“Knock knock.”

    Irene turns away from the mirror and sees Seulgi standing in the doorway to the practice room, a backpack slung over her shoulder and something hidden behind her back. “Seulgi-yah,” Irene breathes out heavily, stopping shortly from her dance practice. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

    Seulgi only grins in reply and sits on the floor of the dance room, motioning for Irene to do the same. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that, unni? It’s almost midnight and I know you haven’t stopped practicing,” she says, giving Irene a knowing look. Irene laughs, almost bashfully, and Seulgi softens. “Unni, you need to rest.”

    “It’s fine. I’m fine,” Irene reassures gently, reaching up to gently cup Seulgi’s cheek. “So,” she starts off, abruptly changing the subject. “What’s that behind your back?” she asks, pointing to the small plastic bag Seulgi had set down behind her.

    Seulgi doesn’t say anything but stares at her watch, slowly moving the plastic bag to the front but not letting Irene see what’s in it. When her watch shows that it’s one minute away from midnight, Seulgi pulls out a small pack of candles, some matches, and a cupcake packed away in a clear box from the bag. Irene watches in curious anticipation as Seulgi sets one candle- a purple one- on top of the cupcake and sets the wick on fire with one of the matches. The moment it strikes midnight, Seulgi’s watch feebly bleeds out the universal tune to “Happy Birthday” and Seulgi starts clapping, matching the tinny melody with her voice. Irene watches as the candlelight flickers cheerfully in the reflection of Seulgi’s eyes and realizes with wonderment that tomorrow (today) really is her birthday.

    “Sorry I couldn’t get peanut,” Seulgi smiles apologetically, referring to the flavor of the cupcake. “That’s your favorite, right? They only had carrot left at the bakery I went to, but that’s close enough I guess.” The two flavors are only close in pronunciation, but coupled with Seulgi’s affectionate gaze and caring gestures, Irene thinks that she may have a new favorite flavor.

    “I didn’t even know it’s my birthday,” Irene mumbles to herself.

    “I figured,” Seulgi says offhandedly, zipping open her backpack. “You’re not exactly the type of person who takes priority in themselves.”

“I’m surprised you know it’s my birthday,” Irene jokes, poking some fun at Seulgi’s flawed memory.

    “I may be forgetful,” Seulgi acknowledges, “but I never forget the important things.” Seulgi’s eyes darken and Irene fidgets as the atmosphere shifts from a warm jovial one to something more intimate, something that burns a bit hotter than warm. And suddenly, Seulgi straightens up and pulls out a shoebox from her backpack with a flourish and a proud “Ta-da!”

    Irene alternates her surprised gaze from the shoebox to Seulgi. “Seulgi,” she breathes out, wide eyes fixated on the younger girl. “You bought this? For me?” Because as far as Irene knows, Seulgi never spends any more than what is absolutely necessary. Irene’s pretty sure Seulgi doesn’t even have a wallet. “How?”

    Seulgi shrugs easily and opens the box to reveal a pair of black Converse shoes. “I’m not really good at real world stuff like jobs and stuff,” Seulgi admits as Irene runs her hand over the stitching of the shoes, “But I am good at performing. So I did some busking.”

    Irene’s head shoots up and she gives Seulgi a reproachful look. “Seulgi,” she softly reprimands, “The company banned us from busking, remember?” It’s a stupid rule, to keep some sort of air of “mystery” surrounding the trainees- even the ones they already revealed to the public- but it’s a rule nonetheless and despite the warmth bubbling up in Irene’s chest from Seulgi’s actions, she’d hate for the younger girl to get in trouble because of them, because of her.

    Seulgi doesn’t seem to be bothered much, brushing off Irene’s concerns with an easy grin and a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry about it,” Seulgi assures, leaning back onto her arms, grin never leaving her face. “I said I was from JYP.” Irene lets out a soft laugh and Seulgi joins. But soon, Seulgi’s laugh fades out and Irene can see the serious glint in her eyes. “You’re always walking around in these beat up dance shoes and I just-” Seulgi pauses and gives a small shrug, “I just wanted to get you something nice for once. You deserve it.”

The laughter that still lingers in Irene’s throat is drowned out by something a bit warmer, a bit sweeter. “Thank you,” she says quietly, grasping Seulgi’s hand in hers. She blinks rapidly and forces a smile back onto her face, even if the corners of her lips want to tug downwards. “So!” Irene starts, loudly changing the subject in order to hide her subtle sniffle, “how about we go celebrate my birthday then? Ddukbokki from the stall down the street?”

    They both get up, Irene cradling the shoebox under her arm, and are about to leave until Seulgi takes hold of Irene’s arm, turning her back around to face the younger girl. “Seulgi?” Irene asks, confused.

    Seulgi just bites her lip in reply before hesitantly leaning in. Anything Irene could’ve possibly said in the next moment is cut off by the gentle pressure of Seulgi’s lips against her own. Irene lets out a shaky sigh, eyes still closed. She swears she can taste Seulgi’s chapstick on her lips, but more than that, she knows she can taste Seulgi’s sincerity in her kiss. Irene slowly flutters open her eyes, desperately wishing that it’s not all just a dream, that she won’t wake up to an empty and cold practice room, and lets out a breathy laugh in relief. Seulgi is resting her forehead against Irene’s and Irene’s pretty sure that her heart skipped a beat when their eyes meet. Irene’s also pretty sure her heart stopped beating altogether when she hears Seulgi say, “Happy birthday, unni. I love you.”