A/N: This is a companion fic (not a sequel) to Take Me Home in the previous chapter. I know a lot of you wanted a happy sequel - trust me, I do too - but this is not that.

Jessica has a nice couch. White and modern but comfortable, the kind that’d be great for curling up on while reading a book, or taking a nap. Tiffany can definitely see her doing plenty of both, especially the latter.

Tiffany folds her hands in her lap. “Thanks for letting me stay with you tonight.”

Jessica is still standing some way away from her. She had taken a long time to lock the front door and change her shoes, as if the most mundane of tasks had suddenly become complex. “It’s nothing,” she says, joining Tiffany on the couch, albeit on the edge of it.

“It’s not nothing to me,” Tiffany says, eyes locked on Jessica’s.

“Shouldn’t you…” Jessica hesitates. “Won’t the girls worry about you?”

They’ve all already done far too much worrying. Taeyeon, in particular, seemed like she was ready to fight some of the antis. Tiffany had overheard several of the girls talking in Taeyeon’s room when Tiffany was supposed to be sleeping; she doesn’t think she’s being paranoid when she assumes that they’re talking about her. Worrying about her.

She can feel pressure building at the corners of her eyes and closes them. “They have enough to worry about.”

“You don’t think I have enough to worry about?”

She knows Jessica’s joking – or at least, she thinks she is. She no longer knows Jessica’s humour as well as she used to; she no longer knows Jessica as well as she used to – but still, she has a point. She has her own life, a life that Tiffany is no longer part of, a life made up of Blanc & Eclare, Golden Stars, but no longer Girls’ Generation.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I can leave—”

“I don’t want you to,” Jessica says, and the fist wrapped around Tiffany’s heart loosens, “and I didn’t mean it like that.”

How did you mean it then? Tiffany wants to ask, although she feels like she should know. She feels like the old Tiffany would have known if the old Jessica had said that. But they’re no longer the old Tiffany and Jessica. She isn’t sure where those people went, whether they left separately or together or perhaps met each other somewhere along the way.

“I know you have a lot on your plate,” Tiffany says, thinking of Jessica the CEO, Jessica the actress, Jessica the soloist. (Remembering Jessica who always curled toward her in her sleep, Jessica who unfailingly got a smear of sauce on the corner of when she ate pasta, Jessica who kept their couple rings from so many years ago in a Tiffany box that once held a charm bracelet.)

“I wouldn’t mind having you on my plate,” Jessica says lightly, the corners of pulling up in a small smile. “I bet you’d be tasty.”

Warmth floods through Tiffany’s cheeks, and she can’t help but remember when Jessica had held her, kissed her, but now she’s keeping her distance from Tiffany like she’s submerged in water and Tiffany’s an electrical socket.

“Really, though.” Tiffany focuses on getting each individual word out of . “I know how busy you are, so. Thank you.”

Jessica looks almost—hurt. “After all these years, you still think you need to thank me?”

“What am I supposed to say then?”

Jessica’s expression is soft yet solemn. “You don’t need to say anything.”

“Jessi,” Tiffany whispers, seeing the old Jessica, the one she thought had left but perhaps is still here after all.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Jessica says again, reaching out her hand, like she’s no longer afraid of getting shocked. Tiffany takes it. “There’s no need to say.”

Jessica has always insisted that they’re the same height, even though Tiffany has about half an inch on her. Jessica always rounds up, so on paper their heights come out to the same. This fuels Jessica’s complaints about how Tiffany always gets to be on the tall team while Jessica gets lumped with the danshins.

Now there are eight of them, an even number with a four to four divide, so Tiffany supposes there are no short vs. tall team dilemmas anymore. Not that they’re nearly as active on variety shows as they used to be, especially the ones with games, but Tiffany wouldn’t care what team she’s on as long as she gets to be partners with Jessica again.

Nostalgia weighs in her chest like she had grown another heart, one that does not beat and is only dead weight.

