after almost 6 months, it's finally here! i'm sorry it took this long! i didn't want to rush it, and wanted to give this story the ending that i believe it deserved. i want to thank all my friends who i bugged during those 6 months and exchanged ideas with, and gave me all the encouragement and support; and tantan who i pestered everyday, she probably got sick of it  :))

to everyone who gave this fic a chance, thank you so much! i hope the last chapter makes the wait worth it.

the only thing i would like to ask, is to please try not to skip towards the ending to see if they get back together or not. there's just so much more journey in between :')

---

 

this is the way you left me: no hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending; this is the way that we love, like it’s forever, then live the rest of our life, but not together

- happy ending, mika

 

Pattaya sure had changed a lot since she’d last been here. Seulgi didn’t really remember much about the places she and her family had visited, but she wouldn’t forget the massive tiger she once had posed for a photograph with once when she was twelve.

She was twice the age now, but the tiger didn’t even seem to have aged a day. Its fur were still as thick as it were the last time she had run her hand through it, its hinds and its paws just as huge; its roars just as fierce. The only evidence that it had been living for longer than Seulgi’s entire existence was the grays that grew at the tips of its whiskers.

And Seulgi certainly did not remember any petite woman standing a few good feet away from the tiger and her back when she was twelve, looking so terrified and so pale that for a second, Seulgi honestly thought of backing out.

She had turned twenty four today, and there was one now, keenly watching her despite the wild fear swimming in her wide doe eyes.

“Seulgi-yah,” Irene had called, visibly flinching when the tiger yawned. She didn’t really know what it was about the huge creature that scared her most: its sharp fangs that extended past its lips, or its mere size that could trample Seulgi if the woman so much as accidentally plucked a single fur.

She paled even more at that passing thought.

“Seulgi-yah!”

“Hmmm?” Seulgi hummed, tilting her head in the same direction that the tiger—Tatta, as its keeper had told them—shifted its bigger one at.

For a second, Irene was admittedly amazed by the uncanny resemblance, with Seulgi’s eyes shaped very much like Tatta’s. There was a reason why her girlfriend had been dubbed tiger on more than one occasion after all.

But the feeling was incredibly short lived, because Tatta suddenly shook his head just as Seulgi’s hand was sliding upwards to sneak a few pats and scratches at the back of his ear, and Irene swore she had never felt her heart slam that hard against her rib cage. “Baby, be careful!”

Seulgi, though, only looked at her and crinkled her nose, hoping that the way her cheeks scrunched would wipe the distress that had dawned on Irene’s features. “It’s okay, Hyun-ah,” she even added. But the creases on Irene’s forehead never eased, only growing even deeper. “He’s chained, see?”

She the thick chain to prove her point, and yet, still, Irene failed to see where “okay” was, especially when the tiger let out a soft mewl that rang like a roar in Irene’s ears. It took everything she had, coupled with numb feet, to not snatch Seulgi back and drag her far, far away from him.

Though her hands had darted out, reaching for anyone closest to her as Tatta’s mouth opened for another yawn before snapping shut, the sound of sharp teeth grinding against each other being the only thing she could hear. But her fingers could only catch the hem of Wendy’s sleeve, as Wendy’s curiosity had long won over and had pushed the other woman to take a step closer towards the marbled platform Tatta was lazily sprawled at.

There was just something incredibly majestic about him that drew Wendy in, as he stretched his front paws and started purring. Like he was not a beast right at that moment, simply a giant, striped, white cat with an affinity for sleep; one that she would very much like to pet.

Irene’s head whipped at her side, her own eyes quickly meeting Eunji’s at a glance, as if she was trying to find someone who must also be as anxious as she was. But Eunji just returned her attention to Wendy the next second and watched her closely. She may not have moved from where she was rooted at, letting Wendy take the lead, but she still made sure that she was within arm’s reach.

(It was second nature to her now, to never let Wendy stray far away from her while they were in the presence of anything she deemed as a threat, borne from the dark images she had no choice but to look at; some of them permanently imprinted behind her lids, grim and foreboding when she closed her eyes.)

Perhaps, the only thing that was keeping Irene from completely sweeping everyone away was the fact that Yeri was feeling the exact opposite that Seulgi and Wendy were. Her sister had opted to be left standing behind the three of them, rigid and as still as the statue that greeted them by the entrance. She was tucked under Joy’s arm, almost frozen as they eyed the animal with varying levels of interest. Yeri had none at all; she just really wanted to be done with it and leave. But Joy seemed intrigued, even more so after Seulgi had traded places with Wendy, and the smaller woman was now the one who was petting Tatta.

(Granted Wendy’s movements were stiff. But Joy thought he looked really soft and really cute as he tried to fight off sleep.

Maybe she could make Yeri see him that way too.)

“Park Sooyoung, I swear to everything that is holy,” Yeri warned as if she had read Joy’s mind. “If you take so much as one step...”

Joy ducked down to meet her eyes and smiled. But it was all teeth, all too sweet for her to mean it. “It didn’t even cross my mind.”

Though Seulgi had heard it clearly. She twisted around to look at Joy, while the younger woman met her gaze over Yeri’s head, eyes already narrowed in stark warning.

But it was Seulgi’s birthday, and nothing was going to stop her from doing everything she wanted. So she shot Joy an impish smirk, the corner of her lips curling upward sharply; raised a closed fist that stood upright, and waved it in the air as if she was throwing out a firm, long whip.

(Like she had room to talk, really, Joy couldn’t help but gripe, with the way Irene was currently fussing over her and checking for the littlest mark Tatta could’ve left on her skin.)

Yet, in the end, Joy could only sneakily flip Seulgi off.

...

 

Ways away from the animal farm was the town’s lake park. But it wasn’t the usual blue that Seulgi had always imagined a body of water would be. In fact it was almost green, and it flowed under the wooden houses that stood above it. Its waves were simply ripples, brought about by the specks of dust that dropped from under the wooden bridges connecting each house, whenever throngs of people passed them through.

In each of the lake’s ends stood two towers linked by multiple steel cables as thick as Seulgi’s arm—like bookends in a colossal library that floated above the water. There were various trolleys slip and sliding on each cable, sometimes carrying an eager teen or two; most times not.

The south tower bore a broad signboard that was sticking out in the middle of its second platform’s ceiling and the third’s floor. It was in Thai, but none of them really needed to know how to read it to figure out what exactly the towers were there for.

It took merely five seconds of gazing up on the three floors and their steep stairs for Wendy to decide that she was only going to go through it once. Yeri didn’t even bother to look and proceeded to grab Joy by her wrist, dragging her back down to the bottom platform where their friends would last land.

Irene would’ve easily followed her sister, but Seulgi regarded the towers with eager excitement dancing in her eyes. Then, she beamed at Irene, and Irene found herself nodding despite the dread that was already creeping up on her chest.

Seulgi didn’t even have to ask.

...

 

(She had yet to break the promise she made to Seulgi’s dad, that one day they watched the Christmas snow fall on the glass windows, while lying on the couch that was pressed against the wall of Seulgi’s childhood home.

It wasn’t the first time Irene had met Seulgi’s parents. But it was the first time Seulgi’s dad had sat her down by the swing set that used to be Seulgi’s most favorite place in the world; asked her if she had any plans for the future, in such a parental tone that aired out his unspoken question of what lay ahead for his only daughter and her, five to ten years from now.

She was honestly at a loss, because she and Seulgi hadn’t even talked about moving in together, despite the loose white shirts and the multitude of black sweatpants that had taken over half of her closet; and the tangerine toothbrush that hung right next to hers in the fancy holder both she and Seulgi had bought, now sticking out of the corner of her bathroom wall like it had always belonged there.

In the end, all Irene could tell him was, “All I really want to do is to make her smile for the rest of my life.”

Irene had no intention of backing down on her word. Granted, Seulgi would never force her to do anything that made her uncomfortable, but Irene loved Seulgi enough to be willing to try.)

...

 

So here she was, barely suppressing a nervous shiver as the tall, scrawny zip line operator helped her strap the harness in securely. He tugged at the adjustable part, pulling at the black strap carefully so it wouldn’t hang loose on her torso.

Her woven sun hat was traded for the black protective helmet they were told to wear, while the air in her lungs stayed as it was, until she had to breathe and it dissipated into one skittish breath.

Irene found herself another lungful, anxiousness swirling in her chest as she reached for Seulgi’s hand. She laced their fingers together, and then took the first stair step towards another brand new moment she admittedly also couldn’t wait to add to their growing list of memories.

Seulgi let out a soft laugh, feeling the shudder that rolled off of Irene’s shoulders. Irene playfully hip checked her in response, but Seulgi only steadied her with a palm splayed on the small of her back afterwards.

The smallest bit of contact just to let Irene know that she was not alone in this, because she knew that Irene was deathly afraid of heights, and yet she was willing to overcome that just so Seulgi could do this with her.

...

 

Wendy had gone first, playing off her nervousness with cheeky finger guns she candidly shot at Eunji’s direction. She even stretched her hands out and formed a heart above her head while shouting Eunji’s name. “I love you, Jung Eunji!”

While the taller woman could only groan as she pressed a palm on her flustered face. “Oh my God.”

Seulgi chuckled at that, but Irene was too busy clinging onto her waist—as they both watched Wendy bustle down to the other side—to find any of it amusing.

A thrilled Eunji followed her girlfriend right after. Zip lining was not really part of her training back at the academy, but she had rappelled down enough flat boards and low mountain walls to not feel an ounce of fear. She even welcomed the albeit slow speed with outstretched feet and both her arms thrown up in the air.

And then, it was Irene’s turn. The operators were more than glad to wait for her to step up at the edge, though all it ever took to pry herself away from the safety of Seulgi’s arms were three deep breaths and a sweet, needy kiss.

(The fact that the first line would be building gradual speed since it was lower had a lot to do with it too, but no one had to know that.)

It went as smooth as Irene had been hoping. She was even able to wave at Seulgi halfway through, and at Yeri and Joy who were watching her from their spot. She landed on the wooden floor with a light thud, straight into Wendy’s arms who was waiting rather attentively.

Seulgi was the last to go. And as Irene watched her zip down towards their direction with a genuine, elevated smile on her face, she could no longer remember what she had been so scared of.

.

 

Heights. It was heights.

Both Wendy and Eunji had already joined Joy and Yeri at the other tower’s bottom platform, leaving Seulgi and Irene at the topmost, ready to slide down at any given moment.

It was significantly different from the first one they had gone through. It was steeper, faster, and Irene was certain she’d be clinging onto the rope for her dear life.

All the courage she had managed to muster just a little while ago dissipated into a thin shroud of air, rushing out of her system so quickly it turned her limbs into jelly.

But she didn’t fall. How could she? When Seulgi was right there behind her, never letting it happen.

“Seulgi-yah, it’s too high,” Irene found herself whimpering, fingers latching onto the shirt sleeve of the arm she was wrapped around in.

“Hey,” Seulgi shushed her gently, and then pressed a kiss at that spot on her forehead that the helmet didn’t cover. “You don’t have to do it, okay?”

“I-I don’t?”

Seulgi nodded. “I really think you can, but you don’t have to.”

“You won’t be mad?”

“Why would I even be? You’re scared of heights but you still agreed to do it the first time.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” she assured the smaller woman, kissing her again when she felt Irene’s shiver underneath her own shirt. “You won’t mind if I still go, though?”

Irene shook her head once as she mumbled a soft just be careful, baby, the waver in her voice as feeble as her trembling knees. She peeled herself away from Seulgi and walked towards where the operators were to ask them to take the safety gear off. But as she was about lift the helmet off her head, Wendy’s voice echoed from somewhere at the bottom platform.

“Irene-unnie! You can do it, Irene-unnie!”

Following it was Yeri’s shrill shriek that bounced from the hands cupped on both sides of and into the air. “Unnie! Appa said you can do it! Don’t let him down!”

She glanced back at Seulgi, who only grinned at her, the crinkle in her eyes filled with nothing but encouragement. Slowly, Irene felt the dread ebb away as their voices mixed, and when Joy and Eunji finally joined in, she made her decision.

“I’m doing it.”

…

 

Seulgi could tell by the determined clench of Irene’s jaw that she meant it. She’d conquer a fear she had been weakened by for the most of her life, because the people most dear to her believed that she could.

Her chest swelled with pride and affection that she swore reached just a whole new level. Irene had been going out of her way since they first arrived, making sure that Seulgi would get everything that she wanted.

Maybe even before that. Irene was the one who planned the surprise trip, the one who brought along their friends just because she knew Seulgi would want to be with them on such a special day.

Her girlfriend even cooked a fancy dinner a week ago, and surprised her with a visit from her parents.

Seulgi really couldn’t ask for anything more.

.

 

Or maybe, she could.

She could ask her for one thing more. The last piece that will complete the intricate puzzle that was her life.

.

 

Seulgi helped Irene as she stepped up at the edge, chuckling at the feeble “fighting” that came from the other woman.

She could hear the operator’s shrill voice as he started counting backwards from three, though Seulgi suspected that Irene could barely make it out above the blood rushing in her ears.

Still, Seulgi hoped Irene would hear hers.

...

 

At one, things happened quickly and in slow motion all at once.

Irene screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable push that would launch her down the line. Her heart was pounding, and she could hear the air hissing out of . Her friends were still cheering from down below.

And yet, despite everything, she heard Seulgi’s voice above all, Seulgi’s question ringing out like bells on a Sunday morning, loud, and clear, and .

“Hyun-ah, marry me?”

.

 

Her vision was filled with Seulgi’s smiling eyes one second, but her form was fading the next, and that was when Irene realized that she was careening down the line’s rope, hanging in midair with nothing but the buzz the trolley made as it slid against the thick cord being her only company.

Irene then gathered all the air that she could, filling her chest before letting out a scream that rang in the air and echoed all over the place.

“I hate you, Kang Seulgi!”

...

 

Seulgi came down just a few seconds after. She was in a silly Superman pose that would have amused Irene thoroughly if she had not been so thrown off.

The operators made quick work of removing Seulgi’s harness. In turn, she bowed to them in gratitude, before wheeling around to face Irene. She was admittedly expecting the hard glare she was welcomed with after the stunt she had just pulled, yet, still, Seulgi did not flinch away nor buckle under Irene’s sharp gaze. She met it with eyes of her own, matched Irene’s tenacity with the fondest stares—ones that only could reflect what Seulgi was now truly feeling.

They stood there like quiet, warring polar ends, and yet, everyone around them could sense the strong pull of them together. It snapped taut like the firmest elastic, hurling them both back in each other’s orbits.

In the end, it was Yeri who first broke the silence; Yeri who had plucked the courage to ask. “Seulgi-unnie, what dumb thing did you do now?”

Wendy, too, had turned quiet, retreating to curious, observing eyes. She stopped muttering that weird word she was shouting while Irene was sliding down.

(Eunji wasn't even sure if such a word truly did exist; “ujjujjujju" was not part of her dictionary.

But Wendy looked adorable while shouting it repeatedly, and she made these weird pouty faces that made Eunji want to kiss her.

God, she was so in love with a dork.)

“Did you push her off the tower?” Joy chimed in with a snicker.

Seulgi, though, didn’t answer any of them. Instead, she continued to stare at Irene, playfully clutching at her shirt she had now bunched over her chest. Then, she spoke. “I ask you to marry me and you tell me you hate me.” She jutted her bottom lip out, knowing perfectly well how weak Irene would go for it.

It was Joy’s gasp that echoed this time, louder than the rest of their friends. But Irene had remained stiff, for once not jumping in surprise, with her hands folding above her chest as her only movement.

“Seulgi, what are you playing at?!”

“Nothing!” Seulgi answered truthfully. “It's a serious question, Joohyun.”

A part of Irene hadn’t quite caught up yet—was still suspended up in the air and hadn’t exactly slid back down—and so she was finding it quite hard to digest how serious Seulgi was (or wasn’t). “How do you expect me to answer that when I’m busy trying not to fall into my death?!”

It felt like a tennis match that their friends were keenly watching, but Irene was still reeling from it all that she couldn’t really move. While Seulgi could only try to suppress a chuckle, though it was too late and it bubbled up and out of through a snort.

She quickly cleared when it looked like Irene was not one bit amused. Then, with a sigh, she yielded, fishing something from the hidden pocket of her jeans before getting down on one knee.

Wendy had been the first one to realize what was actually happening. Ever the firm believer of happy endings, she had laced her fingers together, pressing them against her lips so as not to coo at the sight. And then she rested her weight against Eunji’s taller form, which the latter welcomed easily, Eunji’s arm winding around Wendy’s shoulders as she pulled her closer.

Yeri, for her part, wanted to gag at how incredibly cheesy everything was. But her sister was on the verge of tears, and she looked incredibly happy despite the scowl she was fighting to keep, that Yeri couldn’t find the heart to ruin it.

“Bae Joohyun,” Seulgi had started to say, then, “Light of my life, fire of my loins—"

“Seulgi!” Irene yelled, foot stomping against the wooden floor. Her voice was constricted with tears and she was finding it a little hard to breathe, but, God, this was really happening.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Seulgi said. She had let out a teasing laugh, but her heart had never been this full, and it was what compelled her to speak again. “Bae Joo Hyun, will you be my sunlight for the rest of our lives?”

…

 

Irene wanted to ask Seulgi why she couldn’t ask her like any other normal person. But then again, they were anything but normal.

(And the ring that Seulgi had held in front of her—the very same one she had seen before but would never stop taking all her breaths away every time—definitely served as a very good distraction.)

They were anything but normal, and so she said—sputtered, even, “I hate you. I hate you so much.”

But Seulgi did not take offense. Not when Irene’s voice was thick and full of everything Seulgi knew she was feeling for her, and her eyes were as watery and as soft as her smile. And the fists that had reached out and crumpled Seulgi’s shirt weren’t pushing her away; they were pulling her impossibly closer the moment she stood up and crossed that one step separating her and the love of her life.

“I know,” Seulgi agreed, chuckling as she planted the softest kiss on Irene’s forehead that lingered. “Sometimes I hate me too.”

Her laughter only grew when Irene masked the warmth suddenly rising at back of with an unintelligible noise, one she hid muffled in the crook of Seulgi’s neck; matched it with a hand that hit Seulgi in the gentlest of ways.

Seulgi only wrapped her arms around Irene in turn, tucking her under her chin to keep her close as she said, “But I love you. I don’t think I’ll love anyone else as much as I do. And I don’t know if I am the love of your life, but, Joohyun, you are the love of mine.”

