A melody is something she had grown wary of; its soft tune, transparent and swaying, finishing at a subtle but fading halt. It was all too familiar, it hit too close to home. And it frightened the absolute hell out of her.

     She worried sometimes that she was all but a melody; that if the country were to look five, ten, even fifteen years into the future, would they still even recognise her?

     Sometimes she wonders if they can even recognise her now.

     She worries about becoming a melody, purely because it was so easy for her to relate to one. She was quiet, but not mute; she was transparent, she swayed with the flow of society, and she was all too frightened of finishing with a fading halt.

     But perhaps it was too soon to be worrying about such things, perhaps it was just her paranoia, maybe her leader tendencies. Either way, the nagging feeling didn’t leave her mind.

     It was autumn outside, and without fail, she would always watch the sun rise and the leaves fall. After all, there isn’t much else to do when three hours of sleep is the most she’ll get.

     Sometimes she’ll just watch, just watch the leaves fall, and realise that’s exactly how she fell, too. Leaves fall in harmony with the wind, but aren’t controlled by it; they sense the direction of the zephyrs, and flow along with it so it doesn’t get left behind to just drop to the floor, because dropping straight to the floor would be falling too hard.

     As she hears the alarm of her phone, she wonders if she fell gracefully, or if she just dropped.

Breakfast is light, just as it always is, though it doesn’t settle well in her stomach; but that’s not much of a change, either. She finds it hard to eat in the morning, she always has, but she wouldn’t dare tell the members that, especially not the one who cooks breakfast every morning.

     They all sit together in the car, the sun’s rays poking through the black curtains of the van’s window, and she takes a moment to watch the way their dyed ends play against the light.

     She was envious of her other members, of the way their hair reflected their personalities without the public even realising it. A smile came to her face without her even realising it, because when she had googled the meaning behind the colour blue, it meant trust and stability; and it just clicked in her head, that her favourite colour was blue all along.

Sometimes when she looks out the window in the morning, she wonders if someone will join her. She wonders if someone will sit beside her, if they will take her into their arms and allow her to release all her worries. She wonders if someone even realises the burden she carries on her shoulders, because it’s just so, so heavy, and half of the time, she doesn’t even realise it herself.

     It’s a constant burden, though it’s not always an unpleasant one. It’s a nagging burden, one that will just sit on her shoulders and wait for the right moment to strike. And when it comes out to play, she’ll just stuff it back down before it can come up with the rest of her breakfast.

     Her alarm rings, and she hears a groggy protest from one of the members; she’s not sure which member turns the sound off, but she knows only one of them knows her password.

Only two of them had a schedule today, and thankfully, she was not one of them. She didn’t set an alarm, didn’t even wash her hair the night before; she just fell into bed and waited for sleep to make her forget about everything.

     But it seems even in her dreams, the burden was there.

     She cried when she woke up. She cried because she was in pain, she cried because she was sad, she cried because everything wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

     She was sick, she was twisted, and she was filthy.

     She doesn’t even remember what her dream was about; all she can remember are fragments of a smile, and the colour blue.

She tried to make herself hate the colour, pretended to scowl whenever it waltzed into the room with a grin on its face, faked a grimace every time it hugged her and told her it loved her.

     She hated blue, she absolutely hated it.

     “You know, I think you’re my favourite.”

     She frowned at the voice, how beautiful it sounded. Her eyes drifted towards the window as she wove her arms around a small waist, clenched her fingers tight against the fabric of a sweater as her gaze fixated on a now falling snowflake.

     She sighed, she couldn’t hate blue.

     It was winter now; snowflakes melt before they even hit the ground, burn up completely because the wind is too harsh on it.

     As she feels a content sigh against her ear, she realises she was not a leaf, and that she did not fall or drop or even sway with the wind. She was completely taken by the wind, swept away and evaporating upon its touch.

     It was winter now, and she loved the colour blue more than anything in the world.

Her feet were cold and her lips were chapped, she wondered if she should make a hot chocolate, but remembered that no other members would be awake yet; none of them ever were before her alarm, which was part of the reason she set it in the first place.

     She hears footsteps before it rings, however, and is a little taken aback when she sees a beautifully lopsided smile and the messiest yet prettiest set of bed hair she’s ever laid eyes on.

     “Are you always awake this early?”

     She nods, glancing out the window.

     It was nearly spring now, their debut long gone, and yet here she was, still beyond terrified of the very idea of becoming a melody.

     It had been two seasons, six long months, and blue was still her favourite colour.

     The footsteps grew closer, stopped right beside her, and she refused to acknowledge the fact that if she tore her face away from the window, all she would see was perfection.

     “You know, I always think about something.”

     She hummed, but did not look.

     “I tell you that you’re my favourite,” She could hear hesitance in the voice, a faint crackle, or maybe she was just tired. “But am I yours?”

     She smiled, eyes stinging and for a second, she contemplated kissing the person beside her, contemplated pouring out every single emotion into with her own, pinning her wrists to the walls and tearing her soul apart with her bare hands and making sure that her favourite colour was splashed against the walls in passion.

