Within the universe of tattooed names and endless search for significant others, she met her.

 

She met Jisoo sitting on some boy’s lap written in pretty smiles and addictive laughs as she toyed with hearts like no tomorrow. She strung with unforgettable looks braced with endless appearance mentioned compliments and fatality gleamed in her eyes. Like confectioner’s sugar, she flaunted with delicacy, caught one’s attention without a purpose. But she was not objectified pleasure for the demeaning gaze; Jisoo was the rebirth of a goddess, Venus at her finest. She had pink petals for lips to whisper delicately at every word no matter how rash, where profanities sounded elegant, her voice deep in rarity.

 

Femme fatale, is what Jennie deemed to call her, the archetype of literature and the art of femininity.  

 

And just like that she was infatuated.

 

Eight at night by the gas station, she’s in ripped jeans and a blemishing red striped tee. Down on the plastic bent straw in one carbonated drink, her teeth grinded against it, leaving it rough and jagged. Jennie eyed the translucent swirl of lights edging out the glass clean doors, and she counted the amount cars going in and out. (She counted thirty).

 

Cold, the curb settled unusually chill where she sat, her shoes scraping the asphalt. Deep nighttime blues seeped in, and all she thought about was drowning, chlorine filling her up. Powdered in radiant pink and purple, she eventually got up and threw the drink in the trash. Absentmindedly, she reached for her back pocket in a habit, fishing out a silver Zippo. It was a classic vintage, worn in thin metal, a flame flickering gentle on the tip of the lighter when she opened it. Blue in color, mesmerizing to touch, she’d set fire to anything—everything if she could.

 

And a new pack of cigarettes slipped out her other pocket.

 

Jennie bored holes into her own confines, swallowed the vile inhale of toxins, no beautiful taint to her organs. She remained uncaring as death began to consume her whole from the inside, lungs tarnished in sheen black.

 

Four new cigarettes go in between her lips at the same time, her lighter begging to set them aflame, but that’s until a voice intervened, gentle and soft.

 

“Are you trying to kill yourself?”

 

Jennie coughed out the unlit sticks of cancer, shut the lighter off as she’s taken aback by the regally standing Jisoo next her. Wisps of lavender, protruding bouquet of roses, her smothering scent expanded in the air, impossible to miss. Her presence clouded Jennie’s head whereas her ribs seem to tighten a size too small, hard for her to breathe.

 

“No,” Jennie wavered, “I’m not trying to kill myself.”

 

Jisoo eyed the Zippo then to the red white box in Jennie’s hands. “Trying to smoke four cigarettes together says otherwise.”

 

“It’s an experimental experience.”

 

Raised brows, Jisoo hummed for a reply. “But I wouldn’t if I were you. You wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty little face of yours.” She smiled, took her leave, and stepped inside the store behind her.

 

When the doors clattered shut, a sweet stain was left on Jennie’s heart with the pack of cigarettes dumped in the trash.  

 

She met her at gas station again, but she was the cashier and Jisoo was the customer.

 

The bell above the door chimed, the unforgettable feminine aura clicking in with dainty steps, ethereal. Basic bag of chips and a can of cherry carbonate clasped in Jisoo’s grasp, before it laid on the counter in front.

 

Jennie is merely reduced to the small plastic name tag pinned on her shirt, buried to nothingness in Jisoo’s sight. She is the meek passerby in her life, the unfortunate victim of her grandeur glamour tugging at her heart strings.

 

A bottle of mystery Jisoo was, a puzzle yet to complete.

 

“It’s on me.”

 

Jennie pushed the ten in Jisoo’s hand away, refusing to accept it.

 

Deepening wonder shimmers in Jisoo’s pupils, delight sinking into every crevice of her skin as she smiled.

 

Incredulously, Jennie finds herself grinning, and she watched Jisoo pocket her money back.

 

“Thanks.”

 

She left once more with a kiss left on Jennie’s cheek, red veining bright on her skin.

 

Even if Jisoo were to pluck the snacks off the racks, walk out the door without money placed in hand, Jennie would let her.

 

Jennie wouldn’t mind.

 

She never would.

 

She thought the universe wasn’t always right—maybe it never was from the beginning. Maybe she’s able to tilt fate, mess with the works of destiny, and free herself from finding her kindred soul. She always strived for the impracticals, coursed a way wanderlust, and wished for everlasting youth.

 

She was never fond of the idea of soulmates either, never liked anything about it. Being paired off to someone she doesn't know and expected to fall in love wasn’t her thing, it never was.

 

But here she is exhaling grey, stuck in an unrequited love story all because of a stranger.

 

On the inside of Jennie’s wrist she had Park Chaeyoung engraved, distasteful and unflattering to see. She pretended as if it's not there, nonexistent for her convenience.

 

She learned that on Jisoo, black and bold, marked lonesome on her collarbone was her soulmate’s name. Kim Jiwon—it unfortunately said.

 

Sometimes they talked about it on the same curb they met at, usually with drinks either one of them has paid for. So, in between the sips they rambled off on alter egos, kindred spirits, who he, she, or they written on their skin could be. For all she knew her other half could be on the other side world, distant and had forgotten about her existence.

 

Do you think you'll ever meet Chaeyoung?

 

“No, I'd rather not.”

 

Why not?

 

“I belong to no one.”

 

Aren't you curious?