…

 

At Irene’s you idiot, of course you are; you are mine, too, Seulgi felt the last piece of her slot itself in its place.

And at Irene’s yes, it will always be yes, she was complete.

…

 

Autumn settles in completely without Seulgi noticing, the cold now more a constant companion these days than even her own friends. Or her own self, lost somewhere in between what was then and what is now.

But she welcomes it like a loved one coming home, lets it linger inside her apartment as if she’d saved it a place; though she leaves her muddy boots and the dried, withering leaves by the door.

(Irene has always told her to. And there are habits Seulgi is simply unable to break.)

The air is unforgiving, the sky dreary and dark. Yet, it’s bright at the same time, joyous even, as Seulgi meets Son-Jung So Mi for the very first time.

She wasn’t there at the brunt of it, as Eunji was only able to call her once Wendy had been rolled into the delivery suite, leaving Eunji alone, swimming in her own nerves and the kind of worry that will always surface when Wendy is involved.

Seulgi is the stumbling force that pulls Eunji out of her pacing, her grimy shoes slipping against the smooth, pristine, tiled floor as she makes an abrupt stop upon spotting her. It’s the squeak that makes Eunji whip around, though it’s the chorus of I’m here, I’m here Seulgi greets her with that eases the churning feeling that claws at the pit of her stomach.

Her hair is wild from the wind that has been howling all over and hounding the city for three days now, as wild as the worry stewing in her widened eyes; the same exact look that Eunji knows has made home in her own.

“Is she close?” Seulgi asks in between harried pants. She unhooks the emergency bag Eunji and Wendy have insisted leaving at her place—in every place they frequent, really; Wendy’s idea that Eunji wholeheartedly supported, because she will never take any chances on her wife and their daughter—handing it to the other woman.

Eunji mumbles a soft thank you as she accepts the bag, setting it on the empty couch behind them, right next to another identical black bag that she has retrieved from the trunk of her car. “Six centimeters.”

Seulgi nods knowingly, knows that they may still have a long way to go. She remembers seeing that small bit of fact on some website, that one night sleep evaded her in all its ways and she tapped on just about everything, until the videos led her to what to expect when you’re expecting and she just couldn’t seem to stop.

But she doesn’t tell Eunji that. Instead, she buries it at the back of her mind, in that space where things she’d never have the heart to think of again are tightly locked, because Eunji looks deathly afraid despite the brave face she’s putting on.

And she has been nothing but the kind of solid support Seulgi has never really admitted to needing, so she folds her own pain into tiny paper cranes she used to do before when she was younger—her small act of returning the gesture—and says, “It’s going to be okay. They’re going to be okay.”

Eunji’s answering nod is stiff from the anxiety she feels like she’s about to spew out. She can only rub a shaky hand on her weary face, running trembling fingers through her hair that has been ruffled by sleep. She has faced dangerous masterminds in all her years in the force, has been shot at, sustained a flesh wound, and carried a bullet that embedded itself on her shoulder for over a year like some trophy in the form of a raised scar.

But all those moments fail to match the kind of crippling fear that’s now freezing her veins, turning her blood into ice ever since Wendy roused her up from her sleep and squeezed her arm tight as the first of her contractions hits.

She hasn’t even had enough presence of mind to realize that her shoes are actually mismatched. And Seulgi takes that as the perfect chance to break through the thick air of unease that’s beginning to smother them both.

“Labor is really something, huh?” She quips, shooting Eunji a teasing grin as she makes a show of eyeing the other woman’s shoes: half of a black and orange pair of running shoes, and half of a black sneaker. “I’ve heard the horror stories but...”

Seulgi finishes it off with a whistle, which quickly morphs into a chuckle upon hearing Eunji’s answering groan. The faded academy hoodie she has donned on—the first thing she has grabbed in between blindly running around their dark bedroom and trying to help her wife scoot out of their bed—and the gray sweatpants it’s paired with (that she thankfully has worn to sleep) do nothing but prove Seulgi’s point.

“You’re one to talk,” Eunji tries to fight back, albeit weakly. She’s still much too distracted by the movements she can see past the small, oval viewing glass of the delivery suite’s door. And it’s probably a testament of how disconcerted she is, when she mindlessly just up and says, “I bet if it were you, you’d be worse.”

The teasing grin on Seulgi’s face falls right away, her eyes misting over just as quickly. She’d like to think it’s because of the scarcity of sleep she’s plagued with these days, mixed with being woken up in the middle of the night by a frantic Eunji yelling in her ear, that makes her vision blur.

She would very much like to think it’s because of that, and not her regrets suddenly surfacing and sticking out of the spaces she has wedged them in between; right next to the parts of her that Irene still fills.

(Everywhere.)

Though, Seulgi still agrees with a strained yeah and a small nod of her head, amidst her heart dropping from its place and down to her feet, suddenly heavy with all the unspoken what ifs and what will never bes. “Yeah, I think so too.”

But Eunji must have felt her heart pulse beneath and break, right there, on the hospital floor. Must have heard it in the way she has spoken, all thick and gravelly, as if whatever is left of the broken parts is lodged in Seulgi’s throat.

Her head whips around, the apology already written all over her face and in the heavy dip of her brows even before she speaks. And when she does, it’s a stuttered mess of her thoughts. “Oh God, Seul—I—I didn’t—”

Seulgi feigns a smile, all teeth and more for Eunji’s sake than anything.

(It’s daunting, how faking one seems to get easier and easier as the days go. Like she’s used to it. Like she does it all the time now.

Like it’s all she ever sees doing for the rest of her life.)

It really won’t do her friend any good if her very own baggage adds on top of the things Eunji’s already toiling herself over for, this she knows. Both she and Wendy deserve not to walk on any eggshells around her this day. It’s their day after all, and it should be spent on welcoming their daughter and doting on her.

Seulgi figures she at least owes them that.

...

 

Somi is beautiful. A quiet bundle of dark brown hair and hushed coos; six pounds, eleven ounces and twenty one inches long.

She’s Wendy through and through, from the rise of her cheeks down to the point of her chin. She has the fairness of Wendy’s skin, evident in the fading blotches of red that had spread when she first broke into a cry, and the purse of Wendy’s lips. But she takes to Eunji like a cub would to its birth mother, curling in on her chest when a completely mesmerized Eunji gently shushes her and lifts her up to press the lightest kiss on her forehead.

Seulgi can only watch, feeling her own heart swell at the absolute elation on her friends’ faces. Wendy still looks spent from it all, but Eunji is quick to offer her support, letting her wife lean on her taller form perched by the edge, as they sit on the bed and marvel at their tiny miracle.

She can’t help but capture the moment, though she’s resolved on just giving the picture to Eunji later on, when everything has calmed down and they’re able to spare a second to breathe. It still feels like a whirlwind after all, despite her not being in the eye of it and mainly just standing by. If she’s already both emotionally and physically exhausted, she knows it’s ten folds for both Wendy and Eunji.

She’s just two strides away from stepping out of Wendy’s room completely when the other woman senses her movement, and then seemingly remembers her presence. “Seulgi,” Wendy rasps, tired and still aching. Her hands can barely lift up from Eunji’s thigh that she has rested them on, though, still, she manages to beckon at Seulgi. “Come meet your goddaughter.”

Seulgi nods slowly, but acquiesces right away. She stumbles her way through towards the bed, feeling like some dumb sheep floating in the air while walking to the foot of Wendy’s bed; still feels as such as she watches Eunji stand up and round the bed to meet her halfway, coaching her gently to sit at the nearby chair.

The taller woman has probably noticed how much she’s shaking from the idea of holding a newborn, and Eunji being Eunji, she finds a way around it, telling Seulgi, “It’s okay. I’ll guide you through it.”

Seulgi all but collapses in the chair, her knees balking from all the uncertainty. But Eunji doesn’t give her room to start thinking twice, and bends down to lay Somi in her arms, folded in the exact same way Eunji has told her to.

Then, there’s this light weight in Seulgi’s stiff arms, wrapped in the softest blanket that brushes against Seulgi’s skin. And as Somi fusses, Seulgi finds herself settling a palm over the tiniest chest to calm her down, unable to help but wonder how someone so small can fill spaces in her that she never even knew existed.

Her voice is in ten different levels of gentleness and awe when she speaks, afraid to jostle the baby in the slightest. “Hey there, sweet girl.”

Somi moves her head, as if acknowledging the compliment, rubs her very own fist on her cheek before turning to the side, pressing against Seulgi and seeking more of her warmth.

“I think she likes me,” Seulgi whispers in more awe. She can’t help but look up at Eunji, grinning at her as if it’s an accomplishment she never dreamed of achieving. “Right?”

“She does,” the other woman confirms. She makes sure to keep the curve of her lips up, seeing the ghosts that cloud Seulgi’s eyes drift out and settle in on the corners of her smile, trying to weigh it down. “She really does.”

Seulgi looks back down at the bundle in her arms, stoops carefully and rests her nose at the soft tuft of Somi’s hair. She breathes in, filling her lungs with her goddaughter’s scent so she doesn’t drown. Then, “She’s so beautiful.”

“Isn’t she?” Eunji agrees, now unable to take her wet, glimmering eyes off of her daughter. “I can’t believe we made her.”

…

 

In the spur of the moment—Seulgi would reason later on, even though it’s not; even though it’s a habit; even though after all this time, it’s still the same person that sits at the forefront of her mind—Seulgi fishes her phone out of her pocket with one hand, with the utmost care and only after making sure a hundred more times that Somi is indeed tucked snugly in her arm, before tapping speed dial one.

She’s studying Somi’s face when the call gets picked up, her eyes tracing the small of her goddaughter’s nose, and the tiny purse Somi’s lips make as she stretches once more, just as the well-missed voice rings in her ear. “Seulgi?”

It takes her a good long second before she can reply, her everything just seemingly tied to Somi’s existence right at this moment, and her barely-there weight in Seulgi’s arms being the anchor that’s keeping her from floating away. It all shows when she speaks, her tone still laced with the good kind of disbelief that’s no more than a whisper, too afraid to rouse the baby from her sleep. “Joohyun!”

“Hey,” she hears Irene answer, rather unsurely. Half of Seulgi’s mind thinks that Irene doesn’t really know what to make of the clear elation that laces her tone. But Seulgi is surprised herself, because it’s honestly the first time she’s heard it in months. Not since that night Irene deemed they were unfixable. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no!” Seulgi continues to speak in the same tone of voice; shushes gently when the shake of her head jostles Somi awake. She waits for the little one to settle back down before speaking again. “Everything’s fine. More than fine, actually.” She can’t help the grin that takes over her face at the tiny sound Somi makes, then, “Somi’s here, Hyun. She’s finally here.”

“R-really?”

Her answering nod is spirited, even though Irene can’t see; can’t help but marvel for the umpteenth time. “She looks so beautiful, Hyun-ah.” And it only grows at the softest sneeze she has ever heard when Somi’s nose gets tickled by her blanket. “Oh gosh Joohyun, you gotta come and see her.”

“I…”

“I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

…

 

(Much, much later on, when everything has settled down and what she had just done has sunk in, she’d wonder if there would ever come a time that Irene would no longer run in her veins.

It feels like the answer is no, and Seulgi doesn’t really know what to feel about that.)

…

 

Irene’s just rounding the corner when her phone blares to life and rings, the buzzing in the left pocket of her white coat almost making her jump out of her skin.

Though, she already knows who it is before she can even chance a glance at the screen, because the ringtone she’d set for Seulgi has been the same ever since they got together, and that hasn’t changed.

(Irene refuses to think why.)

Still, she finds herself just looking at her screen for the longest second, debating whether or not to tap on the green button.

(And if there’s a stab that she feels at the sight of Seulgi’s smiling face looking back at her, she pretends it doesn’t sting.)

But it’s Seulgi, the one person in her life that Irene can’t find the strength to stay away from. It’s as if there’s this invisible thread that’s tying her to the other woman, one that snaps taut at the mere mention of Seulgi’s name in passing and slings her right back to where she started.

So Irene swipes at the screen to answer the call. And at the sound of Seulgi’s voice that greets her, she finds her fingers digging against the soft fur of the stuffed bunny in her hands, clutching at it tightly at the way Seulgi says her name.

(That, too, never changed.)

Her grip tightens the longer their conversation goes. If Irene can even call it one, when Seulgi’s rambling on the other line while she’s here, simply listening, absorbing Seulgi’s words like she’d never get another chance to, and only ever answering when she’s prompted.

Then, Seulgi tells her to come see Somi soon, which already is in her mind first thing since she has started her shift and sees Wendy’s name scribbled down their Procedures whiteboard. But Irene doesn’t know why she doesn’t want to tell Seulgi that either; doesn’t know why she’d love to keep her on the other line for just a little while longer.

But Irene has never been selfish. She may be a lot of things, yet, selfish has never been one of them. She never really learned how to ask more of someone. Never really figured out how to ask someone to stay. So she says, “Thank you for calling me, Seulgi-yah. I’ll be there soon.”

“Oh,” she hears Seulgi mumble. Irene can picture the ensuing flush on her cheeks perfectly, at the softness of her tone that she can’t really stop from coming out. “Uhm, you’re welcome. Bye, Joohyun.”

“Bye,” comes Irene’s reply. Almost inaudible, and as if such a short conversation has taken all of her air away. The hand clutching her phone slowly slides down from her ear, until the screen is pressed against her chest and she feels the sting of something cold bite just below her pulse point: two pieces of metal hanging on the chain around her neck. Two rings crafted in gold and words she’d written and vowed not to break.

But her eyes stay where they are: at the silver numbers plastered on a wooden door, 221, and the name right below, spelled out in bolded print: Son-Jung Seung Wan.

She takes two steps back before whirling around, scurrying away like a thief in the night.

...

 

Holding Somi turns out to be a feat, because as much as Wendy would like to hold her and never let her go, she’s still woozy from both the meds and spending her everything to make sure that her daughter is delivered safe. While her wife hasn’t exactly had any sleep since she went into labor.

So Seulgi wholeheartedly extends a hand and offers to take Somi again, who Wendy transfers to her with an exhausted sigh. She cradles the baby carefully, refusing to let her concentration break at the sound of Wendy’s door creaking open.

Her hold only ever really tightens, pulling Somi close to her chest as if she’s some kind of shield Seulgi suddenly direly needed, when her eyes catch Irene’s form squeezing through the ample gap.

The other woman is carrying the stuffed bunny that is Somi’s gift. Though, now, she has it paired with a light brown stuffed bear that she hands both to Wendy, her eyes pleading for her friend not to say anything.

Wendy catches it right away. Granted, she never really planned on saying anything. She’s too tired to think about anything that isn’t her daughter, and too emotionally spent to come up with something she’d pull from her sleeves. Besides, she’s preferring to save all her remaining energy for when she feeds her new born, since a mere hi feels Herculean enough.

All she can muster is a soft thank you, to which Irene responds with a stiff nod and a timid smile.

It’s Irene, too, who takes on asking, seeing the exhaustion take over her best friend’s still pale form. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

The other woman can only shake her head, her eyes closing as she feels Eunji’s cool lips graze her forehead. “Not right now.”

“The epidural probably hasn’t worn off,” Irene states. She fixes her eyes on Wendy’s droopy smile, curbing the edge to look at where Seulgi and Somi are. It lasts her a few pounding heartbeats and a don’t worry, I’ll tell the nurse to check on you every thirty minutes that she quickly throws at Wendy’s way, before the pull becomes too strong and eventually wins over her.

And then she’s stuck gazing forlornly at a sight she knows too well she’d never ever get to hold in her hands.

…

 

Irene was pretty sure she had already folded and tucked six tops inside her travel suitcase. But the space she’d piled it on top of each was once again empty, something she realized as soon as she returned from hanging the wooden hangers back inside their closet.

The only things left inside were the bag of toiletries that she had buried underneath the sweatpants and two of her purple bath towels. The sweatpants themselves and her fancy towels were missing, too.

She peeked at their bed, lifted the lid of the case up, and even threw their pillows around. Still, her tops were nowhere in sight. The only thing she saw was the slender figure at the foot of the mattress, hunched over and propped on her hip, huffing in displeasure until her face scrunched and bunched.

Seulgi had her lips pursed, though her gaze was fleeting, from glancing at the spot where her wife stood at, to a random patch on their carpeted floor. She was scowling at it as if it had personally offended her, when all it probably ever did was trip her a few clumsy times.

Irene playfully narrowed her eyes, and then walked to where her wife was, planting herself right in front of her. “Seulgi-yah, where are my clothes?”

“I don’t know,” Seulgi grumbled. The air escaped through her nose in another loud huff. “Did you check the laundry room? Maybe they’re all wet. Now you don’t have anything to wear.”

A brow arched at Seulgi’s answer, though it was more amused than anything. Irene knew her wife had a tendency to be like this, akin to a little kid throwing tantrums, when she didn’t get what she wanted.

This time, it was a weekend with her wife all to herself. But Irene was handpicked by their Chief of Surgery to attend a medical conference, not to mention, she was personally requested by the speaker to attend since Doctor Kim was someone she had worked with before.

So here was Seulgi for the past thirty minutes, trying to throw a five year-old tantrum’s good point. So much so that Irene had to tell her off in warning. “Yah, Seulgi. You better not have thrown them in on the washing machine.”

Seulgi folded her arms above her chest, her scowl deepening if even more possible. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Irene studied her for a minute, squinted eyes slowly turning soft. Because her wife really did look like she was extremely bothered with her leaving, and she couldn’t help but find it endearing. “Baby,” she sighed, cupping a bunched cheek. “I thought you were okay with it? You were the one who convinced me to go, remember?”

Seulgi then groaned in protest, remembering the night they almost fought about it. Irene was having second thoughts, and was one tap away from declining Doctor Kim’s personal invitation during their email exchange. But Seulgi was dead set on making her go. She knew well that it was an opportunity Irene would only regret later on if she had missed it, and it fell on her hands to make her see why.

Though, that didn’t mean she was perfectly fine with Irene leaving, right on the weekend of their second anniversary. But Seulgi lived with the idea that they could always celebrate once her wife came back, even framing that point as something to look forward to.

Still, it would be the first time she’d be all by herself on such an important day, and suddenly, Seulgi didn’t know how to be alone anymore. “Yeah, but, my wife’s leaving. I’m allowed to be annoyed.”

Irene pressed her lips together at one corner, biting at her cheek to tamp down the fact that she felt like swooning. Instead, she shuffled on her feet, slotting herself in between Seulgi’s bent knees, and kept her hands where they were, cupping Seulgi’s cheeks. She then ducked down to meet her wife’s eyes; couldn’t help but coo at the other woman who was trying her best to keep her pinched face in place. “You’re so cute, oh my God.”