“Remember that time we tried to make spaghetti Bolognese and set off the fire alarm?” Even as she says the words, she can almost smell the smoke.

“Wasn’t it spaghetti carbonara?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Jessica remembers. Jessica remembers better than her. “Spaghetti carbonara. My memory is failing me.”

It turns into a talk about their ages, and Jessica points out that she’s four months (really, just three and a half) older than Tiffany.

“That basically makes me your unnie, so you have to listen to me. It’s Korean custom and all.”

“Guess I’m a failure of a Korean,” Tiffany says, before she can help it. As soon as she says the words, she regrets them. It’s not like her to let these things escape ; she’s had almost a decade of practice of holding them back. She shouldn’t be slipping so easily. (Then again, Jessica has always had a way of undoing her.)

She spots a packet of instant carbonara sauce, which they hadn’t had back then, when they were young and fumbling and got more food on themselves than the plate, and then words are flying out of , darting their way around Jessica’s until—

“Stephanie.”

It’s been so long since she’s heard that name that she almost freezes.

“What is it, unnie?”

“Don’t do this,” Jessica says; pleads, practically.

“Do what?” She makes one last attempt at defence, although she knows that her efforts are futile when it comes to Jessica. “Talk about pasta sauce?”

“Don’t hide behind Tiffany.”

“I am Tiffany,” she says, both a truth and a lie.

“Steph,” Jessica presses, gentle in her forcefulness. “Don’t do this.”

The last brick in the wall she had built up falls. “What am I supposed to do?” Her voice gives out on her, and her body almost follows. “I have to be Tiffany. I have to be strong – or I at least have to try. I know I’m not doing very well, but I at least have to try.”

It’s like something more than the wall has broken in her, and she can’t help the tears that spill down her cheeks, enough reaching her lips that she can taste their salt. Jessica reaches toward her and tries wiping them away but there are too many.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” Jessica says, not like a secret but like a fact, “but you don’t have to be strong all the time, okay?”

But I do, Tiffany wants to say. At least in front of the eyes of the world I do. In front of Jessica’s eyes is a different matter.

“Do you still miss home?” Jessica asks, quieter now.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know where that is anymore,” Tiffany lets herself admit, knowing that the truth is safe with Jessica, that she’s safe with Jessica.

Jessica is silent for a long moment. “I’ll be your home,” she finally says, and pulls Tiffany into her arms, a wall that keeps everything else out.

Tiffany buries her face against Jessica’s shoulder and takes in the scent of vanilla and lavender, of home.

“I like this,” Tiffany says, running a finger over the open page of the sketchbook left on the coffee table, where there’s a rough sketch of what looks like a sweater in the making.

“Oh.” Jessica makes a move as if she wants to grab it, but aborts the motion halfway through. “Thank you.”

“Sorry.” Tiffany hands the sketchbook to her, being careful not to crinkle any pages. “It was just open. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay.” Jessica takes it but doesn’t close the cover. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I like your clothes,” Tiffany says. “Your sunglasses too. One time I almost wore a pair outside and Yoona had to warn me to change them.”

“I guess it would be bad if you were caught in them, huh?” Jessica says, her gaze heavy. Tiffany looks away. Before, she had fears of them being caught with each other. Now she’s afraid of even being caught with Jessica’s products.

“What do you say we live like rebels for a day?” Jessica suddenly asks.

“What do you have planned?”

“Pizza,” Jessica says with a grin. “No holding back on the cheese or toppings.”

They used to go out for pizza so much, just the two of them. Pizza and spaghetti for the American girls. They never tasted like the food from hom—from California, but she learned to enjoy them anyway.

“Steph?”

“And chicken?”

“Of course,” Jessica says. “What’s pizza without chicken? That would be like…strawberries without bananas, or cookies without cream.”

Tiffany’s throat dries. “Or coffee without caramel,” she manages to get out.

Jessica doesn’t say anything further, just looks at her, but then again – there’s no need to say between them, right?