 

“I could care less.”

 

What would happen if you do meet them?

 

“Dunno.”

 

Most of the time she wished she'd never meet Chaeyoung, or Jisoo would never meet Jiwon, but in a world like this, fate was unavoidable.

 

And she was selfish.

 

Jennie wondered how lucky she would be if Jisoo had been her soul mate, her name printed on her skin.

 

Jennie on Jisoo’s. Jisoo on Jennie’s.

 

 

Jisoo wasn't the type to stay at one place for the longest time. However, it was strange when the first time Jisoo said, “let’s go somewhere,” was directed towards her, of all people, but Jennie never thought to complain.

 

Jisoo built upon plans for extravagant escapades, runaways, and trips to the unknown all in one aimless direction. A thrill awaits Jennie with an outstretched hand, lilac sceneries and valleys of something new made it hard for her to refuse —and it didn't matter whether it was a hundred steps to the west, a thousand blocks east, or a million miles north.

 

There’s this fascinating blur when Jisoo pulled her along to get lost in city lights, full of life, or spiral in delirium neon ebbed lights, losing breath. She never let go of her either, never forgot about her, never released their intertwined fingers. Gracefully Jennie fell, fell deeper into Jisoo’s visage of beauty, taste of sickly honeyed sweets on her tongue, cosmos under her skin. Taken off, when with her—only her, she felt stars at her fingertips, glorious illuminated glows trailing behind.

 

Breath taken away like any romantic cliches, Jennie was caught with stars in her eyes, and blush on her cheeks.

 

Absolutely, she was entranced.  

 

Jennie stole; never gave things back, but she gave too much to Jisoo to understand.

 

She practiced poetry each time she spoke for her, lost herself in a whirlwind of oblivious love— she remembered Jisoo liked cherry pop or carbonated strawberry, preferred Estée Lauder over Diptyque Olene, and enjoyed basic rather than flashy..

 

Jisoo is different, she's a good kind different. One to spend all your change until your pockets ran empty.

 

She grew out to be someone who’d swoon over poetic verses, mask in exorbitant perfume, wear pristine blouses with pleats on her skirts. Automatic ebullient smiles curled on her lips, eyes tinged in starlit swirls, a galaxy of its own. Her palette is pastel where gentle and soft collided with juvenile hues, but her vivacious self never left, more forward than her soft demeanor with a subtle lisp.

 

Once cryptic, hushed behind secrets, Jennie easily dug Jisoo’s facade away.

 

Jisoo received; gave back as much as she's given, limitless and boundless to the possibilities.

 

She made Jennie feel wanted, accepted, needed.

 

She gave her the reason to feel needed, accepted, wanted.

 

She’s effortless, Jennie realized, and she loved everything about her, too.

 

Drowned in ebony midnight, blinded by the darkness growing in Jisoo’s room, Jennie’s still there tucked in unkept covers. She pressed a bit closer, sighed and curled up in her arms.

 

Jisoo painted pictures, created art, brushed her fingers painlessly underneath her shirt, warm and familiar.

Ecstatic sparks scattered on her skin when Jisoo traced little hearts on her ribs, crescents on her stomach, unknown swirls on her back.

 

Twisted sheets, amidst tangled limbs, Jennie’s breath hitched as she swallowed back on a saccharine aroma. Yves Saint Laurent, a fragrance she snatched up with theft on her nineteenth birthday lingered on Jisoo prettily. It was an ungodly scent of the feminine aroma, toxic to Jennie’s lungs the more she inhaled. Already too hard to breathe, her unsteady heart bloomed into an array of flowers, organs turned all to beds of dahlias.

 

She leaned in as if unconsciously, stomach churned from the inside out. Past her half lidded eyes, static in her ears, and flushed cheeks, Jennie’s caught in versicolored wonders. She drowned in peony purple shadows as dim lights peek in from the opposite end with vinyl records, just the way Jisoo liked it.

 

And beneath her, finally, Jisoo whispered ever so softly, “kiss me.”

 

Messily, her fingers ran through Jisoo’s hair between sloppy kisses from her lips to the very fine line of her jaw. They were careless, rough, desperate as nails dug deeper into her skin, scorched scratches on the surface.  

 

Jennie pulled away, her sides seared and the destruction of her insides bellowed, crystal on her tongue, crimson on her lips. She couldn't care less when Jisoo brought her back in for another kiss, hot faltered breaths seized against her.

 

Taste of champagne remained, fitting for the moment, left bittersweet.

 

She's toxic—Jisoo that is—toxic to Jennie’s lungs. She realized after the billionth time she inhaled overly sweet perfume, fumes of a beautiful flowery death looming over her. Order me a coffin, is what Jennie would say as the likeliness of her coughing out glimmered confetti, or pastel pink petals was high.

 

But truthfully Jennie was fine with it. (She wouldn't mind a rose fallen demise).

 

Even if Jisoo would spit fire and murder her heart a thousand times more, Jennie wouldn't mind that either.

 

She never would—

 

—because hopelessly, helplessly, uncontrollably, she was in love with her. Infatuated, entranced, enthralled, and name it all, Jennie swore there was nothing else she loved more.

 

Femme fatale Jisoo was.

 

——————

a/n: this seemed like a good idea to write out but truthfully this was one the most hardest pieces of writing  I've ever done so far

hope it's ok.