But Irene had always had magic in her hands that Seulgi was completely powerless against. The scrunch of her nose melted at every graze of the pad of Irene’s thumbs on the curves of her cheeks, until what was left was a lopsided pout that Irene leaned down to kiss away, completely and with no plans to stop.

.

 

As soon as Seulgi was done sulking, she had clung to her wife in every way possible, claiming that if she wasn’t going to see Irene in two days, she needed to be as close to her as she could get.

Irene didn’t have the heart to protest, not when Seulgi practically glued herself to Irene’s side, buried her nose in soft, silky hair and in her favorite spot on Irene’s neck, just below her jaw; kissed a trail from there and down to the junction in between her neck and shoulders, and even the hidden skin beneath Irene’s shirt.

It took the offer of sushi from Seulgi’s favorite place for lunch to peel herself off, and the promise of a good, long bath afterwards.

(To relax at least before Irene left, Seulgi had suggested with a straight face, though the arch of her brows gave her true intentions away.)

She stole one last kiss from her wife before taking out the tops she hid on their bottom drawer. Seulgi was scooping them up when she felt a dull prick on her finger, and hissed under her breath as she pulled her hand out to check for any wounds. There was nothing but a tiny red spot from where the tip of whatever it was in their drawer had hit, but Seulgi didn’t want to risk herself getting cut in any other moment—or worse, her wife—and so she carefully dumped all of Irene’s clothes on the floor to take the offending thing out.

It was a clear plastic envelope (her wife never really did trust the brown ones to hold her documents) filled with various flyers and all sorts of pamphlets inside. Seulgi tugged the flap open and fished one out, holding it in front of her as she slowly got to her feet.

The smooth, glossy paper was pink, decorated with pictures of body parts that Seulgi didn’t want to think about. At the top of the page was the name of the hospital Irene worked at, printed in upper case and quite gallant bold, with “Women’s Center” written right below it.

Seulgi furrowed her brows, the dip in between her eyes etching deeper as she pulled more of the pamphlets out. There was a common theme, she realized as she held them in her hands, and the only thing that was setting each paper apart were the clinic names.

Confused, Seulgi looked up from the stack of papers, calling out to her wife rather unsurely, because as far as she could remember, they both agreed to wait. “Baby, what are these?”

Irene hummed out loud so that Seulgi could hear her from where she was, practically walking in into their tall closet. She turned around with an easy smile, one that dropped as soon as her eyes caught what Seulgi had held in between her fingers.

“These are—they’re in vitro stuff?” Seulgi continued as she leafed through the various papers and pamphlets again, all the while trying to figure out if what they first decided on had changed without her really knowing. But there was nothing in her memory, not even from the gaps from when she was either too tired and too sleepy to hold an actual conversation, or too drunk and too in love with her wife to say not yet to her. So she said, “Joohyun, I thought we were going to wait?”

“We are,” Irene quickly assured. She ambled to where her wife was, arms instantaneously circling around the taller’s waist to attempt to calm her down. She could sense the panic that was slowly seeping out of her wife’s system, and while that might have hurt, Irene perfectly understood Seulgi’s reasons.

They were both still starting out on their respective careers—with her just recently passing her boards and her wife finally being with the studio she had always dreamed of joining for only three months or so—and only nearing two years of being married under their belts. It just wasn’t wise and practical to start their family at this point in their lives. But Irene had always been the kind of person who wanted to be prepared for anything and everything, and she figured getting herself educated a little earlier than planned would never hurt anyone. “I’m just reading about it because it’s not my field. And I want to know what we’re going to be facing.”

Though, Seulgi couldn’t help but ask about that. “This early? We haven’t even decided when will we do it.”

“I know. But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, right?”

Seulgi only hummed, looking away. Because she knew that if she looked down, she wouldn’t be able to resist giving into her wife’s doe eyes. And God, that pout.

(It wasn’t that she didn’t want to let their family grow. Honestly, it was a dream that she planned on fulfilling in the near future. But Seulgi wanted the stability before anything else, wanted that security, the assurance that she’d be able to cater to their children’s whims, and give her family everything they want. She wanted her and Irene to get a good grip of their lives first, now intricately meshed together, before bringing another one into their own little world.)

But it was a hopeless attempt when Irene herself clutched Seulgi’s chin, turning her face to meet her gaze. “Aigoo, is my wife mad?” Irene teased. “Because I can make ramyun too if she wants and—”

“Oh my God,” Seulgi groaned, though it was in good nature. She let her forehead gently fall until it was pressed against Irene’s, then mumbled in between the lips that teasingly captured her own. “Why do I even try?”

…

 

Irene honestly doesn’t know how long she’s been staring, nor if she even has plans to look away because just like all the other times, her body is no longer her own. It never has been, anymore, since that day she bumped into Seulgi in that cafe, and her ensuing reaction wasn’t a glare but rather, two sorrys and a shy smile.

She supposes she has Wendy to thank when the other woman calls her name, because, then, she’s forced to look away. Though, at Wendy’s question, Irene thinks she’d rather just stare, look at Seulgi and freeze that sight into a moment that can never be snatched away from her.

But fate has always had other plans for her that she has long given up on trying to figure out to be one step ahead, and the one thing that seems to be certain these days is that she wants things even though they hurt.

“Do you want to hold Somi?”

She can only nod, her jaw flexing at the movement. It clenches when Wendy calls Seulgi, asking her to come near, and unclenches as she watches Seulgi walk towards her with a familiar heat in her eyes, laying Somi in her arms.

Irene feels her tremble when their skins accidentally touch, but Seulgi’s already pulling back before she can even think of anything to say. The words that have always been a perfect array inside her head are just floating now, swimming aimlessly in her thoughts that Irene’s only able to pick up the simplest. “Thank you.”

Seulgi only nods at her once in reply, but the way she’s staring at her—her and Somi—with so much tenderness in her eyes is enough to choke her up. She dips her chin to look at the miraculously still sleeping newborn, hiding her own ghosts from the one who haunts her most.

While Seulgi feels like sobbing—wants to; one of the many things she wants right in this moment—and maybe, sink in her knees and beg for another chance; tell the love of her life that she’s going to get things right this time.

But she knows all too well that she can’t. So she swallows the urge down and blinks the mist away, then backs a few steps up to create a direly needed space, from what could be another notch in her long list of missteps.

She clears , freeing the breath that she’s been holding in since Irene has stepped inside, then tells Irene, and effectively everyone inside the suddenly much too white and much too sterile room, “I’m gonna—I’m going to get something to drink.”

Staying in that same place won’t do any of them any good, this she knows. Not when the sight of the love of her life smiling down at a newborn she now wishes was theirs tears the remaining parts of her into pieces that Seulgi no longer knows how to put back.

…

 

They had been fighting for what felt like hours, Irene refusing to talk to Seulgi, and Seulgi refusing to see anything past the fact that she couldn’t lose Irene.

Pain was thrown in the form of words, shaped like pointed knives that was lobbed back and forth, as if it was a ticking time bomb in their hands. It cut and it pierced and it bled, leaving wounds all over their skin and cracks in their hearts.

“Seulgi, can you stop being dumb for once,” Irene had snapped then, hurtful, biting. “And actually listen to what I’m trying to say?”

“This is the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” Seulgi had answered, shoulders slumped as the fight rushed out of her.

Irene sobered quickly at the sight, her next words turned pleading. “Why can’t we just talk about it, please?”

“Hyun, in just a few months you’d officially be an attending and you’re bound to get a crazier sched—”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me, Seulgi.”

“I’m not. I'm just—I just want us really think about it first. We need to be reasonable.”

Especially now that Seulgi’s career was starting to take off and her name was being passed around by word of mouth. While Irene was well on her path to being one of the most promising neurosurgeons in the city.

“But how long? We’re not getting any younger.”

When Seulgi remained silent, Irene could only throw her hands up in the air in surrender.

…

 

Seulgi slowly backs away, slinking out of the room in the hopes that her absence will not be noticed, even though she can feel Irene’s eyes on her, tracing her every move. But she’s too tired to think of it being anything past the unspoken yet mutual platonic care the have for each other. They’ve been each other’s best friends after all.

(While Irene feels like she’s taken a sledgehammer straight to her chest, and it hurts—physically; tangibly—even more so when she sees the tautness that dawns on Seulgi’s face.

Because six years ago, Irene’s entire world has shifted in just three words, and she had put Seulgi first, over anyone else including herself.

Seulgi’s pain became her pain. And right now, Seulgi looks like she’s been split in half, and Irene feels that she has been, too.)

Seulgi dashes away from the door as soon as she pulls it close, too afraid for anyone to hear how the very last part of her breaks.

And yet, even leaving can’t erase the image of Irene and Somi that has inked itself into her memory.

…

 

Irene’s scrubs had been traded to dark blue and Seulgi still hadn’t changed her mind.

…

 

She makes it out of the hospital through the Nursery floor’s doors, passing Irene’s friend, Yongsun, by and barely even realizing Yongsun’s greeting her hello. Her reply is a harried hi and a rigid nod, which she quickly leaves behind as she ambles to the first corner she comes upon, almost toppling over the nearest wooden bench she spots.

Her heart is still throbbing from when she left Wendy’s room, her head swimming in thoughts and memories that’s suddenly all in her head. But nothing is ever clear, and the only thing that’s coming out is the regret from all the words she wishes she could have said when she had the chance.

Seulgi leans back, dropping her weight against the bench rest. She then looks up, watching the last dregs of sunlight filter in through the branches of the tree she’s finding refuge under.

This is where Eunji finds her, and in such a state that she barely even acknowledges another person’s presence; hardly moves when the other woman takes the vacant spot on the very same bench. They must be quite a sight, Eunji in all her disheveled glory and mismatched shoes, and her, looking like she just lost her world all over again.

“How was the drink?” Eunji speaks, after what feels like the hundredth time the traffic light right across the street has changed from red to yellow to green.

Seulgi turns to look at her, and isn’t surprised to find the other woman already staring at her, as if she knows. Eunji has always been one with an uncanny ability to catch onto things quickly—that throwing a haphazard reply would be pointless—and so she opens to answer.

Only to find the choked sound she’s been pushing down since she laid her eyes on Irene again finally escape .

Eunji’s sympathy feels heavier on her shoulders now more than before, that she has to look away, back up at the sky, and down at the other side of the street, until her gaze reaches the line where it disappears. Her head is moving too fast from trying to shake away the warmth that she feels is suddenly streaking down her face.

Seulgi feels her hands tremble, violent and unstoppable that she has to ball them into fists to keep them steady. And, yet, really, she only has one thing to say. “D-did you see Joohyun with Somi? She looked so beautiful.”

(Eunji doesn’t miss the weight of the past months in Seulgi’s voice, in the way that it quivers; feels the hurt that hides in the trenches of the deep, halting breaths that Seulgi is trying to hold back course in her own bones.

Because Seulgi completely understands that some things should just stay broken, she really does. What Seulgi doesn’t, is why did it have to be them.)

She surges down, propping her elbows above her knees, laced hands covering to muffle another sob that wants to escape. But it’s her shoulders that wrack with the constrained sound as she silently whimpers, her head hanging and her hands gripping each other impossibly tighter, her knuckles pressing against her lips so hard it almost hurt.

They move against them, leaving a trail of droplets in her words’ wake. “I was so, so stupid. Oh God, I’m so, so stupid.”

She feels more than sees Eunji’s hand rest on one of her shoulders, soft yet calloused fingers giving it a firm squeeze, a do what you think you need to do that emanates from the warmth of her palm.

Like she gets her, she gets Seulgi.

Seulgi doesn’t really know how long she stays like that, eyes closed and wishing for another chance she knows she probably doesn’t deserve. And when she finally musters up the will to look at Eunji once more, the other woman is still staring at her, though, her eyes are red, too.

Eunji just gives her a kind smile when she notices her looking back—maybe she doesn’t deserve that either—one that doesn’t drop even after Seulgi finally untangles her own hands to cover her comforting one and squeeze it back in gratitude.

Together, they watch the sun slowly give way to the coming night, until Eunji’s phone rings and Seulgi hears Wendy ask her wife to get back so that they can feed Somi.

Eunji says I’m on my way right away, but she has always been one of Seulgi’s best friends through and through, only agreeing to leave once she’s sure that Seulgi’s okay—as okay as she can be—despite Seulgi telling her that she should stop worrying over someone who isn’t her daughter. Right now, at least.

Besides, Seulgi can sense the excitement that’s pouring out of Eunji’s veins, and the need to hold her daughter once again. So she sends her off with an I’ll be fine, and a please give Somi a kiss for me, dropping her goddaughter’s name for good measure.

Eunji leaves her with one last squeeze on her shoulder, that she feels all the way through her walk back to her empty apartment.

…

 

The autumn breeze turns freezing as it paves the way for winter, the snow finding its home on rooftops and front lawns. White sheets now cover the streets, already reaching up to the ankles, though Irene swears it was just yesterday when the first snow pillowed over them.

It genuinely feels like a blink—she blinked and the trees in front of their complex had shed all of their leafs, autumn passing by and leaving snowed prints in its wake.

A blink, and she’s suddenly watching her godchild of now more than two months be gently swayed by her mother while nursing her; watching as Wendy maneuvers all over Yeri’s living room in a waltz that effectively stops Somi’s whimpers.

(The little one doesn’t like to sit still, as it turns out; her mother’s daughter.)

They’re not even snowed in or anything. But Wendy’s too tired to do anything these days, and this is the first day off in weeks that Irene has gotten where she isn’t a part of the hospital’s on-call rotation. And so their hey, let’s meet up for lunch turned into simply staying in at Joy and Yeri’s place, with takeout cooling by the kitchen island: three boxes of lo mein and a boxful of dumplings that Eunji brought in with her. Their savior.

It’s a decision that’s quickly proving to be the smartest, when the weather forecast airs on Irene’s muted television, matched with the blanket of snow that’s starting to fill their windowsill.

Irene tries real hard not to coo at the small noise Somi makes as she unlatches from Wendy, and merely folds her fingers on her lap, settling to watch the exchange of arms when Wendy hands her daughter to her wife.

She has been monopolizing the baby since this morning anyway. She figures she’d ought to give Eunji the time, who has driven all the way from the station to spend her lunch break with them.

Wendy tiredly sinks back into the couch as Eunji takes her place, who rights Somi up and gently pats her soft, small back to coax a burp.

Wendy’s exhausted sigh is as loud as the sound Yeri’s couch makes as she settles in it completely, content to watch her wife sway, too, and coo at the baby’s ear. “You can do it, Somi-yah. Just don’t throw up on umma, okay? I still have to go back to the station.”

Irene tries really hard not to feel like she’s intruding on a family moment, but Eunji presses her lips on the side of Somi’s tiny head and Wendy’s eyes light up with so much adoration that Irene just can’t help feeling such.

She chooses to focus on her godchild instead, despite the lingering dull ache that doesn’t ebb away; forces a smile when they finally hear Somi’s soft burp, and the awe in Eunji’s voice as she marvels.

“I can’t believe she actually listened to me.”

“She does,” Wendy assures her wife. Her endeared grin only grows as she remembers all those nights that Eunji talked to her heavily pregnant stomach, telling their daughter about her day. Somi tended to move around and press on her bladder a lot during the night, but she’d settle once she heard Eunji’s gentle tone. “She’s always had, hon. You’re her mom, after all.”

...

 

(There’s a pang that creeps on Irene’s chest, throbbing at the edges of the hole she has cut herself.

It’s shaped like Seulgi. Raw and jagged, as if it’s cut by a broken shard she has chipped off from a very vital part of her.

The piece of her own heart where Seulgi’s name is inked.)

...

 

Somi yawns in her mom’s arms, but it’s evident that she’s fighting sleep. And so Irene goes to grab the toys that she keeps on her bedroom for when her goddaughter comes over, thinking of playing with her for a while until she gets tired.

She hears the faint crack of the apartment door as it opens, just as she’s grabbing the turtle plush, Eunji’s voice greeting someone hey, I haven’t seen you in a while that follows, and Wendy gently calling her name that still startles her. “Unnie, someone’s looking for you.”

“Who is it?” She asks, looking over her shoulder, and then frowns at the hesitant look that shows on Wendy’s face.

“She’s uhm,” the other woman starts to say. The way she swallows visibly has Irene’s frown etching deeper. “Eunji knows her from the uhm… the dance studio.”

Oh.

Irene feels her fingers dig into the plush toy on her hand, unknowingly squeezing it. And her voice is as rough as the tiny beads rolling beneath her tight grip when she says, “I’ll be right out.”

Wendy only nods in response. But she doesn’t leave her spot. Instead, she props herself on the doorframe and patiently waits for Irene to step outside. Though, she pointedly looks away when Irene takes a few deep breaths, composing herself, giving her as much privacy as the small room can offer, and all the time in the world, really.

Because Wendy knows that whatever the woman is here for will involve Seulgi one way or another, and that is never going to be something Irene will be able to deal with rather easily.

.

 

Irene steps out of her room in five deep breaths, though she’s not really sure if she’s still even breathing by the time she reaches the front door and spots her ex-wif—Seulgi’s co-worker.

She’s really expecting it to be Eunbi, being the one closest to Seulgi. They’ve had her over a few times, and so Irene knows her most out of all.

But their guest is a completely new face; one Irene can’t remember ever seeing. She knows all of Seulgi’s co-workers, even the ones who have already left, and yet, the tall, blonde woman standing right in front of her doesn’t spark any fragment of her memory.

“Hi, I’m Eunae,” the woman greets her, quickly following with an apology. “I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, but my boss would like to know if you have seen Seul around?”

She hasn’t. The last time they saw each other, Seulgi had Somi in her arms, and she looked up at Irene with this smile on her face that only Somi could coax out.

(For a second, she had gazed at Irene as if she was telling her she was finally ready. But it was gone the next, and Seulgi’s eyes had dimmed, the smile hanging at the corner of her lips suddenly weighed by a world that slipped like sand in between her fingers and a chance she knew she single-handedly ruined.

The last time they saw each other, Irene was wishing to turn back time, to that fateful night where they’ve said things they both regret and Seulgi was begging her to fix it.)

“Oh, we—I,” Irene stutters, fumbling for words, because she hasn’t heard Seulgi’s nickname in quite a while, not even from their closest friends, and yet, here is a woman she has absolutely no knowledge of, that has Seul rolling out of her tongue in a way that’s supposed to sound foreign but isn’t. It’s almost the exact same way Seul used to slip out of Irene’s own, wrapped in warmth and tender affection, that Irene feels something drop at the pit of her stomach.

