When Seulgi catches Irene cheating for the first time, they’re barely a week away from their first year anniversary, and her best friend is scrambling to cover herself with satin sheets when she opens the bedroom door. 

           Seulgi knew the definition of hollow but for the first time she experienced those sensations, standing there in the threshold of her bedroom with her stomach lurching and her heart wrenching within her chest, watching her lover with someone else. 

           She was supposed to be the one kissing Irene, touching her, making her eyes roll back into her head. And instead, one of her closest friends is dragging her fingernails over the delicate skin of Irene’s back as worships the column of Irene’s throat.

           The only sound she made other than the strangled gasp that died in was the slamming of the door as Irene’s half-lidded gaze widened to look up at her from the crook of her friend’s neck. 

           It took Irene only a second to come running after her, still in her set of black lingerie, leaving the bedroom far behind and screaming for Seulgi to just wait a second, but it took nearly four weeks for her to actually catch up with Seulgi, who’d already bolted out the door and ran down two flights of stairs.

           Getting off the grid was something Seulgi was skilled at. She left her cell phone off unless if she was texting her friends. Her apartment key changed and she avoided staying there long to avoid Irene trying to buzz in. Frequenting half-deserted bars while she tried to sort out the mess that had just become her life became a habit. 

           Drinking only made her remember the way Irene kissed her, languid and sweeter than candy, and Seulgi was falling apart without her.

           She sat, hollow as an apple core, alone, until one day Irene finally found her in a bar on the outskirts of town. There was a burst of the door slamming open and shaking the very foundatin of the building itself, and then a flurry of limbs wrapping around her middle, her senses flooding with Irene’s gentle scent. 

           And in the midst of Irene’s frantic pleading and the tears threatening to dribble down fair cheeks, Seulgi caved in. The younger girl knew that at this point, Irene was more than just a part of her. She had taken over Seulgi’s heart in an invasion Seulgi couldn’t defend herself from. 

           Only Irene had the power to destroy or save Seulgi, and maybe that was the scariest thing about loving someone. Seulgi had no control over what Irene chose to do, and while the woman made her weak to her knees with love, Irene gave Seulgi dishonesty and countless nights spent alone. 

           For a while, they were okay. Seulgi would pretend to fall asleep early, and Irene would slip out the front door. She spent hours only God knows where and who with while Seulgi wiped away the tears staining the fabric of her t-shirt and went through countless boxes of tissue, body full with the promises of Irene’s love but soul emptier than an abandoneded building.

           Without fail, Irene would return to Seulgi, in the middle of the night, curling up against the younger girl and pretending as if nothing happened the next morning. She would fall asleep in an instant and Seulgi would stare up into the inky darkness for hours afterward, listening to the breathing of the girl she couldn’t bear to live without. 

           Seulgi tried desperately to make it work. She had Irene in the daylight, holding her hand while they walked through the streets of Seoul, stealing kisses from her while the older girl made them breakfast. She strained to keep them together. And they were happy, on the surface, at least. 

           But her love was wearing thin, she couldn’t keep sharing Irene with someone who kept her lover hidden in the shadows of night.