Tiffany recognizes the name of the pizza place Jessica calls. She hasn’t had anything from there in a while, but it was one of their favourites back in the day. They used to order extra mushro…

Sleep claims her, and she has two dreams. The first involves a giant pizza coming alive and attacking her and Jessica. The second dream is one that has already shadowed her in her sleep several times, and yet it is never any less haunting.

She doesn’t wake up in a cold sweat (a marked improvement), and as she sits up, a blanket falls off her. Jessica must have covered her with it in her sleep. Tiffany runs her fingers over the material and tries to focus on it rather than the dream she can still see on the backs of her eyelids. She takes a few deep breaths and combs her fingers through her hair.

“You’re up,” Jessica says as she walks over. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Tiffany replies. “I just…had a nightmare.”

Jessica frowns. “Have you been having them a lot lately?”

“It’s okay, they’re not so bad.” They’re really not, once you get used to them. Also, it’s not like she’s unfamiliar to running on too little sleep. “Waking up isn’t that different anyway.”

“Steph…” Jessica says, not sounding the slightest bit convinced. Tiffany shouldn’t have said the last part.

“Actually, I take that back. Waking up to you is very different.”

“Is waking up to me better than a dream?” Jessica asks, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s never been as good at faking those as Tiffany; nobody is.

Tiffany nods, completely serious. Jessica is better than any dream, especially since many of her good dreams are about Jessica anyway. “Definitely.”

Jessica pulls Tiffany to her, arm around her and shoulder a pillow that should not have been as comfortable as it is, given how bony she is. She hums a song under her breath that Tiffany vaguely recognizes as Heaven, and a part of Tiffany’s mind starts singing along but she’s so tired and so comfortable.

She sleeps and doesn’t dream for once.

Tiffany didn’t bring any pyjamas – didn’t bring anything except a tired body and heavy heart – so she borrows a pair from Jessica. Regrettably, they’re not pink but she isn’t going to be picky. Jessica finds a new toothbrush for her (it’s pink!), and Tiffany looks at their two toothbrushes resting in the same holder for rather too long.

“You still have a bit of toothpaste here,” Jessica says, pointing to the corner of her own mouth.

“Where?”

“Here.” Jessica reaches out and wipes it off with her thumb. “Are you trying to get a toothpaste foam mustache?”

“You caught me,” Tiffany deadpans, making sure to keep her voice steady.

“I had a great one the other day,” Jessica says. “Although I like milk mustaches better. You can them off and all.”

Tiffany has a rather vivid image of a milk mustache off Jessica’s mouth and has to go splash some cold water on her cheeks before they colour and give her away.

“Didn’t you wash your face already?” Jessica asks, and Tiffany is grateful that she can be so oblivious.

“I, um, do it twice now. Juhyun advised it.”

“Are you going to start taking an hour in the shower too? I only have this one bathroom, you know.”

Jessica sounds like Tiffany’s going to stay for a long time, like they’re going to be—roommates, and Tiffany swallows. She still tastes mint in , although there’s nothing fresh about it unlike what the packaging advertises.

“You can always kick me out if I start doing that.”

“Why would I kick you out?” Jessica smiles, looking so, so young. “I like having you here.”

Tiffany busies herself with putting on moisturizer instead of giving a reply, only that she accidentally grabs the bottle of liquid soap instead.

“Careful, Steph,” Jessica says, taking it from her and putting the moisturizer in Tiffany’s hand. “Watch what you’re picking up. I mean, not that I have anything dangerous here, but still.”

You’re wrong, Tiffany thinks. There’s definitely something – someone – dangerous here, and Tiffany has never been so tempted by danger.

Jessica squeezes her hand, grip firm to the point of pain. Tiffany doesn’t think she’s imagining that Jessica doesn’t let go for a long time. Tiffany would be more than okay with it if she just didn’t let go at all.

“Good night, Steph.”

How long has it been since she’s heard those words? How long has it been since she’s slept next to Jessica?