“We haven’t seen Seulgi,” Wendy, ever her savior these days, quickly answers for her. Irene can only nod, and flash a tight smile she forces herself to wear for manners’ sake. “Is something wrong?”

Eunae’s face twists into a kind of worry that Irene knows intimately well, and Irene feels the churning in her gut grow stronger. Because for a second, it seemed like she’s staring at her own eyes in front of the mirror—staring at the muted panic that dances in them knowing that something might have happened to Seulgi.

“I’m… we’re not really sure,” a hesitant Eunae admits. “She hasn’t showed up at the studio for three days now. I’ve been dropping by her place since yesterday and tried calling for her for almost an hour but… no one seemed to be home.”

Irene swallows hard at that. “H-have you tried calling her phone?”

“We have,” the other woman confirms, then, “but we can’t reach her. That’s why we had to check her records for any emergency contact.”

Her answering nod is stiff, both from the fact that she’s still Seulgi’s emergency contact even though it has been months, and the anxiety that rushes to her head, paling slightly at the thought that something did happen to Seulgi and not one of them knew about it. “I’ll go see if she’s at the—her apartment.”

“Thank you,” Eunae says. The huge sigh of relief she lets out hits the hallway’s ground as she bows down in gratitude, but it isn’t lost on Irene. She fishes a business card from the back pocket of her jeans when she comes back up, handing it to the smaller woman. “Please call me if there’s any news.”

In another time, Irene thinks she’d be more warm and welcoming. But half of her brain is already drowning in restless unease that she feels she might start spewing out; while the other half can’t quite stop screaming Seul in Eunae’s voice, that her smile just grows more and more rigid the longer Eunae stands by the front door.

Wendy, though, can only look at her oddly, her eyebrows drawing close as the other woman’s of course comes out sharp despite the way her voice quivers.

(Closer at the guarded look that settles in on Irene’s face, and something else quite familiar yet indiscernible that Wendy can’t quite place.)

...

 

To her own relief, Irene does find Seulgi at her apartment, on the makeshift bed that Seulgi seems to have made a permanent refuge of, surrounded by crumpled used tissues, a pile of empty rolls, and the darkness that plunged the modest living room into.

(Never mind that the weight on her fingers, of what used to be her keys to what was once her home, feels almost foreign to her now.

And yet, when she puts the key in and it slides as easy as it always had, it’s one of the few things that feels perfectly right these days.)

But her respite is short lived, because Seulgi looks frail enough for Irene to barely curb the urge to rush her down to their emergency bay. It has been three days after all—Seulgi has been missing for three days, curled under sweat-filled pillows and covers that have not been changed, completely unable to keep her head up as the feeling of never-ending nausea and misery wash over her every time she tries to.

Irene pushes the door close, toes her sneakers off next, leaving them right next to where Seulgi’s boots are unthinkingly. She walks towards the couch as lithe as she can, calling Seulgi’s name first to see if she’s awake, and sinking to her knees when she doesn’t get any form of response.

She really, only fully intends to check if Seulgi has a fever, and perhaps get her to move, too—because God knows lying on this couch for three days straight can’t be at all comfortable and Seulgi needs to be able to fully rest to recover—but her eyes catch the exhaustion marring Seulgi’s face as she carefully pulls the blanket down, this weight that’s making Seulgi’s own look like they’re sinking deep even if they are screwed shut.

Irene’s hand ends up hovering above Seulgi’s forehead, until it slowly moves to cover as she studies the other woman wordlessly. While the unease that hisses and coils all around her is louder than a scream.

And a part of her, that huge part of her that she has been trying so hard to push at the very back of her heart, that part that’s irrevocably devoted to Seulgi, wants to take a hundred fifty four steps and a thousand words back, just so she won’t have to see Seulgi this way.

It’s the same part that reminds her in the next two heartbeats, that Seulgi’s well-being comes first—that there’s another time and place to battle her own regrets that are now fighting to surface.

So Irene steels herself in one deep breath, locks that part of her that is in love with Seulgi, and gently wakes her up.

Seulgi jolts right at once, with a gasp that sounded like she’s rousing up from something arduous. But Irene doesn’t jump in surprise. Her heart sinks instead, constricting right on the spot because Seulgi is the one person she knows that can sleep through any storm and yet—

“Joohyun?” Seulgi mumbles in disbelief. Her head is still swimming in nausea, burning with fever and the remnants of her dream that she doesn’t really know if this vision of Irene right in front of her is real. Or the perpetuation of something so cruel.

(The sight of Irene used to take her breath away, but now it just robs her of air in all the wrong ways, sharp and in pieces like shrapnels of a grenade, and Seulgi just desperately wants to breathe.)

“Hey,” Irene replies, with a smile she forces herself to wear to keep Seulgi at ease; finally finds the strength to will her hand to feel Seulgi’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

But her palm has barely grazed the visibly flushed skin and Seulgi is already pulling back, stuttering out a what are you doing here that has Irene tasting heartbreak in her tongue.

“Eunae came by Yeri’s apartment looking for me,” she starts to explain, ignoring the taste she knows would linger. The pause she punctuates it with is pregnant with everything. “Because I’m still listed as your emergency contact.”

“I—I apologize.” Seulgi looks down as she rasps haltingly, hiding the guilt and embarrassment on the bunched sheets. “I’ll have it changed as soon as I get back to the studio. I’m… I’m sorry they had to bother you.”

Irene almost bristles at the civility that suddenly springs up in between them, as if Irene hadn’t tasted the sun on Seulgi’s lips each time they kissed till they were out of breath; apologizing to her like she’s someone she just met, as if Seulgi hadn’t mapped out galaxies on every inch of Irene’s skin.

In the end, she just sighs, “Seulgi.” It’s broken, weary; tired of everything and this void that has suddenly shot up high.

Seulgi just swallows thickly, pushing back the tears pooling at the corner of her eyes. She has never been good at controlling her feelings—anything, really, when it comes to Irene—and so she turns away from where Irene is towering over her and lies on her other side, resolved to just stare at the linen fabric covering the couch rest. Then, she says, “I already took Nyquil anyway.”

She feels more than hears the next sigh that comes from the woman now behind her. It’s the last sound that fills the room as they both turn quiet after, long enough for Seulgi to think that Irene will grow tired of it and just get up and leave.

(She swallows more thickly at that, at how Irene seems to always find it easy to walk away, while she can’t even bring herself to look at the woman she loves and tell her very own self that maybe, it was time to.)

Seulgi can only screw her eyes shut, feeling another rough cough wrack her chest and keeping it to her own.

.

 

The silence that hangs in between them is another blanket that wraps around Seulgi, that feels more like a bulk of weight that makes her knees give in instead of being a source of comfort.

But what weakens her completely is the gentle palm that she suddenly feels running along her back, and the warmth of a hand that doesn’t belong to her. It seeps through her clothes and straight underneath her shirt, matched with the softest tone she hears as Irene says, “Scoot over.”

Seulgi twists around at the weight she feels slowly dipping the edge of the couch. “W-what?”

“Scoot over a little,” Irene repeats. Though her hand doesn’t stop moving, soothing the roughness she can hear bubbling from Seulgi’s throat. “Come on bab—”

It’s Irene who swallows visibly this time, her heart suddenly racing and running dry. “Scoot, please.”

She doesn’t wait nor look for a response, instead only focusing on getting Seulgi to settle as comfortably as she can. Because she looks weary, even more now than when they first saw each other after they’ve signed their life together away.

“It’s—it’s okay,” Seulgi tries to tell her.

But the ensuing cough that bounces off of her chest proves otherwise. The look on Irene’s face morphs into something determined, a look Seulgi knows she has no chances to defy, especially in her current state.

With some difficulty, Irene shifts on the makeshift bed to lie down next to Seulgi, at the same time making sure that her hand is kept pressed on Seulgi’s back. It’s a tight squeeze, and it leaves her hand in an awkward, uncomfortable angle—so tight that she can feel the puffs of Seulgi’s breaths against her cheek; and if she’s suddenly all flushed, she knows it’s just from the heat Seulgi’s fevered body is giving off.

It just won’t do, so she says, “Turn around.”

She feels another puff of warm breath—not the good kind of warm, Irene can tell; she really needs to make her take medicine again some time later—as she watches Seulgi blink at her in confusion before asking, “What?”

It’s honestly a surprise that Irene’s voice doesn’t shake when she answers. “Turn around and onto your side please.”

She punctuates it with a firm tone that doesn’t leave Seulgi any room to protest. Seulgi can only follow then, shuffling slowly so as not to make the throbbing in her head worse, and stop the bile from rising at the back of when she turns completely and finds Irene staring at her.

The look on her face is unreadable. But Seulgi will always know what those eyes hold from anywhere. Though, she’s too feverish and too weary to think anything of it other than how Irene is both a doctor with a sworn oath, and a genuinely good person with the biggest heart.

She tells herself this, repeats it over and over when she feels Irene’s arm, sure and safe and solid, circling around her waist, the other guiding her head to the crook of Irene’s neck.

Irene settles right next to her with great ease, with Seulgi’s head fitting right into the empty space between her neck and her shoulder so perfectly, as if it has always been meant to be filled by her.

And Seulgi finds it impossible to fight the urge to bury her nose at the hollow of Irene’s shoulder; not when it no longer hurts to breathe, fill her lungs with air and Irene’s scent.

Because Irene is home.

…

 

It takes her six yawns before feeling the medicine kick in. Irene tells her to go to sleep then, without much protest from a now drowsy Seulgi. For that, Irene’s thankful.

“You’ll feel better soon,” Irene adds, pulling up the thick blanket she’s also now buried under when she feels Seulgi’s shiver, and covering the other woman completely.

Seulgi feels her head loll, the effects now fully settling in. It’s both that and the need to be as close to Irene as she can get that makes her bury her nose even more deeper, breathing in more of Irene’s scent as if she can bottle it all up in her head, free for her to uncap once Irene leaves and she inevitably has to shatter this bubble they both unknowingly stepped into. Then, she whispers, “For how long?”

“Six hours, give or take,” Irene answers. “You’ll wake up just in time for dinner.”

“Six hours,” Seulgi repeats, slurring.

Irene can only watch her fight sleep for a few more seconds, until she dozes off completely and her breathing gets even. It’s only then that the smaller woman plucks her phone—that she has felt buzzing ever since she got in here—out of the pocket of her jeans, swiping at the screen to pick up Wendy’s call.

“Irene-unnie!” Wendy blurts out by way of greeting; fires harried questions next. “Did you make it to Seulgi’s? Did you find her? Is she—”

Irene’s barely able to get her yes in amidst the slew of words, though Wendy is still able to catch it. But there is something in Irene’s tone that makes her slow down, turns her quiet for a few beats until she scrounges enough courage to press on. “Is she okay?”

“She’s,” Irene starts, but stops, because she doesn’t really know how to answer that truthfully. Seulgi looks nowhere near okay, bone-tired and weary, with the weight of the past months showing on what was once Seulgi’s serene sleeping face.

And all Irene can do is to clench her jaw as she swallows the lump lodging itself on . Then, “She’s sleeping right now.”

“That’s good to hear,” Wendy says, and Irene can almost feel the breath of relief she lets out. “But, are you?”

Irene opens to answer, to tell Wendy that yes, of course, she is. Why wouldn’t she be? But what comes out is just a husked I’m, suddenly starchy and dry, that she has to take a visible gulp before she can continue. “I’ll be fine. I’d probably have to run to the store for food and stuff, because God knows Seulgi doesn’t have anything remotely edible in here.” She punctuates it with a laugh that she hopes doesn’t sound forced.

But she’s not fooling Wendy; she can never fool Wendy. Her silence is enough to tell Irene, so she says, really, I’ll manage, Seungwan, calling her friend by her name to offer some assurance.

Even though it’s starting to feel like she won’t. From one bad idea to the next.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Alright,” the other woman concedes with a resigned sigh, knowing that she can’t really change Irene’s mind. “But, you call me, okay? If you need anything. Or Yeri, if you want.”

“I will. Thank you, Wendy.”

“I mean it, unnie. Anything.”

“I know.”

After she ends Wendy’s call, Irene leans past the couch’s arm to retire her phone for the day, setting it face down on the nearby corner table. The movement causes Seulgi to jostle a little, and so Irene hurries to settle back, planting a light kiss at the top of Seulgi’s hair to shush her. It has always been the best way to bring a rousing Seulgi back to sleep.

It’s such a rare, unrestrained circumstance, where Irene allows her heart to escape from the cage she has locked it in and watches it jump willingly, right into the hands of the one person who owns it; lets her lips linger on smooth, flushed skin because Irene has six hours to stop pretending that Seulgi is nothing more than a friend now.

For six hours, Irene gets the life she used to have back.

.

 

So here’s where Irene is now: lying right next to Seulgi, holding her in her arms for the first time in what she honestly feels like is forever, and pressing the lightest kisses all over the crown of Seulgi’s head.

Irene props her free hand on the couch’s arm that’s by their heads, resting her temple above it, content to look at a sleeping Seulgi. And the hand still wrapped around Seulgi’s waist is pulling her impossibly closer, like she’s now scared to let her go.

I’m here weaves through the spaces between her fingers splayed on Seulgi’s back, her unspoken I still love you, I’ll always do lost and sinking in Seulgi’s skin.

…

 

Seulgi comes to to the feeling of a palm pressing lightly against her forehead, with Irene’s voice gently telling her to sleep some more; soft and sounding like it’s muffled by water that she’s not quite sure if it’s real or she’s just dreamed it.

It’s dark, and Seulgi can’t really make out anything, not with the anchors attached to her lids. She tries to fight through the haze, tries to bring her brain out of that state of half-asleep where she hears everything but nothing makes sense; but Irene’s soft voice is making her feel like everything’s okay, and her wife’s just tucking her under her chin like she would on some nights.

Yet, it’s the circles running on her back that puts her right back to sleep, and the warmth of a body so familiar that Seulgi can’t help but run the pad of her thumb on the dip of its waist over and over, until she drifts off again.

…

 

Something hits Irene lightly. It doesn’t really hurt, but it’s enough to make her blink her eyes open.

When she sees the thick purple blanket up to her nose, she shoots up from where she has fallen asleep: still at the ample space on Seulgi’s couch that she has squeezed into, with Seulgi’s fingers gently curled around the dip of her waist.

Seulgi, for her part, looks a little dazed and still exhausted. But she smiles this sleepy smile that goes straight for Irene’s gut, and says, “Sorry, I think I woke you up.”

Irene was prepared for the onslaught of questions, of the whats and the whys that she’s sure will come once Seulgi wakes up and the medicine wears off.

But she’s not anywhere near prepared to see Seulgi like this, blinking sleepily at her like she always did whenever Irene woke her up with a kiss; smiling at Irene like she always had.

“I—it’s okay,” Irene manages to say despite the hammering in her chest. Her eyes scan the living room, and sees the moonlight passing through the cracks of the kitchen window. The clock on Seulgi’s wall tells her it’s almost nine. “I uhm… I was about to wake up anyway.”

Seulgi only tilts her head. Irene can’t help but follow the movement, and the way Seulgi’s hair fans on the pillow behind makes her wish that she could run her fingers through the smooth locks.

Then, Seulgi hums, not really believing it. “You should go back to sleep, Hyun-ah.”

That snaps her completely back into attention. She offers a timid, tight smile; says, “I’m okay.”

Seulgi bites her lip (Irene desperately wishes she didn’t), as if she’s contemplating if it’s okay to say the next words or not.

But she does, anyway. Though it’s with a playful smile to take the edge away. “You’ve got carry-ons under your eyes.”

At that, a soft laugh escapes from Irene’s throat. “You don’t really have room to talk.”

Seulgi doesn’t answer. Instead, she wordlessly pats on the space Irene has slept on and then stares at her, kind and imploring.

It would’ve been easy, so, so easy, to just lie back down and slide herself underneath the blanket once more. But they’ve already taken enough missteps as it is, and Irene doesn’t want to risk making things harder than they already are.

(Because she’s never sure if she’ll ever be able to control herself, with Seulgi lying right next to her, and Seulgi’s scent swimming in her head.)

“It’s okay,” Irene reinforces. Though, she doesn’t really know if she’s telling Seulgi, or if she’s trying to convince herself.

But it’s Seulgi, and if there’s one thing that is never going to change, it’s that she’s always going to be Irene’s greatest weakness.

The click of Seulgi’s tongue is her only warning, and the next thing Irene knows, fingers are circling around her wrist, her everything being set alight once more when their skins touch.

Yet it’s Seulgi’s voice that pulls her from the spiral she’s about to descend into, her soft come on, Joohyun tugging her back from teetering over the edge.

(She doesn’t really know which leaves a deeper mark, the pads of Seulgi’s fingers, or the gold metal on Seulgi’s fourth finger that’s digging against the bone sticking out—a ring Irene hasn’t seen her wearing in a while but for some reason she doesn’t really want to fathom, Seulgi is now.

Irene refuses to think of what that implies. Because it has been months, and it still feels like hell.)

She swallows thickly, pushing the lump that has lodged itself in . It’s with a sigh that she resigns to the fact that Seulgi’s going to win this, when her resolve crumbles completely and she gives in into the hum of her body that’s craving the proximity.

“Okay.”

.

 

It turns out, she has underestimated how much she actually needs the shut-eye, because she’s already halfway into dreamland when she does lie back down, and her head hasn’t even hit the pillow.

Still, Irene fights the strong pull of lethargy to say, “Can you wake me up in thirty minutes?”

She feels more than sees Seulgi turning her head, then hears her asking. “What for?”

But the movement causes Seulgi’s scent to waft into the air, the smell of her hair filling Irene’s already sleep-addled mind. She slurs in answer, now drunk in sleep and the warmth of Seulgi’s presence. “Because I should make you dinner, maybe some soup.”

Seulgi finds herself smiling at the thoughtfulness, though it’s lopsided, heavy with remorse and anchored by regret. But by the time she scrounges enough courage to speak, Irene has already drifted off.

Still, she tells her, “Just sleep. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

…

 

A quiet few minutes pass. Seulgi feels her own sluggishness come back and slowly take over as she continues to lie in this kind of comfortable silence. The kind that makes Seulgi feel at peace despite the ache that throbs in the spaces between her ribcage, from knowing how all of this is just temporary.

(Akin to cradling a rose with thorns.

Irene’s a rose with thorns, and Seulgi would rather lose her hands than leave Irene’s side.)