     Instead, she stands up, her dry lips and turns towards the girl next to her.

     She’s still kneeling, and she had to turn away again before she does all those sick things she was just contemplating.

     Finally, her rustling voice managed a reply, “You have no idea.”

Spring was nearly over, and she wondered long and hard about anything and everything. Becoming a melody was less fear inducing that it was months ago, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, because a new fear replaced it.

     She was beginning to lose control.

     Sometimes, when the other members weren’t around, when it was just her, she would think. She would think of how horrible she is for wanting such a thing, how disgusting it would be if anyone found out, how this raw want and need could even possibly be so consuming to the point that it makes her cry out in her sleep.

     She wonders what it would be like to have her lips on hers, to taste the sweetness of the lip balm she sees her apply, to have her teeth rake across that plump bottom lip as her hands dive into her hair; wonders what it would be like to have her up against a wall, legs wrapped around her so tightly that they could feel their shared pulses between them, feet locked together just to make sure their still intertwined.

     She wonders what it would be like to just have her, even if it was only for a night, she thinks the repercussions might even be worth it.

     She could become a melody, she could fade and leave, as long as she would fade and leave with her.

Someone had beaten her to the window this morning, and it almost made her smile. The girl was curled up, chin resting on her knees, eyes glued to the outside world. She looked like a confined animal, waiting to break free of its restraints; then again, maybe they all looked like that sometimes.

     “Irene,” She nearly gasped at the way it sounded, so harmonised, so in tune with the world around them, surrounding them both in a bubble for two. “I have to ask you something.”

     She took a step forward, standing awkwardly before the girl.

     “Go ahead.”

     She was yanked down to the floor a second later, the warm and slightly sweaty palm not letting hers go even as she hit the ground with a thud.

     “I’m your favourite, right?”

     “Are we really going to talk about this?”

     A sly look made its way up the girl’s face, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to say no anymore.

     “Just hear me out.”

     She nodded, of course she did. “Yes, you’re my favourite.”

     “Why am I your favourite?”

     She didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know where to begin. There were so many things to say, things that burned on the tip of her tongue, bubbled in , and buzzed in her brain.

     She wanted to tell her that it’s because of everything, because her palm in hers and fingers twined with hers just feels so right, because the way her breath fogs up the window is mesmerising, because the way she sings or talks or hums makes her heart soar, because everything about her just makes her love her more every day.

     But all that comes out is, “Because blue is my favourite colour.”

     They stay in silence a moment, and she begins to wonder if she said something wrong, if maybe that’s not what the girl wanted to hear, if maybe she gave up too much information at once and it needed to be processed.

     But a thumb grazes lightly over her skin, and a small smile graces the girl’s features.

     “But what if I dyed my hair a different colour tomorrow?”

     She smiled back, shuffling closer, looking out the window and watching the wind take nothing with it, because everything had already fallen, and it was going to stay like that.

     “Then tomorrow, I would have a new favourite colour.”

     Neither of them said anything after that, and whether it’s because her alarm went off or not, she didn’t know.

Summer wind was always the worst, it was violent and it blew hair in her face and it was just plain awful. She was never really fond of summer anyway, it was too warm, too sweaty, and the heat made her say things she usually regretted later on.

     She hoped that wouldn’t happen today.

     Somehow, an entire year had passed by, and it was already time for their comeback. Schedules were hectic and time was cramped, they all had new hair colours, of course, and a new concept, and it made her happy to see all the members so bright and cheerful this early into the morning.

     When breakfast was served, a light touch of a hand met her own under the table, it was fleeting, but it was hotter than any day she had experienced this season.

     She ate breakfast without a complaint from her stomach.

Promotions had just wrapped up, performance clothes were hung up, jewellery was sitting back in its boxes; and as she sat, cross legged by the window a day after their last performance, she felt more at home than she had in almost a year.

     She no longer feared becoming a melody, simply because a melody can be replayed, its tune one that can always be remembered by those who wish to hear it. So maybe she would become a melody, and that’s okay, because she already knows who would remember.

     She didn’t even bat an eyelid when footsteps approached her, didn’t even budge as she felt a small amount of weight press against her side and a head lean on her shoulder.

     “Irene.”

     She realised that she was never addressed with a greeting from the girl, it was always her name, and there was never an ‘unnie’ attached when they were alone. It fluttered in her chest, and she tried to subdue it.

     “Yeah?”

     “What’s your favourite colour?”

     She looked down at the girl, the strong scent of berries wafting into her nose as she stared at now vibrant red waves of hair.

     “Red.”

     She didn’t need to look at the girl to know she was smiling.

     “You know, you’re still my favourite.”

     “That’s good to know, Wendy, thank you.”

     The weight shifted from her, and she felt cool fingertips tilt her chin towards the girl’s direction.

     She feared that this would be it, this is where she’d lose it; she’d have Wendy up against that wall within a matter of seconds, hands all over her, lips firmly planted against hers if she didn’t stop what she was doing right now.