“Good night, Jessi.”

Jessica is lying with her face turned the other way, but somehow Tiffany feels like she’s looking at her, can feel the weight of Jessica’s gaze on her. She imagines, briefly, sleeping face to face, but she dismisses the idea instantly, knowing that it wouldn’t be a good idea. In fact, it would be a terrible one.

Jessica needs her sleep, and Tiffany needs—well, she needs to be careful, like Jessica had said. She needs to watch herself; it was the lack of doing so that got her into this situation in the first place. She needs to learn from her mistakes. It was already one to come to Jessica’s apartment, and it was an even worse one to share her bed.

Tiffany listens to the steady sound of Jessica’s breathing next to her. She’d fallen asleep almost immediately, which isn’t surprising in the slightest. Jessica hadn’t said anything about plans the next day, and Tiffany envisions waking up beside each other, tangled in the blankets; brushing their teeth side by side, maybe actually forming a toothpaste foam mustache this time, maybe even a beard; eating breakfast together at the kitchen table, or maybe just on the island, pouring juice for each other and spreading jam (Tiffany) or Nutella (Jessica) on toast.

They’d lived like that once upon a time, but it’s been so long that Tiffany wonders if it was really memory or merely fantasy. Having Jessica beside her right now almost feels like she’s dreaming already, and she isn’t sure if she wants to wake up. What would she wake up to anyway? The waking world can’t possibly get better than this, except maybe for that morning fantasy.

Jessica rolls over slightly in her sleep, mumbles a word Tiffany doesn’t catch. Her blanket slips off her back, and Tiffany carefully pulls it over her shoulders, tucking the edges in around her. Jessica turns toward her, as if gravitating toward her warmth, and then they’re face to face. Tiffany’s eyes trace over Jessica’s sleeping features, any unease smoothed away in sleep, her face almost painfully young. Tiffany aches to touch her, but she forces herself to stay still, to stay on her side of the bed. Her mind tells her stay as her heart screams move.

It’s a battle she has to learn to win.

Tiffany wakes up before the sun does, although it’s a close call. She carefully extricates herself from the blanket, away from Jessica who’s as close to her as possible without actually being on her. Jessica makes a sound in her sleep but doesn’t stir as Tiffany steals out of bed and heads toward the bathroom.

The shadows around her eyes don’t look any better after a good night’s sleep, but then again, she doesn’t expect them to. There’s only so much one night can do. Her face fortunately hasn’t swollen up after the fast food, but she wouldn’t be surprised if her eyes swell up tonight.

She brushes her teeth quickly and, on a whim, takes the toothbrush with her. Jessica’s toothbrush holder looks rather empty afterwards, with just hers in it, but then again that’s how it looked before Tiffany came anyway. She’s just leaving the bathroom the way it originally looked, the way it should look.

Tiffany knows that it’s a Bad Idea, but she returns to Jessica’s bedroom before she leaves, not to say goodbye but to—well, she can’t just leave like this. She should, but she can’t.

“Steph,” Jessica mumbles, and for a second Tiffany thinks oh no, she caught me, but then she sees that Jessica’s eyes are closed and realizes that she’s talking in her sleep. “Stay.”

This time, it’s the opposite: her mind orders move while her heart demands stay. Her body doesn’t know who to obey, and she can do nothing but stand there, limbs locked in place.

Jessica lets out a soft snore and buries her face into the pillow. Somehow, her face disappearing from sight helps.

“Jessi,” Tiffany whispers, so quietly that it can barely be made out. She means to follow up with “goodbye,” but the word refuses to leave and she stops there, at the word that means hello and goodbye and everything in between.

Tiffany leaves Jessica’s apartment with a toothbrush tucked into her pocket and her heart beating stay stay stay.

A/N: I don't know why I hurt them so... Well, they hurt me and as much as I want to write them happy, it just would not be realistic.

On a (literally) brighter note, Jessica would get Tiffany this for her nightmares.