She gets woken up for the second time that day by the air getting cut off. Something covers her nose, blocking the air out, and Seulgi jerks awake as she feels a gasp make its way out of .

“What the—” Seulgi groans as she rolls back to her side, grateful for the couch rest or else, she would’ve fallen face first on the floor boards.

From somewhere next to her, she hears an amused chuckle. Seulgi sluggishly lifts her head, and then throws the meanest glare she can muster towards the person responsible.

(It’s got little effect, because the chuckle only turns into a soft laugh.)

“You really should stop lying on your stomach when you sleep,” Irene says, playfully tsks.

“I can’t help it,” Seulgi grumbles.

She pushes herself off the makeshift bed, but that doesn’t really work in her favor because she’s been lying on her stomach for too long that half of her body feels numb. So she tries rolling herself instead, and lets out a breathless oompf when her exposed shoulder hits the rest.

She hears another giggle, so achingly well-missed that Seulgi shoots up from where she’s hunched to look over her shoulder.

She sees Irene pressing her lips together, stifling another chuckle that’s threatening to break out. Seulgi can only stare at her dumbly in turn, because she’s seen this one too many times, and for a moment she forgets.

“You were snoring too loud, too,” Irene teases even more.

“I was not,” Seulgi refutes weakly, clearly hung up on the sparkle in Irene’s eyes.

“You were.”

She feels her breath hitch, at the way her heart slam against her chest. It brings about the sudden need to get out of here—she needs to get out of here before she does something stupid, like lean forward and steal a kiss from soft, quirked lips.

There’s a sudden onslaught of tears that threatens to fall, and Seulgi has to press her forehead back onto her pillow, hoping that it will keep them at bay.

It doesn’t.

Not when there’s Joohyun and Seulgi carved in every corner of the apartment, still; moments sewn on covers and sheets where Irene’s scent still lingers, and memories inked on every door.

In these walls are Irene’s fingerprints, in the curtains is the fragrance of her favorite fabric conditioner; in Seulgi’s sleep shirt is the breath Irene has left her behind with.

She’s quickly engulfed with the need to breathe that she almost misses Irene calling her name. But she catches the next words clearly. “A-are you crying?”

Her no is muffled by the pillow, but it breaks into a choked sob halfway through, that Irene asks why are you crying in barely muted panic.

“Nothing.” Seulgi just shakes her head. Can only keep it at that because someday, someone who isn’t me is going to fall asleep and wake up into your eyes for the rest of their life is a little too much.

…

 

But maybe, it’s too late to stop anything now. Not with the words she has long pushed back all rushing up from the back of and dangling at the tip of her tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Seulgi spits out. She looks at Irene with regret written all over her face; and it takes Irene’s everything to stop herself—her entire everything to stop herself from taking Seulgi’s face in her hands to kiss it away.

Her gaze is so full of remorse as she continues to look at Irene with wet, beady eyes; and maybe, maybe, it’s so wrong to ask Seulgi, who’s still feverish from both malady and the throbbing heartache, but Irene feels her entire being suddenly swell with the need to know.

“Seul,” she says, ignoring the way her own voice shakes. “Why did you let me let you go?”

“Because you were right,” Seulgi tells her then, in the spirit of honesty, in this hoarse tone of voice that she’s not really sure is only because she’s sick, or if it’s because of everything else—maybe the remaining pieces of her heart that has yet to be broken wedged in between. “I made a promise to you. I promised to give you anything you want. And you looked so unhappy that I thought it was that.”

“You didn’t even—” Irene starts to say, her fingers curling around a fistful of blanket, crumpling the fabric so hard that it leaves imprints on her palm. “You didn’t even think about fighting for me?”

“I did. Every day,” Seulgi confesses. A pained look takes over her face, her voice sounding strained as she continues to speak. Irene feels it deeply in her gut, so immense that she feels her own eyes sting, her vision blurring. “But I wasn’t sure if you even wanted me to. You looked like you’ve had enough, and I can’t hurt you more than I already have.”

“I—” Irene mutters, but her heart constricts so tight that she has to in air into her lungs, and finds a dire need to get to her feet—to create a distance in between her and Seulgi she deems enough for her not to pull Seulgi into her arms and keep her there till they both just forget everything.

It’s so, so easy to remember what it was like to be in love with Seulgi, because despite all the heartbreak and the pain, Irene has never forgotten. She knows she never will.

Yet, in the end, she just excuses herself under the guise of finding more blankets for Seulgi, and all but runs to the spare room where they keep the duvets and the sheets.

She stumbles—quite literally—onto the medium-sized box that’s standing a few steps away from the room’s closet. She doesn’t remember it ever being there, which piques at her curiosity and distracts her enough from the battle that’s going on inside her head.

Irene gets to her knees, carefully tugging at the flaps open, like she would on a patient lying on her OR table. She’s greeted by a photo of her and Seulgi, her brain immediately plucking the memory from the proverbial box she has kept it in ever since their separation: Spring 2017, Shinjuku Gyoen, Tokyo, Japan.

She picks it up, and almost doesn’t recognize herself and the genuine happiness that’s written all over her younger self’s face. While her very own guilt clouds her vision, smothering at the sight of Seulgi’s untainted smile, and she suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

Irene can only run the pad of her thumb against the glossy paper then, fingertips grazing Seulgi’s face in the most reverent way she knows how; brings it to her lips for a touch, slow and just full of the things she doesn’t think she’d ever get the courage and the chance to say.

Things like: I’m sorry; I need you.

Things like: nothing will ever be the same without you.

Things like: you’ll always be the love of my life, too.

...

 

She doesn’t really know how long she stays inside the spare room, on her knees while clutching the photo in between her fingers—long enough that she can’t feel her legs, yet never long enough for Seulgi’s words to stop echoing inside her head.

Seulgi has fallen back to sleep by the time she musters up the courage to step out—maybe she cried herself to, but Irene doesn’t want to think about that, either—scraping through every bit of bone and every inch of skin for the false bravado that hopefully can last her hours.

Yet, she still stops at the spare room’s door, a trembling hand hovering the round knob as she takes a deep, unsteady breath.

And another.

And another.

It’s both blind faith and the need to make sure that Seulgi’s okay that pushes the door open for Irene. But it’s a miracle that makes her walk back into the living room and not bolt straight to the front door, jump into her car and drive to the outskirts of the city, to a place she can quietly pour her heart out into.

It takes a miracle, and the fact that this is the love of her life; despite everything, Irene will always have the instinct to put her first.

But it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt either, because it does. It hurts and it cuts through Irene’s very core, right at the spots where it wounds her most: in between the spaces of her where Seulgi resides; the gaps between her fingers, the hollows in her neck, the dips on her waist where Seulgi’s hands had once found their home.

She’s feeling weak at each step she takes towards the couch, as though all the pent up things within her are suddenly rushing out of her system. It’s as if the exhaustion from her listless days and sleepless nights combined, and the bleakness in between those days where she ran on autopilot, are finally catching up to her.

It’s honestly a wonder that she’s not falling on her face, or plopping down on the closest comfortable surface that just happens to be the same couch Seulgi is sleeping on. Though, she almost does—almost crawls into the makeshift bed and burrows herself onto Seulgi’s side the moment she turns off all the lights, save for the dim lamp light above their heads.

Maybe it’s the conversation that sparked almost out of nowhere; maybe it’s out of habit; maybe it’s the intense feeling of missing Seulgi that’s hitting her harder this time, even though she’s right in front of her, even though she chose to let her go.

But Irene manages to hold on onto the last bit of restraint, and she’s left nursing the hurt that wounds her so suddenly, at the knowledge that sooner or later, she won’t remember what Seulgi feels like underneath her fingertips.

All she’d have left is memories and a single photograph.

…

 

Seulgi exhaled a long breath as she slowly slid up on the bed, the heels of her hands and the caps of her knees digging through the softest mattress she had ever laid on. She shifted and shuffled beneath the sheets that were starting to stick to her back, greatly mindful of the body lying underneath her.

Though, she couldn’t resist running her fingers on the curves of the slender waist, the tips leaving featherlight touches as she trailed around the thin beads of sweat scattered all over a toned stomach.

“Baby, that tickles.”

Seulgi merely chuckled and bit at her bottom lip. But her ministrations didn’t stop. She let her hand travel upwards, mouth, teeth and tongue joining the journey not long after. Until she reached an arched neck and focused on the spot that she knew drove Irene crazy; left a mark that would last even weeks after they had flown back to Seoul.

(And if Seulgi could, she’d leave one that would never fade. Much like the space on her left hand’s fourth finger now—right where it met her knuckle—that she swore began turning paler as soon as Irene slid her ring four days ago.)

The ling sound was cut off by a sharp squeal, and the next thing Seulgi felt were hands curling around her shoulders, pushing her down—down and not away, never away.

“Seulgi!”

“What?” She asked, feigned innocence that Irene didn’t even believe one bit.

“You promised!”

Seulgi slotted herself in between Irene’s legs, laying on top of Irene and resting her chin on the valley between Irene’s bare chest. She propped her arms on each side for support so as to not let all of her weight fall on the smaller woman.

Then, “Did I wear you out, Mrs Bae-Kang?”

She smirked at her cheekily, though she came off more adorable than smug because her eyes were starting to droop, tiredness seeping in from every sated part of her body.

Irene’s answering laugh was low and throaty. Seulgi loved how she felt the rumble of it flutter against her own chest.

“Hmmm.” Irene tapped a finger on her chin, pretending to think. “I don’t know.”

Her wife looked at her expectantly, her proud smirk turning into a pout after she had taken too long and Seulgi had to nudge her with an offended yah.

“I refuse to dignify that with any form of response.”

“Are you going doctor on me now?” Seulgi playfully narrowed her eyes. “Because the geek talk is actually working.”

“You’re so weird,” Irene teased. “Why did I marry a weirdo?”

She let out a yelp when she felt Seulgi’s teeth sink on her skin, but there was a certain kind of heat that shot from the stinging spot and downwards; another when Seulgi darted her tongue out and , soothing that same spot.

It pooled in between her legs, burning and demanding to be satiated. But Irene could barely even lift her head off of the lone pillow she was lying on, much less do anything else.

“Too late to back out now, Hyun,” Seulgi said, leaning up to steal a kiss from her wife’s lips. “The pastor asked if anyone had objections and you just stared at me lovingly.”

“I did not!” Irene denied indignantly. Though there was a furious blush that bloomed quickly on her already flushed cheeks which told Seulgi otherwise.

“You did.”

“Lies,” she hissed, pretended to push Seulgi away. “I won’t stand for this. Yah, get off! I wanna see more of Maui.”

But Seulgi had her locked tight inside her arms, and there was absolutely no way Seulgi was going to let her go. “No,” she moaned, dragging the syllable out. “You’re stuck with this weirdo and our future fifteen kids so...” Another kiss, then, “Better start getting used to it, huh?”

The soft quirk of Seulgi’s lips was enough to stop Irene’s playful thrashing, but it was the earnest adoration shining in Seulgi’s eyes that made her heart constrict right on the spot. “Yeah,” Irene whispered, smiling now too. She let nimble fingers brush Seulgi’s damp hair away from her face, grazed it down to her cheek next, her own gaze growing tender as she watched the other woman lean into the palm that cupped her jaw. “I really wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Irene raised her other hand to cup Seulgi’s other cheek, pulling her wife back in for another kiss. It was gentle and sweet, the slide of their lips against each other speaking words that meant more than what they both could ever say.

There were promises in every breath taken and I trust you in each exhale; vows written as they tasted the other’s smile on their lips and you make me the happiest in the warmth of their palms.

Seulgi lifted herself up on her knees without breaking the kiss, though Irene never really had plans to let her pull away in the first place, judging by the fingers that were now tangled in Seulgi’s hair. Her grip only got tighter as she felt Seulgi’s weight press against her, Seulgi’s kiss turning frantic and needier, as if she was a drug that Seulgi couldn’t wait to fully taste.

Seulgi freed a hand from where it was previously wrapped around loose, and then hooked Irene’s leg over the back of her thigh. She knew she made a promise not a long while ago, but Irene stirred all of her sparks, even ones that were buried deep within. She was a candle ignited and Irene was the blazing fire she desperately wanted to be consumed with.

Irene was trying not to get too lost, but she was drowning in everything that was Seulgi.

Until a thought bounced back into Irene’s mind, freezing her up. And in the end, she was the one who broke away.

Seulgi immediately whined in protest. “Hyun!”

She chased her wife’s lips, but what met her was a hand that landed gently—because Irene would forever be careful with her—and she whined even more.

“Did you say fifteen?”

Seulgi frowned at her, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “Are we seriously going to talk about this right now?”

“But, Seulgi-yah,” Irene just continued, seemingly locked in on the same thought. “That’s a lot.”

The other woman scoffed—and if she could roll her eyes, Irene suspected she would. “I want a soccer team. Bite me.”

Irene’s brow then arched as she said, “A soccer team, huh?”

(And she did more than just bite.)

...

 

When Seulgi wakes up the next morning, it’s from a dreamless sleep, and to a light, well feeling that seeps like the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window.

There are folded clothes on the empty seat by Seulgi’s head: a loose cotton shirt and sweatpants she can change into; a stock-filled fridge by the kitchen, a bowl of her favorite ramen cooling down on top of the island, and a fresh pot of coffee by the counter.

But there is no sign of Irene at all.

…

 

She tries to go out to drink, but ends up merely staring at the glass of vodka she has long ordered, and at her now fully charged phone that hasn’t beeped into life.

There’s a woman who approaches her late into the night, asking for her name. Seulgi hasn’t had a drop, but as she looks at her to tell her politely that it’s probably not a good time, all she ever finds herself thinking is how do you love the sun when you once had the universe and it loved you back.

So she resolves on just shaking her head, with a courteous smile to take the sting of rejection away. But the woman is bold enough to snatch a napkin from the tissue tray, scribbling digits on the white sheet for all Seulgi to see.

Seulgi can only watch wordlessly as the other woman tucks the napkin in on the pocket of her plaid shirt, and yet, she simply fishes it back out, depositing it under the glass and letting the condensation from the melted cubes wash over the ink as she gets off the stool and leaves.

.

 

She doesn’t go back, no. She can’t, not when the sheets still smell like Irene, and the scent of Irene’s shampoo is sticking on her pillows; the bits and pieces of the life they had shared together once more scattered all over the place she doesn’t think she’d ever get to call home again.

So she ambles to Eunji and Wendy’s porch at three am, completely sober, and only slowing down at the sight of the newly replaced sliding doors—last she remembers, there was a huge crack in one of the door’s glass the size of a baseball; Wendy’s fault that she tried (and succeeded) to blame on Eunji—and stops to pull herself together in one deep, shaky breath.

When she’s sure that her knees are not going to give out, she raps her knuckles against the cool glass surface until she hears the telltale clicks of the locks unhooking from inside.

“Seulgi?” Wendy greets her with a surprised yet worried look. After all, Seulgi has never turned up at such an ungodly hour. “Is everything okay?”

Okay, Seulgi thinks, how she wishes it is, then she and Irene would still be—

She swallows thickly, hardly successful in stopping the thought, then, “Yeah. It’s...”

Wendy senses that Seulgi’s going to leave it at that, so she slides the door wide open to let her in. But she doesn’t ask anymore, if something happened. She doesn’t have to. Seulgi’s face—her everything, really—is a complete giveaway; it’s in the lines etched on her forehead, the clouded look in her eyes, the heavy steps as she walks inside.

The sound of the door sliding close has Seulgi tiredly sagging against the nearest wall, admittedly tempted to stay there and just wait for things to be over.

“Seulgi?” She hears Wendy call again, in a steady tone of voice that manages to be devoid of apprehension at the fact that it’s three am and yet she’s standing here, in the middle of Wendy’s hallway, looking like she has lost her world all over again.

“I—” she answers, and then closes her eyes for a few beats, willing herself to gather some semblance of anything that will make her feel like she’s not being pulled in a hundred different directions all at once. “Can I stay the night?”

“Of course,” Wendy doesn’t hesitate to answer. Though there’s another voice that she hears—Eunji’s, her brain tries to tell her—and it’s just a testament of how she’s so out of it when she doesn’t even notice the taller woman slinking in.

“I’ll go get you some pillows and a blanket, okay?”

“I—thank you.”

…

 

She knew the song just by the first note, the first of the piano key, and it made her smile a genuine, wide smile, happy tears pooling in her eyes.

Seulgi breezed by in front of her then, once Mister Kang had finally let her daughter go after what Irene felt like an eternity of dancing, the taller woman’s hand already held out.

Seulgi had curtsied next with a playful smirk. “Mrs Bae-Kang.”

Irene chuckled in turn, and then shook her head gently at the gesture. But she took the offered hand anyway because it was Seulgi.

They were four sways in on their umpteenth dance for the night when Seulgi finally asked, “Are you happy, Joohyun?”

Irene had let Seulgi spin her around one more time before answering wholeheartedly. “Yes,” she said, in a light tone of voice that gave Seulgi a certain elated feeling, and relief. “I’ve never been this happy.”

“Are you sure?” Seulgi asked again, the corner of upturned into a small, soft smile.

“I am,” the smaller woman replied, not missing a beat. “There really are no words.”

Seulgi didn’t even try to fight the grin that broke out, one so wide it reached up to her cheeks, and the tears she had been trying to hold back since she saw her wife walk down the aisle and towards her—while she stood by the altar, mesmerized in complete awe and disbelief—finally fell.

But it was their wedding day. She was allowed to cry, and to smile, and to be unreasonably giddy.

The next song that followed brought Irene close to tears again, the urge to cry only growing stronger as she and Seulgi watched Wendy, Yeri and Joy take over the microphone with grins on their faces—Irene’s in complete surprise and Seulgi’s knowing.

Irene’s father climbed on the stage last, making Irene look back at her wife as she let out a whimper. “Seulgi.”

Really though, what was she going to say? Her father was a man of few words, and had probably spoken a grand total of one hundred words to Seulgi the whole time they were together and up till now. He even opted to let her mother give the speech instead.

And yet, here he was, hooking a guitar around his shoulders while Yeri took a few steps to her side to share her mic with him. “How—”

“I’d do anything for you,” Seulgi had whispered then. She pried one of Irene’s hands that was looped around her neck, bringing it to her lips and brushing lingering kisses on each knuckle. “Even lose like, so many times in Yut that I didn’t have a face to show to your dad the next time we came back to visit.”

…

 

(Somewhere behind them, the pluck of strings echoed as Irene’s dad leaned in into the mic and started crooning.

