attempt ended in a disaster –ruined batter, inappropriately-used icing, a purple whisk they don't really talk about anymore, and a countertop they had to deep clean the next morning– but of course, you won’t catch her complaining.

At this point, Seungwan is running on autopilot. Before she knows it, she has bid her goodbyes and is now sitting behind the driver's seat on her way home: cheeks aflame, heart beating a mile a minute.

She paints the scene –Joohyun in a messy bun, glasses perched upon the slope of her nose, dutifully tending to her ever-growing fountain pen collection– and imagines a way to persuade those ink-stained fingers to instead work on her and make her sing. She would start with a soft call, so as to not spook her and prematurely end a dance barely started. A slow and purposeful walk, laced with intent. She would follow with a light touch on her nape, fingers gently curling around soft baby hair. Drape her arms over her shoulder and lean in, chest pressed closely onto her back. She would trail kisses to her jaw down to the expanse of her neck, an invitation murmured, lips ghosting over soft skin. She–

“...there tomorrow. Wendy? Are you okay?”

“I- yes yes, sorry! Tomorrow for sure, I was 100% listening but also please send me the details so I can go over it again one more time? Great! Anyway thanks for the ride, manager unnie. Drive safely!”

She all but scrambles away from the van, holds her red hot face with both of her hands and makes a mad dash to the beat of her thundering heart, slightly embarrassed and absolutely burning with desire. 

---

With the chances of her fantasy coming true close to nil –she spent a few nights ago watching her unnie’s ink-stained fingers as they carefully refill her most-used pens and then spent the latter part of the same evening sprawled on the bed with those fingers in–

With the chances of her fantasy coming true close to nil, Seungwan braces herself for the reality about to crash down heavily upon her poor, yearning soul. 

She peeks into Joohyun’s open room and feels her heart soar at the sight. 

There she is, the love of her life: Joohyun in a messy bun, glasses perched upon the slope of her nose, dutifully typing away on her keyboard. She’s in that muscle tee Seungwan likes so much, showing off her slender but