     “I mean it,” She hears, and she feels a countdown beginning in her head. “There’s something about you, something I can’t put my finger on.”

     Five.

     “It’s like, you change with the seasons, but you stay the same.”

     Four.

     “It’s weird.”

     Three.

     “You’re weird.”

     Two.

     “I like it,” She nearly faints when she hears those words, the minimal control she has almost gone completely. “I like you.”

     And then, she’s alone, sitting by the window, hands clammy and slippery against the hardwood flooring and hearing a door shut in the distance and her alarm ring.

     She wonders if any of that had just happened, she wondered if any of this actually existed, because sometimes, Wendy just didn’t seem real.

She’s been alerted that they’re moving dorms this week, that they’ve finally made it out of their rookie status and that it’s a gift from the company. And while their new dorm looks great, she’s a little sceptical of it already.

     In the new dorm, there were separate rooms, which meant no more alarm to wake them all up; there was no small kitchen area, which meant they were all free to eat by themselves; and there was no window, and she wasn’t sure what that meant.

     Today was the last day she had to herself before packing, before not having enough time for the window. If you had told her a year and a half ago that she would be emotionally attached to a rectangle of glass in a pane, she would’ve slapped you upside the head for being stupid.

     But as she sits next to it now, she can only be flooded with memories. She had spent every morning by the window, watched the world revolve in front of her, she had seen falling leaves through that window, seen proposals and kisses and sunrises and even herself through it. She had watched herself through the window, and whether anyone believed it or not, the window helped.

     She didn’t even notice when Wendy sat beside her, the weight of the redhead had just become so familiar to her that it was second nature, something she had gotten used to every morning.

     She thinks that maybe there won’t be another window in the new dorm, that all the possible progress she’s made is now worthless because without the window, they’re nothing.

     “Hey,”

     It’s the first time she’s been greeted that way, and it shocks her at first, but she feels a hand touch hers, feels it trails up and rest on her elbow, and she thinks that she likes this greeting more.

     “Hi.”

     There’s a pause between them, a pause that makes her think that something is beyond wrong, because Wendy is never quiet for too long, not this kind of quiet.

     Its silent, it’s comprehensive and apprehensive at the same time, but she feels fingers crawl upwards once more and closes her eyes at the sensation.

     Her head gets tilted, breath that isn’t hers crashes against her lips, and she wonders if she should open her eyes or not.

     “Irene, I −”

     She opens her eyes, seeing something in Wendy’s own pair that she’s never seen before, or maybe she’s just neglected it until now, because it looks so damn familiar that she thought for a second it was her own reflection.

     “I think there’s something wrong with me,”

     She doesn’t let her finish, just wraps the redhead into her arms and hugs her, keeps her hands locked together, allows Wendy’s shaky breathing to hit her neck and make it prickle without a speck of guilt.

     “I mean, I’m just so messed up, and no one even noticed,”

     She doesn’t say anything, just holds her tighter until she’s done letting it all out.

     “I’m sick – so ed up – I feel things I shouldn’t and try to hide them, but god ing damn it they keep coming back whether I like it or not and I want to let it out but at the same time it’s just so ing ed and I just – I hate it.”

     She pulls away, only a little, enough to see that Wendy isn’t even crying. She’s stoned faced, angry, and just looks so done with everything that it almost hurts her.

     “There’s,” She sighs a little, shaking her head. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

     “There is.”

     “Stop being so stubborn,” She takes her face in her hands, holding her still to make sure she’ll listen. “And just believe me for once when I say something nice about you.”

     “But you don’t even know what it is that makes me so messed up.”

     She laughed; a hearty laugh that she was sure could’ve woken up the members if they weren’t such deep sleepers.

     “You have no idea.”

     Wendy reaches, takes a hand in hers and holds it, twines the fingers with her own and they just look at each other.

     “I really hope the new dorm has a window like this.”

     She tilts her head, confused.

     “Why?”

     Wendy doesn’t answer, just leans forward and presses her lips to hers.

     She’s too shocked to move at first, hell, she couldn’t even breathe; everything she had ever craved for the past year and a half was now literally in the palms of her hands and she couldn’t even ing move or think or kiss back.

     Wendy clearly mistook it, pulling back slightly, but she made sure there were no misunderstandings between them.

     She ran her thumb along her jaw, resting at the hollow of her ear, her other hand staying linked with the redhead’s.

     She finally managed to get her brain working enough to make her lips move, daring to lean into the kiss further, taking Wendy’s bottom lip between her own with a slight . She heard a soft mewl bounce through her ears, and she didn’t even care who it came from, it was there, this was real, this was happening, and it was more than enough.

     She wasn’t sure who pulled away for breath; it was only for a short two seconds anyway, just enough time for Wendy to murmur something she doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of hearing.

     “You’re my favourite.”

     What was once a seemingly innocent statement now held a completely different meaning for her, maybe it had actually meant that all along. She didn’t really mind anymore, she didn’t need to dwell, it was all in the past now.

     Because now, she was Wendy’s favourite, and Wendy was hers.

     And honestly, that meant more than a window ever could.