“The book of love is long and boring, no one can lift the damn thing. It’s full of charts and facts and figures, and instructions for dancing. But I love it when you read to me. And you, you can read me anything…”)

…

 

Maui felt miniscule from behind the airplane window, and yet, Irene couldn’t help but fall in love with it right away. The sky looked bluer than she had ever seen, the water beneath them just as much. It faded as it reached the shoreline, blending in with the sand and creating a perfect hue that had Irene practically bouncing on her seat. Her toes curled, already imagining how the sand would feel over her toes and underneath her feet.

But there were still a good few minutes between her and the warm, soft sand she couldn’t wait to dig her toes in; a good few minutes that her wife absolutely despised.

Seulgi had always hated this part of flying, that feeling of descend that left her stomach up in the air, churning; the deafening screech of the plane’s tires that grated her ears.

Irene had heard the captain announce that they were about to land, instructing them to put the safety belts on, which she followed dutifully. She watched her wife do the same, albeit more slow and sluggish, and could clearly see how bad Seulgi’s hands were trembling.

As soon as her belt locked in a click, she leaned forward, completely invading her wife’s personal space. She took Seulgi’s hand to lace their fingers together, her eyes twinkling, hiding both concern and worry behind curiosity and excitement. “Baby, you’ve been to other places, right?”

Seulgi nodded and smiled, despite her shallow breaths as she felt the plane start its descend. “A few.”

“What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

She tilted her head, thinking, and admittedly became quite occupied with trying to fish the best memories she’d share to her wife that she failed to notice how the beat of her heart had stopped racing, slowing down at every graze of Irene’s thumb on the back of her hand.

“The Tokyo skyline at night,” Seulgi finally answered, then, “the sunflower fields in Italy. Joy falling right on her face that one time.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Irene’s lips, turning into a chuckle as she reached out to playfully hit Seulgi on the arm. “Don’t be mean to Joy.”

Seulgi rubbed on the offended spot, like it hurt, but her eyes disappeared into one of Irene’s favorite smiles, so Irene knew she was just being playful.

But Seulgi sobered up not even a second later, gazing at Irene’s eyes as she said, “You.”

Irene tsked, tongue poking out at the corner as she caught it in between her teeth. She didn’t shy away from the blush spreading on her cheeks, and instead met it head on. “You can stop with the flattery. I married you already, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Seulgi replied, still breathless in awe at the reminder that she really was going to spend the rest of her days with the love of her life. Her grin grew impossibly wider, her thumb caressing the ring on her finger unthinkingly, as if it grew a mind of its own. “Yeah, you did.”

Irene could only nibble at her bottom lip for a few beats in response before surging forward for a chaste but lingering kiss.

It would never get old, Seulgi thought, how the entire world seemed to have stopped moving in those seconds that her wife’s lips were pressed against hers. And how everything would come rushing back in the moment Irene pulled away and Seulgi had to open her eyes.

Yet, everything was really still when she finally did, coming to to the captain’s disembodied voice echoing from the intercom.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Kahului Airport. We hope that you enjoy Maui and Hawaii.”

…

 

Seulgi doesn’t see Irene again in the next few weeks that comes, though she never really did think she will. So she spends most of her days clocking more time in the studio. Her boss tells her to take it easy, but Seulgi knows she has to make up for the three days she disappeared without a word.

It frustrates the hell out of her because she just can’t seem to do anything right since the divorce. Can’t do her job, can’t even take care of her own self—

—can’t keep the love of her life happy enough to stay by her side.

…

 

On a dull, class-free afternoon, it’s Wendy who strolls inside her workplace, with Somi in the carrier and a bright smile that matched her daughter’s, both directed at her.

“Hey, this is a nice surprise,” Seulgi says, practically running to meet them halfway through.

“Somi has been missing you so I thought we should drop by,” Wendy explains, then lifts her daughter off the carrier for Seulgi to greet.

“Yeah?” Seulgi replies. She tucks her fingers beneath the baby’s chin, tickling the underside. “I missed this little princess too.”

They both grin at the pleased noise Somi makes—a cross between a laugh and a squeal—her drool dripping onto Seulgi’s hand that her small ones are trying to latch onto.

Seulgi simply wipes it off with the sleeve of her sweater, chuckling when Somi finally does manage to wrap her tiny fingers around her bigger thumb, and the little girl’s eyes grow wide as Seulgi starts making it twitch.

Wendy watches her daughter and godmother play for a few beats before asking, “Wanna go grab lunch with us?”

To which Seulgi answers quite easily. “Sure.”

The smaller woman beams at her then, both pleasantly surprised and glad that her invitation isn’t turned down with Seulgi’s usual excuses.

Somi soon loses interest with Seulgi’s thumb, gesturing for a change of hands instead. Seulgi holds both her hands up in turn, carefully taking her from Wendy’s arms and into hers.

They’re about to head out of the studio and back to the streets when they hear a familiar voice that stops them in their tracks.

“Hey Seul, let’s go have lunch?”

Seulgi turns around, responding with a genuine half-smile that makes Wendy blink, hard and fast.

Because it’s more than what Seulgi tends to give since everything, and Wendy feels herself swallow at that, for known and unknown reasons.

“Uh, rain check on that?” Seulgi says in apology. “I’m going with my friend today.” She her head, pointing at Wendy who’s standing beside her. Then, she pinches Somi’s cheek ever so gently. “And this little missy right here.”

Eunae nods her head, and still throws Seulgi a beautiful smile despite her offer getting nicely refused. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“No problem.”

She’d worry, Wendy thinks, even though it’s Seulgi’s every right to try and move on, no matter how much it’d pain her to see it because clearly, she and Irene still love each other just as much—maybe even more now.

She’d start to worry, but Seulgi turns to face her again and guides her towards the front doors, grabbing the coat hanging behind the reception counter with one hand, and stuttered words make it out of as soon as they step out into the snow-covered street.

“H-how’s Joohyun? Is she—is she doing okay?”

Wendy releases a breath she doesn’t even realize she’s been holding in, but a sharp ache takes its place, squeezing her heart at the sight of the wounded pain that dawns on Seulgi’s face.

And God, she wants to tell Seulgi everything. But she can never betray Irene’s trust like that, and so she forces out a stiff nod—the tiniest hint that Irene is nowhere near okay—hoping Seulgi can pick up on it.

(She doesn’t. But Wendy supposes it’s only natural. Seulgi thinks Irene desperately wants nothing to do with her anymore after all.)

Seulgi swallows hard, pushing back the disappointment that surges up at the back of . Wendy can only sigh when it dawns on her that Seulgi isn’t going to speak anytime soon, so she just continues to walk down the street.

But then Seulgi whispers to Wendy’s retreating back, almost inaudibly, “That’s… I’m glad she’s okay.” And her voice cracks in a way that makes Wendy’s heart ache incredibly so.

“Oh Seulgi,” Wendy tries to console, aims to at least spark the tiniest bit of hope in Seulgi that has died the moment Irene uttered I want a divorce. “For what it’s worth, I think she misses you too.”

But hope is a double-edged razor that cuts Seulgi’s hands every time she tries to cling onto it; makes Seulgi’s gaze stay forlorned, her mind blank.

And it’s like she’s only able to breathe out of reflex more than anything else, because a huge part of her feels like she’s drowning, like there’s nothing but water in her lungs and smoke swirling in her chest, suffocating her wholly.

Maybe, she really is.

…

 

Being the light sleeper that Irene was, the telltale rustle of the sheets woke her up. She struggled to get her bearings, blinking the blur that was caused by sleep away, and tried to make out the figure climbing in her bed.

It was hard, given the darkness that was blanketing the entire room. But she didn’t have to wonder that long either when the figure slid under the covers and slotted itself in on her side, their shapes fitting perfectly like the last two pieces of an intricate puzzle.

Because, really, there wasn’t any other person that had laid by her side and felt this right.

Irene felt an arm loop around her waist, pulling her closer, and the tip of a cold, button nose pressing on the side of her neck.

The cold against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, but it was the rasped I’m so tired she heard that woke her up completely, the voice rough like it had been used all day.

The corner of Irene’s lips tugged into a cooing smile. She turned to her side, so that they were face to face, and let her hand cup a fluffy cheek.

“Why did I let Wendy drag me to that baker’s bazaar again?”

“Because Wendy rarely asks,” Irene answered. She let the pad of her thumb run circles on soft skin as she continued. “And because she’s our best friend, Seul.”

“Yeah,” Seulgi mumbled, breathing out the weariness that Irene’s touch seemed to have magically soothed. “You’re right.”

Irene quirked a playful brow, then, “When have I ever been wrong?”

“Gloating doesn’t really suit you, baby.”

She hit Seulgi’s exposed shoulder in retaliation, that the younger woman only chuckled at.

.

 

When the laughter trickled down into tender smiles and soft sighs, Seulgi pulled Irene to her again, and nudged Irene’s nose with her own.

In turn, Irene closed her eyes and sighed in contentment, letting a smile bloom on her face as she felt Seulgi’s lips ghost over hers in every minute movement.

They were impossibly closer; Irene couldn’t honestly tell where Seulgi began and where she ended. But she prefered it this way, loved how Seulgi’s front was pressed against hers, and how her legs were in between Seulgi’s; with Seulgi’s palm splayed on the small of her back, keeping her in place.

Loved the way she could feel the warmth of Seulgi’s breath against her lips as Seulgi whispered, “Did you and Yeri have a good day?”

“Oh God,” Irene groaned, though it was with an amused giggle. “She was being so difficult and kept on asking if you were really sure about marrying me.”

Despite the drowsiness that was anchoring her lids, Seulgi’s eyes widened a little at the sound that bubbled out of Irene’s throat. She felt the rumble of Irene’s giggle on her chest, and it jolted her awake, like a shock to her system. “What? Why?”

“She said, and I quote, the audacity of choosing a garden wedding and yet going for plain purple. You might as well have just gone to Vegas.”

“But, that wouldn’t really make a difference?” Confused, Seulgi pulled back a little, then, said, “I’d marry you anywhere. In a heartbeat.”

There was a small frown on her face that Irene smoothened with an endeared smile and a chaste kiss, sighing happily when she said, yes, yes you would.

Like she still couldn’t believe it.

…

 

Irene has just gotten off work one night when the door to their apartment gets thrown open, and the sound of light footsteps burst in, along with the squeak of plastic wheels on their floorboards.

She stands behind the kitchen island and observes the scene with an amused grin. Wendy’s fighting with the stroller whose stubborn wheel refuses to turn, while Somi bounces on the carrier she’s strapped in, smiling a gummy smile at the sight of her godmother.

There’s clear frustration in Wendy’s tone when she says, a little help would be nice that Irene finds more amusement in. The sound of her chuckles trail behind her as she leaves the island counter and takes Somi into her arms.

“I actually meant the stroller, but, okay,” Wendy laughs and then shakes her head. She deposits the stroller right next to the umbrella stand Joy has insisted on keeping, and all but throws the carrier and the diaper bag slung on her shoulder onto the couch. While Irene busies herself with blowing raspberries on Somi’s stomach.

She’s in the middle of cooing at her godchild—who responds just as enthusiastically as if they’re having a conversation, Somi’s arms darting out and reaching for Irene’s face—when her phone blares to life and rings. But she absolutely refuses to let go of Somi, the little one seemingly not wanting to, either, judging by how tight she’s gripping on the lock of Irene’s hair that she has managed to cling onto; so she looks over her shoulder to ask, “Wendy, get that for me?”

Wendy snorts at the command, and at the way Irene pulls a face when Somi pulls at her hair to get her attention back. Though her smile is completely endeared at the adorable laughter that her daughter lets out as Irene turns and blows another raspberry on the baby’s stomach. She doesn’t really want it to stop, so she dutifully follows.

She trails the sound, from the living room and into Irene’s room, finds it coming from the left pocket of the white doctor’s coat resting on Irene’s bed. Wendy stoops down and blindly fishes the phone out, though she halts just as she straightens up, feeling something smooth from behind it that doesn’t seem like it belonged with the case.

Curious, Wendy ignores the incessant rings and turns the phone over instead. She supposes it can be some sort of important note about one of her patients that Irene has slipped inside her pocket, just like she always does; or a note that’s of something else entirely—a number scribbled down with a name that, God, Wendy hopes is not the case.

It’s neither.

What it is is a photo, small, square and polaroid; one she remembers seeing sticking behind Seulgi’s locker door, that one time she dropped by to ask if Seulgi thought Eunji was even worth her everything.

(Seulgi had given a wholehearted yes back then; Wendy wishes she can tell her the same, especially now.)

Its edges seem worn out, the corners creased from tiny folds. But the colors are just as bright as the smiles on the photographed faces, frozen into a memory that even Wendy herself knows she won’t forget.

And Wendy feels herself sigh in equal parts resignation and frustration as she wipes the smudges off of Seulgi’s face: traces of fingertips from whom Wendy doesn’t even need to guess.

She tucks the polaroid picture back in, careful not to add more folds onto it or anything, and then walks back to the living room where Irene is sitting at the couch, a now sleepy Somi tucked in her chest.

“Here, unnie,” she says as she hands the phone.

Irene gives Somi in exchange with a pout, promising to make the conversation quick as she taps on Somi’s tiny nose. She then steps into the kitchen to take the call, leaving Wendy to get Somi to sleep, and the frustration that Wendy tries so hard to ignore but festers inside her like a disease.

So much so that she lays Somi in the crib they keep at Yeri’s place as soon as Somi dozes off, and follows Irene to the kitchen.

The other woman is propped against the island counter, looking deep in thought as she listens to whoever it is on the other line rather pensively. She doesn’t even notice Wendy at first, and only really does when Wendy rounds the island in slow steps, stopping an inch away from her.

(And Wendy doesn’t, doesn’t mean to listen in, but the kitchen is much too small for her not to hear anything.

Doesn’t want to think anything of it, but the words that float from the other line unsettles her mind completely.

After all, I understand that you’re thinking of requesting for a transfer can never mean anything good, does it?)

She’s already staring at Irene by the time the other woman ends the call, trying not to be accusing because there are two sides in every story and Wendy hasn’t heard the entirety of it. But the way Irene schools her face into something impassive—almost blank—doesn’t exactly help with assuaging the fear that blossoms on Wendy’s chest.

Still, she asks, because she’s Wendy. “Everything okay? That sounded like a pretty serious conversation.”

“Yes,” Irene answers, so, so easily, as if the last few minutes of her phone call never even took place and never had dread creeping up on Wendy’s chest.

Because one of her best friends could be leaving them for good and she’s helpless about it. And while that decision is Irene’s every right, too, Wendy can’t help but cling onto some desperate hope to get Irene to stay as she knows deep within her that nothing’s over, not yet.

So she looks down, fixing her eyes on Irene’s collar. Because while she knows she only means well, and that her only intention is to give Irene something to ponder about, the littlest nudge that she prays will go down the direction she needs it to, the guilt is already eating its way inside her. And she hasn’t even uttered a single word. “I think—I think you need to know something.”

“Okay,” Irene says, drawling the last syllable out. She sets her phone down the kitchen counter, sensing the serious conversation from a mile away. “What is it?”

Wendy opens to speak, but the words refuse to come out, ends up rolling behind her tongue.

“Wan-ah?”

“Unnie I—”

“You what?”

Wendy presses her lips together, her hand finding support on the kitchen counter as she props herself against it. “Seulgi, she—” she starts to say, fingers curling around the edge to keep herself in place. “There’s someone from Seulgi’s work. Joohyun-unnie she—”

Irene stares at her for a quiet beat, but her silence is pregnant with a stunned surprise that makes Wendy’s skin crawl. Because she knows that she has just wounded Irene somewhere, despite the thoughts and the words she can’t quite manage to complete; stabbed her with a proverbial knife in her back, leaving her own fingerprints all over it.

…

 

Eunae comes to Irene’s mind right away, but she doesn’t really know what else to do past that, and so she starts to say, “I—”

She tries to ignore the way her voice already cracks just at the first word, and the heat coming out of her eyes, darting out from behind the island counter, unable to meet Wendy’s knowing gaze. Because she knows that her friend is not going to miss the tears clouding her eyes. “That’s—that’s perf—that’s great—”

Yet, she can’t even bring herself to finish that thought, her hand gesturing aimlessly. Not when she has ex tasting like the bitter pill she’ll never be able to swallow.

…

 

Irene makes it to the bathroom before the last bit of resolve she has managed to scrape within her shatters completely, shoving the door open with a trembling hand as she pushes back down the sob that desperately wants to escape.

But Wendy is hot on her heels, going after her as she takes a brisk right turn towards the bathroom. She crashes into the door right before Irene can close it and lock it fully, wedging a shoe at the ample space that she almost misses.

Wendy steps in quickly, prompting Irene to walk in further. She closes the door with a shoulder and push the lock in place, while all Irene can do is stare at her shoes.

Though, Wendy doesn’t say anything. She simply stands in front of Irene, watching her every move with bated breath.

Maybe it’s the sympathy in Wendy’s eyes, or the fact that Seulgi’s really trying to live without her now, even though she was the one who pushed her to, but Irene feels the choked sob escape , her fists crumpling the front of her shirt as her walls finally cave in on her.

“Unnie,” the other woman starts, then stops when Irene looks up, only to press both heels of her palms against her eyes.

“It’s okay,” Irene says. But the whimper that comes next gives her away completely. And it seems that her tears are not planning to stop from falling the moment the first drop slipped, and so she spins away from Wendy, crashing right into the wall. “That’s—that’s what I want, right?”

“Joohyun-unnie,” Wendy tries again, sliding closer as she watches Irene lean her head against the tiles, ragged breaths fogging the white surface.

She feels her own heart clench, seeing her best friend like this; feels it squeeze tighter when she wraps her fingers on Irene’s shoulders, and Irene’s sob breaks free from as she says, “Seungwan.”

Wendy doesn’t really know what breaks her heart more, the unintelligible sound that escapes from Irene’s throat, because if defeat had a sound, she knows that this would be it. Or the way Irene sinks into her knees, slowly and yet all at once, strained cries filling the dainty room and her tears pooling on the tiled floor.

…

 

The transfer papers come on a Thursday. Yeri’s lobbing grenades on Overwatch online when she hears her sister’s distinct footsteps pad through the floorboards; already knows what exactly it is in her sister’s hands even before Irene can tug the flap of the thick brown envelope open.

She abandons the ongoing match as Irene roots for a pen inside her bag, crossing into the kitchen to put the kettle on, and busying herself with puttering around to make tea, just so she won’t have to watch her sister sign herself into a life she’s not sure Irene even wants.

The water’s coming into to a boil when Irene waltzes in, standing under the archway as they both stare at each other from across the small kitchen. Until Irene breaks the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yeri only presses her lips together, finds herself leaning against the nearest dining chair’s rest for support before answering. “Will it make you happy?”

Irene’s not even sure if it will. But she also feels like she’s just running around in orbits that circle her right back to Seulgi, and she’s running out of ways trying not to.

So she says, “Yes.”

Even though she’s sure that nothing else will ever come close.

…

 

December doesn’t feel light and festive at all, despite the blinking bright lights covering every street and corner she passes by. Her living room stays the same—dark and empty—though she takes comfort at the idea that Irene’s is a little bit brighter, at least, all thanks to Yeri.

(When Seulgi said that Irene is the sunshine of her life, she meant it; she never wants Irene to lose that light.)

She treats it like any other month in her year now, and sorts through her mail without any expectations of getting early Christmas cards or packages. The month’s pile is just a stack of bills anyway, with a few random letters wedged in between that she doesn’t really know why and how she has gotten.

A sterile-looking white envelope stands out of the pile, with its waxed seal stamped at the lip. Seulgi doesn’t recognize it, and, yet, she feels her heart throb beneath her chest when she flips the envelope over and finds who it’s from; feels it beat its way out when she sees who it’s addressed to.

December, as it turns out, can be unforgiving, too.

…

 

Irene’s just hanging the last of the candy canes on Yeri’s christmas tree—with a lopsided smile on her face that she doesn’t even know has surfaced, her head swimming in snapshots of Seulgi stealing them from what used to be their tree, and her trying to snatch it back from Seulgi’s mouth—when she hears the doorbell ring.

Yeri’s up in the attic, helping Joy get the boxes of ornaments down, so it falls on to her to get the door. Though, when Irene cracks it open, she somehow wishes she didn’t, not when she finds Seulgi at the end of her gaze, standing almost rigidly by the doorway.

(The snow has pillowed over the thick coat wrapped around Seulgi’s shoulders, her hair windswept, her eyes earnest and wild.

Irene swears she has not seen anything as beautiful as Seulgi at that moment.)

“Hey,” Seulgi greets her meekly, breaking the silence. Though, Irene just continues to stare at her wordlessly, so she’s forced to raise an awkward hand up, showing the smaller woman the envelope tucked in between her thumb and index finger. The same white envelope she has been fiddling with during those moments she felt the uncertainty take over her, until it’s replaced by the overwhelming feeling of seeing Irene again as the other woman appeared by the door. “This, uhm, this came in the mail,” she explains. “It’s for you.”

Her voice is neutral, but it pierces right through the pounding in Irene’s ears.

“Thank you,” Irene finally replies, one long beat later. She swallows the lump that has seized as she watches Seulgi shift her weight onto one foot.

Seulgi clears her own before speaking again. “Busan Presbyterian, huh? That’s a—I heard it’s a really great hospital.”

Irene can only nod in kind. She has known since two days ago, when she received the acceptance letter in her email, and a call from Busan Pres’ chief of surgery to personally congratulate and welcome her. She has felt accomplished ever since, but there’s a certain emptiness that punches a hole through such a significant moment.

And the way Seulgi whispers congratulations only ever magnifies that feeling, that Irene’s reply is matched with a dimly lit smile. “Thank you.”

Seulgi doesn’t really know what else there is left to say, but she feels the need to ask, to hear it from Irene’s lips. “W-when do you leave?”

“In two weeks,” the other woman says as the hand left wrapped around the door knob grips it tighter, pulling the door closer as if it’s some sort of shield. “Maybe after the New Year, at the latest.”

Seulgi falters for one beat, taking one step back. She almost sputters when she speaks, though she manages to reign it in. But she can’t quite will her voice not to crack. “That’s—that’s really soon.”

“Yeah, I—” Irene starts, and then stops, because, really, what is she supposed to say? Admit it out so openly, that yes, maybe she had taken the cowardly way out, when she can’t even admit that to her own self—when she keeps telling herself, and everyone else, that she’s just grabbing an opportunity that presented itself; a consequential point in her career that she can’t afford to miss.

In the end, she can only sigh tiredly, having gone through the same conversation a billion times with her parents, her sister, and her friends. Though, none of them knows anything other than what Irene has given them. “Their neuro chief is picking fellowship candidates earlier than planned. I wanted to get a head start, I guess.”

“That’s…” Seulgi starts, and then pauses, looking away as she heaves a deep breath. She’s blinking faster than she has been since she first saw Irene, and Irene knows what’s going to happen next—can see the wetness prickling Seulgi’s eyes—but she can’t seem to move nor do anything about it.

It takes a good long beat for Seulgi’s throat to stop constricting at the restraint it takes to keep herself together, and for her chest to ease. Though, only when her jagged breaths get even does she look back at Irene.

“I’m… I’m really proud of you, Joohyun,” she says, in a tone of voice that shoots Irene back to almost a year ago, going from a fight that had shaken them both but ended up in the warmest kisses and joyful tears, and a reconciliation that solidified their places in each other’s lives.

God, what happened?

“You’ve always been meant to do the greatest things,” Seulgi continues to speak as she crosses the ample distance that separates her from Irene. “But for that to happen…”

It almost feels like déjà vu, Irene thinks, except Seulgi is cupping her face, leaning closer, and Irene’s not walking away in tears.

“Seulgi…” Irene whimpers.

Seulgi stoops down, but then stops, her lips a hair’s breadth away from Irene’s. “I need to let you go.”

And then Seulgi is gone, leaving Irene alone in the middle of her doorway, secluded in her own thoughts, with the soft feel of Seulgi’s lips tingling on her forehead.

…

 

Walking away, Seulgi unballs a hand, pressing the heel of it against her chest. And as the weight of it pushes and then eases, she wonders how many more pieces she could give before breaking completely.

She doesn’t really think she still has much left.

…

 

December turns from unforgiving to poignant, as Irene stares at the now spotless spare room at Yeri’s apartment that had been her refuge for the past months, with two suitcases and a modest black carry-on as the only sights that look out of place.

December is two more weeks and a half of pretending that Yeri’s sad eyes isn’t making her want to change her mind, two more weeks and a half of turning down Wendy’s coffee invites, and only ever babysitting Somi when there’s absolutely no choice.

Two more weeks and a half of resisting the urge to dial Seulgi’s number even in her worst states.

Christmas Eve almost comes as a surprise, with her completely losing track as her days blend into two things: work and three to four hours of sleep, with her ample spare time spent on transitioning the cases she’d be leaving to Yongsun.

(That in itself is another story, because while Yongsun keeps everything professional, Irene can feel Yongsun’s almost desperate need to ask her to stay. But neither of them knows how to get past handing off patients’ charts and Irene briefing histories, doesn’t know how to go further than I know you’ll blow people away, and so Yongsun keeps it at that.)

Wendy and Eunji offers their relatively new house for their annual get together. So here they are now, puttering around the house and zipping in and out of the kitchen as they prepare the dinner they’d be feasting on in an hour.

But it’s noticeably more quiet than their past Christmas dinners together, with an absence that they feel in ripples; like the sky, spread over everything.

It isn’t Somi’s cute, loud coos now that she’s sleeping in her crib, nor Joy and Yeri’s bickering, or Wendy trying to hit on her wife by telling her how she looks good enough to eat in her new button up shirt.

They all know who it is, but no one is brave enough to do anything other than greet each other a meek Merry Christmas.

Irene arrives a little later than planned, for some last minute gift shopping that she has to run to—more stuff for her goddaughter that the little one clearly doesn’t need but Irene splurges on without any guilt.

(She might never get the chance again.)

She deposits them all on the table that Eunji has set up by the fireplace, festive paper bags and wrapped gifts alike, and a rectangular box that she lets sit on the middle, with a Merry Christmas, Seulgi scribbled on the card stuck to it; waltzes straight into the kitchen to place the dish she has brought with her next.

(It’s a wooden pencil case, with intricate carvings that serve as borders around the Seulgi engraved on the middle of the lid. She has seen it displayed on an art supplies store’s window she passed by, that one day everything felt so much and there was so much hurt that she had taken a long drive home. It reminded her of nothing but Seulgi, that she couldn’t just let her not have it.)

She greets everyone with kisses on their cheeks, and maybe one or two digs against the ugly sweater Yeri made Joy wear on purpose; leans over the crib that’s by Wendy’s room to greet her goddaughter too, fixing the ruffled blanket to make sure that Somi is still tucked snugly under her baby blue covers.

It honestly feels like one of their usual dinners. Except, Wendy catches her craning her neck as she ambles around, as if she’s searching for someone even though she doesn’t really want to admit it. A taller figure that once meant the world to her, her very own sun and moon.

(She still does.)

Wendy can only smile sadly at that. She waits for Irene to step back inside the living room, trailing her gaze at her until Irene has sunk in on one of the single couch seats before she speaks, “Seulgi stopped by earlier to drop the gifts off.”

Irene’s head snaps to the side, her eyes as wide as a deer caught in headlights. But she quickly schools her face, though she can’t really stop her brows from furrowing deep. “She’s not coming?”

Wendy shakes her head, feeble and almost afraid to. “She said she has plans.”

“Oh,” is all Irene can say. Yet, her treacherous mind is already flashing images inside her head; of a tall blonde woman with pretty eyes and a bright smile who can talk to Seulgi about Frida Kahlo all night. And Van Gogh in Paris. And how she doesn’t think she’d ever get Abstract.

(It would be nice. It would be easy. And most of all, it wouldn’t hurt.)

They both turn silent for a moment as Irene wrestles with the various scenes in her head, while Wendy just studies her, sighing when Irene’s face pulls taut—a sure sign that she’s managed to reign it in.

Yet the way her lips quiver as she purses them is a giveaway that gifts Wendy of hope, bolstered by the crease that settles in between Irene’s eyebrows.

“I didn’t ask what they were. I didn’t want to pry.”

“Of course,” Irene replies; tries to quip, “too bad she’ll miss the bulgogi I made.”

But it hits her all the same, square on her chest. And she finds herself looking at the fingers curled around the throw pillow plopped on her lap too tight, wondering when exactly did she decide to make that trade: Seulgi’s heart for a grenade.

.

 

By the time midnight strikes, they have already torn through half of their gifts. Somi has the biggest haul among them, followed by Yeri after Irene practically showered her gifts for letting her stay with her and Joy.

Irene expects to be lacking one gift this year, and she’s perfectly fine with it. She’s prepared to go home with a paper bag that’s one weight lighter.

(And a heart that’s one more piece less.

Because it feels wrong, it feels so wrong that Irene is here and Seulgi isn’t, but Irene doesn’t really know how to fix it.)

But then, Yeri’s standing up from her seat, asking her not to leave. She would’ve wondered out loud why, but her sister heads straight to the spare room and asks her to follow, not giving Irene a chance to speak.

Irene feels her heart climb up in in every step she takes; feels it settling in as they reach the closed door. It’s not that she’s expecting Seulgi to be behind it, but Irene doesn’t really know what she’d do if Seulgi isn’t, either.

Yeri lifts a hand to twist the knob, and takes her by the other to pull her inside. The room is empty, though Irene doesn’t know if the way her lungs is constricting is out of relief or something else. Still, she manages to slow down her racing heart, just enough to throw her sister a quizzical look. “Yerim, what is this?”

“Seulgi-unnie asked me to give you something,” Yeri confesses right away. “And I figured, you’d want to open it without anyone else looking.”

“What?”

Yeri trudges towards the lone nightstand in the room, pulling the drawer open to retrieve a modest square object. It’s wrapped in gold paper with purple snowflakes on it, Irene sees as soon as Yeri walks back to where she’s standing, and adorned with a purple ribbon to finish.

It doesn’t have any note or card stuck on any of its surface, but the choice of the wrapping paper alone has Seulgi’s fingerprints all over the gift.

Yeri offers it to her with a steady hand; Irene accepts it with trembling fingers. She never expected to get anything, but now that she has, she’s not really sure what to do with it.

…

 

She ends up sitting at the edge of the guest bed, staring at Seulgi’s still wrapped gift propped on her lap, as if it’s a puzzle that holds an important piece of her life, one that she needs to solve.

Yeri has long stepped out of the room to give her the space she clearly needs, yet, Irene can’t seem to find the strength to do anything, as if merely untying the ribbon will unravel her own self.

But Irene knows that she really can’t stay in this same spot all night either, while debating with herself whether or not to strip it open. And so she takes one end in between her fingers, tugs at the lace, and watches it unspool with perfect grace.

She sets the ribbon aside before starting to rip the wrapper off. Though her next move is a short, deep breath—almost heaving—as she lifts a leather-bound sketchbook from beneath the paper rubble.

She remembers what it is exactly: her gift to Seulgi, this same time, a year ago.

Irene knows it’s blank—she had never really seen Seulgi draw on it ever since she gave it—and she can’t help but think that maybe Seulgi really did mean what she said; returning something she once prized to show how much.

(She purses her lips at that, biting hard on her cheek just so something else other than the sudden ache that presses in on her chest hurts.)

But, just the first page alone is proving her otherwise, Irene soon realizes, when she lifts the cover open and finds a penciled version of her staring right back. Though, her hair was tied in a messy bun, with some locks escaping that Seulgi was able to frame perfectly.

And there was a soft, shy smile on her face, one Irene remembers vividly, from the day Seulgi asked if she could spend her life with her and she’d said yes.

Irene no longer knows what hurts more.

…

 

(In the next sketch-filled pages, this is where she finds out that maybe, maybe, they are infinite. Rare, and delicate, and beautiful.

On the last, this is where she realizes that in a hundred different lifetimes and in a hundred different worlds, it will only be Seulgi.

Always.)

…

 

Yeri gets pulled out of her worried thoughts by the sound of muffled sniffling wafting from behind the spare room’s door. She shoots up from where she’s sitting guard, blindly reaching for the door knob and pushing it open with almost too much force.

She all but stumbles her way inside. From the dim light of the lamp by the nightstand, she can make out Irene’s form sitting at the edge of the mattress.

She’s hunched over, a mouth covering the choked sobs escaping . Though, what catches Yeri’s full attention is the leather-bound notebook that’s lying on her sister’s lap. It’s held open by Irene’s other hand, to a page that Yeri can’t really see what is on.

The brush of Yeri’s shoes alerts Irene to her presence. She looks up, though she doesn’t wipe at her cheeks to hide the tears away, and that sends a pang of ache straight to Yeri’s heart that she almost physically feels.

“Unnie, are you okay?” Yeri can’t help but blurt out; can’t help but run towards her sister at the sight of the pained look on Irene’s face. And Irene has known her long enough to discern the underlying what just happened in her tone.

A lot of things had; she’s afraid she doesn’t really know where to start.

Irene feels another sob rumble from deep within her chest. She ends up freeing the hand holding the leather sketchbook, and cups both over her face, burying the sound there.

Yeri, in turn, drops right next to where her sister is, picking up the notebook from her lap. She simply wants to put it away, especially now that she’s seeing Irene like this, but as she’s about to flip it to a close, her eyes catch the penciled sketch on the page.

Irene was beaming in it, with a sparkle in her eyes that Seulgi has captured so impeccably. There was a flower tucked in her air, and a crinkle on her nose that Yeri admittedly hasn’t seen in a while.

(It isn’t the first time Yeri is seeing her sister in Seulgi’s eyes, but it feels more now somehow, that even after everything, Seulgi’s vision of her hasn’t changed.)

Right on the adjacent page are two notes scribbled in Seulgi’s neat scrawl. One of them is addressed for Irene, with the other almost bringing Yeri down to her knees. But Yeri soldiers on after reading it, whispering, “Joohyun-unnie.”

“I think I made a mistake,” Irene just says, voice cracking at the last two words that robs her completely of air. “I made a mistake.”

Yeri feels it resonate down to her core; can’t help but start feeling weak and helpless because she heard the words in the most broken tone of voice she’s ever heard Irene speak, and there’s a churning in her gut that makes her own throat ache.

“I made a mistake and I don’t know how to fix it.”

It tugs on her heartstrings in the most painful way. So Yeri just wraps an arm around her sister and pulls her a little bit more closer.

…

 

Joohyun,

I know you’re going to be a great mom, and that whoever you’re going to raise a family with will be so lucky to have you. I wish it was still with me, but I know now that I can never get you back. So, my wish to you is nothing but happiness. And I know that to have that, you should always follow your heart.

.

 

To the one who loves her next,

Joohyun will love you with everything she has, and she would ask for very little in return. So please, give her all the world. She deserves the universe.

Don’t make the same mistake that I did. Make her happy in all the ways I couldn’t.

Let me be the last name you’ll hear in passing, and please, love her more than I could ever have.

…

 

Christmas passes like a blur, with New Year’s Eve almost feeling foreign as she walks back into her apartment. Work has kept her inside the studio for the most part of her days, even though there are less classes to teach due to the holidays.

But there’s a lingering sense of familiarity that envelopes Seulgi as soon as she gets off her stop and turns right on the corner of the street where her complex is—her reality now, and maybe for the rest of her days, when her universe shifts and Irene becomes half a world away.

And it’s only thanks to Wendy that she knows this, when her best friend called her the night before to ask something they both knew wasn’t going happen.

“Do you want to come with us when we take Irene-unnie to the station?”

And Seulgi had answered, “I’m—I can’t. I can’t stand there and watch my whole world walk away from me.”

She had done it once, Seulgi doesn’t have anymore of her heart left to do it again.

Though, that conversation has been playing in her mind over and over, so much so that Seulgi barely misses walking straight to the black car parked in front of her complex’s path. It looks familiar, though she doesn’t really remember it being there when she first got out, and she’s too weary to think about who can possibly be the irresponsible owner.

The lobby’s unnaturally empty for such a momentous time of the upcoming year. Seulgi supposes the hallways of her floor will be too, since her neighbors have opted to go on their own vacations, and the way she can already hear the floor thumping from the apartment above hers (just like it does every year) makes her want to down the boxed wine she’s bought in one go.

Maybe then she’d fall asleep and wake up in a different time, where nothing hurts and she’d found her happiness in the very same place she lost it.

The elevator dings, Seulgi pulls the lapels of her coat closed before stepping inside, letting the cold, sharp air sting her lungs.

…

 

Only to have it knocked out, because standing right in front of her apartment’s door is the happiness she desperately wants back.

…

 

Her voice stands out from the bass thumping from the floors above, the one voice that makes Irene’s heart race and stop its beating at the same time.

“Joo-Joohyun? What are you doing here?”

Slowly, she watches Irene turn around, her breath catching up in at the sight of her in the winter coat that they’ve bought together. It feels like the longest seconds of her life, the time it takes for her to finally look at Irene and meet her eyes.

And, God, Seulgi missed her so, so, much.

...

 

The box she’s carrying in her hand lands on the ground, with such a resounding thud that Seulgi’s sure the slice of carrot cake inside it has been splattered.

But once Irene sees the box, she only feels herself fall all over again. So she says, “You told me to follow my heart, so here I am.”

A stunned surprise takes over Seulgi’s face, showing Irene just how much Seulgi has resigned herself to the fact that everything between them is really over, and that they’d have the live the rest of their lives in separate ways.

Her watery smile turns heavy, dropping a little from the thought. Still, she soldiers on, wading through the uncertainty and the heartache they’ve both brought to themselves. “Because you said that I’m going to be a great mom. And that I’d raise a family with whoever I’d be with. But, Seul,” Irene pauses, heaving a deep breath when her voice both wraps around and cracks at Seulgi’s name, then, “every time I close my eyes, I only see your face. It’s your—it’s your keys I hear by my door.”

“Joohyun—”

Irene just stares at her for a long moment, eyes darting around Seulgi’s face—as if Seulgi’s going to disappear at any second, or has changed her mind about them, about family, about everything—before she continues. “I don’t—I can’t see anyone else, Seulgi,” she says in a soft voice. “All I see is you. All I need is you. But I want a child too. And I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Hyun-ah,” Seulgi gently shushes, her own face twisting as Irene’s face crumples and Irene’s hands prop against her stomach, fingers curled and twiddling in a way that looks like it hurt.

Irene shakes her head. Her hair falls at the movement, the locks turning to a curtain that shrouds her eyes. “I just know—I just know that I don’t want to be with anyone else. I want you.”

Though, Seulgi can still see the conflicted look on Irene’s face. She quickly rushes to her side, pulling Irene towards her and encasing her in her arms, holding her like a dream she’s scared of losing while she’s on the brink of waking up.

“But Hyun-ah, you don’t have to choose,” Seulgi soothes. “Because I meant it. I’ve always meant it. I did when I told you that—that night,” she falters at the end, swallowing hard as the memory of their big fight surfaces from the parts she had buried it in.

And Irene must see it in her face, in the way it breaks, as if she’s living it all over again, because Irene reaches out and cups her cheek, the pad of Irene’s thumb tenderly brushing on the curves of her cheekbones. She only nods, too, telling Seulgi that she gets what she means.

Seulgi leans into her touch, well-missed. It settles the cloud of uncertainty that brews inside her, cementing the truth that it will always be Irene. “I meant it, when I told you I wanted it. And when I saw you with Somi for the first time, I’ve never wanted anything so bad.”

Irene slides her hands down Seulgi’s shoulders, letting her arms wind around Seulgi’s neck. And when Irene buries her face in that space between her neck and her shoulder, it’s the first time in months that Seulgi feels like she can breathe. “I guess I just got used to the idea that we’ll always have time. But I didn’t make time, did I?” she confesses. “I’m sorry.”

“I got scared,” Irene then admits, conceding. “That after all this time, and all the promises, you changed your mind. So I ran. Because I was so scared you’d one day tell me you don’t want to do it anymore, and that’d break my heart.”

Her hold on Seulgi only ever tightens, and Seulgi welcomes her warmth wholeheartedly. “But, leaving you, Seulgi, it broke me. Even if I chose to let you go.”

“Baby,” Seulgi finds herself saying; hears more than feels the sharp breath Irene takes upon hearing it. She slightly pulls back from the other woman, a little distance that’s enough for her to meet her gaze, and yet never too far away, and then cups Irene’s cheeks. She lets the pads of her thumbs brush the hair shrouding her eyes, and revels at the way Irene leans into her touch.

(She probably will never get used to it—to getting what she wants, seeing what she wants, feeling what she needs.)

“We’d be eighty two and wrinkly, and our fifteen kids have grown, but I’d still do it all over again with you.”

Irene’s sob breaks into a watery laugh as her chest heaves. But it’s from relief, and not the desperation that once latched in onto her rib cage just a few minutes ago. “Still fifteen, huh?”

Seulgi frees a hand from cupping Irene’s face to let her fingers run through Irene’s hair. She brushes them away, and then cups Irene’s cheeks once more, her own heart turning beneath her chest as she watches Irene close her eyes and lean forward, pressing their foreheads together. “Yeah,” Seulgi says after swallowing her own sob. “I want a soccer team, remember?”

(And Irene both loves and hates how it makes her feel like there was never any distance between them. How one of Seulgi’s hand on her hair erases days, and weeks, and months of nights filled with I don’t want to live without you, but I have to.)

Irene’s smile grows quickly into a grin, though the rest of the tears are flicked away as she nods eagerly in answer. She covers Seulgi’s hands with her own, closing her eyes again as Seulgi pulls back to plant a lingering kiss on her forehead. Then, she answers, “I do. I do.”

Silence passes for a beat before Seulgi speaks again. “C-can I,” she starts to say, but pauses to swallow thickly. “Can I kiss you?”

At Irene’s nod, her face loses all of its remaining defenses, giving in completely to the warmth and affection that fills her at the sight of Irene’s watery smile.

And, really, she doesn’t know anything else to say, and the words are left bundled in , lodged along with her heart that’s pounding beneath her chest.

So she does the only thing she knows can properly convey every single emotion coursing through her; the only thing she knows can say the words I love you just as much as I did before, maybe even more now; I won’t let you go again without speaking.

Seulgi surges forward, creating new promises in every breath taken and I’m sorrys in each exhale; vows re-written as they taste the other’s tears on their lips and I forgive you in the warmth of their palms.

…

 

It’s the countdown that breaks them apart, with Irene smiling a smile that she hasn’t worn in a while. Though, it’s replaced by a small frown as Seulgi pulls away, just when the muffled shouts of backward counting from above them reaches three.

Seulgi takes her hand at two, and she asks, Seul, where are we going at one.

Seulgi’s answering smile is one that Irene missed most, borne from the the way Irene calls her name, like it holds a thousand unspoken promises she can’t wait to fulfill.

But maybe, maybe, what she says next is what Irene missed even more. “Home.”

...

 

Home is Seulgi’s apartment that was once theirs, though Seulgi knows they’d fix that soon, too.

Inside, Irene all but gulps down a whole glass of water, before patting at the space next to her on the couch.

Seulgi dutifully sits. Irene, in turn, scoots closer, once again finding home and burying her nose in that spot on Seulgi’s neck that she has always favored and sorely missed.

This is how Wendy finds them as she bursts inside the apartment, looking harried with her ruffled hair and the tiniest balls of snow all over her head.

Seulgi freezes in surprise, but Irene stays burrowed on her side (and Seulgi swears she even moves impossibly closer when Wendy speaks).

“Thank God,” Wendy spits out. “You got us so worried, Irene-unnie. Yeri thought you left without saying goodbye.” She puts a hand over her chest as she tries to catch her breath, then says, a little teasingly. “But I think she’d be ecstatic to know that you two have got it figured out.”

Irene only waves a lazy hand to acknowledge Wendy’s presence, but it’s Seulgi who she mumbles at through a yawn, “Still got so much to talk about, but I’m so tired, baby.”

And they have; things like Irene’s transfer to Busan, and how they’d make it work if it pushes through.

But they have tomorrow to figure that one out, and, really, the rest of their lives too. So, Irene says, “Can we take a nap? I don’t think I’ve had any proper sleep.”

A smile takes over Wendy’s face as she watches a stunned Seulgi morph into an endeared one, her gaping mouth stretching into a fond smile. Seulgi then wraps her arms around Irene’s waist, and presses a lingering kiss on the crown of Irene’s head. “Okay.”

Wendy has to clear as if to remind the two of her existence. “Uhm, I guess I’ll be going then. I gotta check on Somi and make sure she’s sleeping on her crib. You know how weak Eunji is for her.”

Seulgi chuckles at that, her eyes folding into crescents that Wendy can’t deny she has sorely missed. And then she gets this spark of good mischief halfway through her laugh, one that rattles both her and Irene. “Me in nine months or so. Or ten.”

Though, it’s Wendy who recovers first, rolling her eyes when she says, “Oh my God you dummy, ten is overdue.”

The taller woman only grunts at her in answer, and then groans. “Whatever! It’s too early for numbers anyway.”

Wendy snorts a laugh at the reply Seulgi lobs back to her, shaking her head. “And that’s my cue. Happy New Year, you two.” She jerks her thumb at the door, moving to leave, with the sound of Irene’s well-missed giggle fading as she closes the front door.

Happy New Year indeed.

…

 

When Irene wakes up the next morning, there’s a smile on her face that she almost doesn’t recognize, a grin that revels in the feel of warmth, and comfort, and love.

They lie facing each other without a hair’s breadth of distance in between them. Because that’s what all the months that have gone has given them—nothing but distance, and a hole in their lives shaped like each other.

For months, Seulgi woke up and walked the earth with an Irene-shaped hole in her life. And the Seulgi-shaped hole in Irene’s life is a void that can only be filled by her.

Though, admittedly for a moment, Seulgi feels this sudden sense of dread that creeps up on her spine, afraid that she has just dreamed of everything—that maybe she still is.

Irene lifts a hand, resting it on Seulgi’s cheek to give it a squeeze. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

The Seulgi right after the divorce would’ve looked away and left the sincerity unanswered. Post-divorce Seulgi would’ve been scared, would’ve caved at the fear that presses its weight on her chest, fear that Irene doesn’t really mean it.

But she’s a whole new Seulgi now. She’s a new Seulgi who has lost the love of her life once; who has woken up most nights to a familiar space she can’t call bear to call home; who has eaten breakfast alone in a table that’s meant for two.

She now knows what it feels like to lose Irene. So no, Seulgi doesn’t shy away. She keeps her eyes on Irene, and lets a smile bloom on her lips at Irene’s fond gaze.

She catches Irene’s hand just as the woman is pulling it back, pressing the softest kiss at the back of it first, and then turning it over to press a kiss on her open palm.

Seulgi lets the kiss linger for a good long beat before speaking. “Nothing,” she says as she intertwines their hands, her fingers filling the spaces in between Irene’s own perfectly, the way they’ve always been molded to fit. “I’m just really happy.”

She lets their laced hands rest on the miniscule space in between them; and then smiles even wider when she feels Irene brushing the hair falling on eyes with Irene’s free one.

Irene then at her lips, smiles a shaky smile as she asks, “Yeah?”

Seulgi nods gently, lifting their locked hands to press another kiss at the back of Irene’s, letting it linger there when Irene softly says:

“Me too.”

...

 

i think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love; we are good people, and we’ve suffered enough

- seventy years of sleep # 4, nikka ursula

 

They’re already fighting first thing in the morning, Irene honestly can’t believe it.

She’s standing right at the foot of the king-sized bed, with a hand propped against her hip and another massaging her temple, while she continuously glares at the sleeping form lying on the middle of the bed, bundled in a thick blanket.

This can’t be happening.

“Seulgi,” Irene calls, her tone pregnant with warning. “Seulgi, wake up.”

The entire room is silent for a beat, save for the sound of Irene’s frustrated breaths. But the sheets rustle as Seulgi turns to lie on her stomach, grumbling a stubborn no before covering her head with a pillow.

Because there’s just no way, no way she’s leaving the most heavenly bed and the comfiest pillows at seven in the morning.

Irene throws a quick glance at the wall clock. When she sees that ten minutes have passed since she started trying to wake the other woman up, she scrunches her face. She only has thirty more minutes to spare, or all of her plans—everything she has worked on with their friends for months—will go to waste.

“Yah, Seulgi, wake up!” Irene bunches the bottom of the blanket into a fist, tugging it down. But it’s wrapped around Seulgi so tightly it doesn’t even budge.

She gives it two more tugs before throwing her hands up in surrender and marching out of the room with the biggest scowl on her face.

Because they should be setting up the tables and chairs, and hanging the decorations on the small, wooden tree house that’s perched on the sturdy tree. A stout oak that’s standing at the corner of the large backyard of this new, and really, really fancy house they’ve bought together, fifteen minutes away from Wendy and Eunji’s.

But instead, Seulgi is snoring and gallivanting somewhere in Dreamland.

Unbelievable.

Irene’s still stomping her way out when she finds Wendy crouched on the floor, passing the time by playing with the baby inside the playpen.

Wendy lifts her head at the sound of her footsteps, greets her with a bright smile. “You guys ready?”

“Just a few more minutes,” she answers. “Someone is refusing to wake up.”

Wendy chuckles. “Do you want me to call Joy to take care of it?”

Irene hums, seriously considering, because she knows Joy can go to the extremes to wake Seulgi up; something both she and Wendy don’t have the heart to. But it’s her birthday and oh, she loves her so, so she just shakes her head and says, “I’ll do it.”

Eunji, who is right next to her wife, stoops down to put their oldest, Somi, inside the pen too. Irene smiles at her as she sticks a hand out in greeting, which grows whimsical at the sight of the the three of them all showered and dressed in matching dresses, shirts and shorts.

Though, she still throws Eunji a good-natured glare, to which the taller woman only laughs at.

“Irene, it’s been over three years. You still hate me for it?” Eunji tells her.

“A small part of me is always going to hate you for it,” she answers. For being Eunae’s acquaintance and not telling her about it.

She’s resolved to give the taller woman hell some more, but there’s movement inside the pen that catches her attention. It’s the younger baby, Sunbin, getting to her feet, and then cooing at the sight of Irene.

The baby’s coos grow louder at the sound of Irene’s voice, letting go of the pen’s soft railing that she has been holding on onto for support once Irene gets closer, standing on shaky legs and buckling knees as she holds both her hands up. Her tiny fingers curl and uncurl, beckoning to be picked up.

“Bin-ah,” Irene coos back, feeling like her heart is about to burst—and goodness, it’s just seven in the morning. She lifts her up, carrying her in her arms, and presses one, two, three kisses on her temple. “Did you have fun playing with Auntie Wan?”

Little Sunbin presses her lips together, the way babies do when they’re about to talk, or make a sound. Then, she says ma, with the sound lingering on the m.

She’s a little more than one now and a few more inches taller, the dimples at the corners of even more deeper. It’s when it hits Irene, square on the chest; the reminder that she’s growing too fast. Irene kind of just wants for her daughter to stop growing for a little while longer, and that just makes her press two more—the last one lingering.

But she still has Seulgi to wake up, so she tells Wendy just as she pulls back. “We’ll be back.” Then ducks her head to stare at Sunbin’s eyes. “Hopefully with this one’s mom in tow.”

She kisses the crown of Somi’s head hello, and then turns around to retreat back to their bedroom.

…

 

As Irene steps inside, she finds Seulgi awake on their bed, finally, facing the open door as if she has been looking at Sunbin and her.

(And for a moment, she stares back, eyes darting between the bed and Seulgi and wondering how she ever managed to sleep on any other bed that didn’t have Seulgi in it.)

Seulgi’s face is covered with the blanket from the nose down, but Irene doesn’t need to see Seulgi’s lips to know that she’s grinning. The glimmer in her eyes says it all.

Sunbin doesn’t need to, too. She bounces in Irene’s arms, cooing and squealing at the sight of her other mother.

Irene’s shaking her head as she walks in. And when she stops, at the side of the bed this time, she arches an eyebrow. “So you’ve finally decided to wake up.”

In turn, Seulgi darts a hand out from under the blanket, patting the empty space on the bed wordlessly.

Irene rolls her eyes, but, she sits down anyway.

“Seulgi-yah, I’m serious. We really need to get moving in twenty minutes or so.”

Seulgi tugs the blanket down, revealing a pout. “You haven’t even greeted me good morning yet.”

“I’ve been trying to wake you up for the last fifteen minutes.” Irene curls her other arm around Sunbin, palm pressing flat on her back to settle her down. And Seulgi feels her heart swell in folds at the exact same expression that dawns on both their faces, their brows furrowed, looking put out.

But her gaze locks in on the gold band on Irene’s finger, glittering under the sunlight streaking through their windows and against Sunbin’s white shirt.

Her pout morphs into a huge grin, which makes Irene narrow her eyes at her.

“What are you smiling at?”

“A few things,” Seulgi starts, then, she slowly rises from the bed to sit. The blanket falls on her lap, revealing a tangerine tank top, which makes Irene swallow visibly at the sight. “But first things first, good morning Mrs Bae-Kang.”

Irene, who badly wants to stay annoyed at the other woman, looks away. She tips her head a little back up, though, Seulgi catches the ghost of the giddy smile she’s trying to hide.

Seulgi bumps her forehead against Irene’s shoulder to get her to look back; and when her wife finally does, she leans in for the sweetest kiss. The kind that shoots warmth down to her spine and makes her toes curl; steals the strength in her knees, and robs her chest completely of air.

When they pull away, Seulgi scoots up, leaning against the headboard. Sunbin climbs up to her as soon as Irene sets her down, and settles her head on Seulgi’s chest, her other favorite spot in the whole world.

Seulgi then starts running slow circles on Sunbin’s back, that the little girl’s eyes start to droop. Irene half-heartedly tsks in disapproval, but it’s such an endearing sight that a huge part of her is also tempted to just hop on the bed and forget about their plans for today.

She comes to a compromise, sitting on the empty space right next to Seulgi and leans towards her, watching her wife rain gentle kisses on the crown of Sunbin’s head.

Seulgi’s hand stops its motion. She tilts her head and looks down, peeking at her daughter whose eyes are finally closed.

“You know she’s going to throw a tantrum if we wake her up in a few minutes, right?” Irene says. Her tone is chiding, but she’s looking at Seulgi and Sunbin with sparkling eyes, and her hand is reaching out on top of Seulgi’s that’s resting on Sunbin’s back.

“I know,” Seulgi replies. She grins at her wife, and then gently lets her free arm wrap around Irene’s shoulders, pulling her close. “But we’ve got time, right? We can make time?”

Irene narrows her eyes for a few beats, sighing in resignation the next. She stoops down to kiss Sunbin’s forehead, and rises back up to meet Seulgi’s warm gaze. “Yeah,” she says, leaning up to kiss Seulgi again, and take her breath with her as she pulls back. “We can.”

It has been over three years since they found themselves in each other’s arms again, since that night on their apartment where their worlds had stopped spinning madly out of their axes and righted themselves, and everything else fell into place.

And all Seulgi can think of saying is, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you and Sunbin.”

---

 

click on the link for the new full epilogue: meet me in the afterglow