Chapter Text
They never get around to making those kimchi pancakes.
The very next morning, much to Seulgi's confusion, Irene regresses to wearing the invulnerable facade she’s used as a shield since their reunion. Any progress made by their one-sided conversation in the car is erased.
Seulgi can't help but wonder if this implies that Irene has decided that their friendship is unsalvageable.
Their duet performance for the teaser forces them into close quarters over the next few days. Not that Seulgi gets many chances to try to talk to Irene during the practices. Irene powers through the dreary hours mechanically, playing the part of the pleasant yet aloof colleague.
It reminds Seulgi of the awkwardness of their early trainee days, in the worst way.
That doesn't deter Seulgi, not by much. She ferrets information out of a reluctant Wendy, and sneaks into Irene's room one night while the latter is asleep. A lifetime's worth of training as a dancer pays off as Seulgi manages to tip-toe into the room, and spitefully sign the Blu-Rays Irene keeps behind the glass doors of her dresser, all without waking up the light sleeper.
In the act of graffitiing her bandmate’s possessions without her knowledge like some morally bereft delinquent, Seulgi makes a baffling discovery.
Apart from the footage from Seulgi’s concerts, Irene’s dresser also proudly displays physical copies of Seulgi’s solo albums, magazine features, concert goods, and rolled-up posters.
She has no idea how Irene’s managed to get her hands on those, but she’s not stupid enough to investigate the matter.
Breaking and entering is one thing. Being bold enough to talk about her rash decisions in the light of the day is another.
Irene, on her part, never mentions the stealthily autographed items, nor does she bring up the invasion of her privacy, but Seulgi knows that she knows. Not much escapes Irene's notice.
It's a testament to how wide the rift between them is, in spite of their seemingly normal behavior on an average day. In a world where things had remained the same, Irene would have chewed Seulgi out for touching her things without permission.
It's kinda pathetic, but Seulgi finds herself feeling wistful for their dumb fights.
Regardless of her rather desperate feelings, Seulgi doesn’t dare ask Wendy about the Official Kang Seulgi merchandise Irene's been hoarding. She knows that Wendy's only answer would be a cryptic, knowing smile. And Seulgi doesn't want to begin parsing the meaning of that.
In the privacy of her own head, Seulgi practices pretending that she never came across the collection.
Compared to the setback with Irene, the result of her efforts at mending bridges with the rest of the group appears almost tremendous.
The daily grind and the mindless routine definitely help. They’re always in each other's faces,commiserating over their hectic schedule, helping each other with new routines, or falling asleep on each other's shoulders in the vans on the way to practice.
It's not a huge change from the friendship she had fostered with them over the years, but now, their banter doesn't have to rely on shoddy internet connection or scheduling around time differences. That alone is enough to wear away at any lingering awkwardness, and smooth out the rough edges that have formed with distance.
It also helps that other girls are more open, more appreciative of how hard she’s trying. It's not like they have any reason to mistrust her. She didn't go radio silence on them, after all.
Still, it feels like a victory when they make inside jokes and Seulgi can join in with their laughter. Earlier, those moments would make her feel awkward, and an unpleasant sensation would lodge in her throat like a fishbone.
Not that they get much time for joking around or trading stories anymore.
As the days get colder and shorter, and their comeback looms closer, they have no choice but to spend every waking hour at the SM building.
They finally have the creative control they’ve always yearned for, but it brings with it a barrage of meetings with the A&R team, producers, composers, and lyricists.
Nights bleed into early mornings, and meals become an afterthought that only come to mind when hunger threatens to inconvenience more important things like dance practice.
(Their ‘image’ handlers secretly approve, smugly advising them on how to make themselves feel full on a diet of lemon water and celery sticks.
There’s an abundance of faux-sympathetic comments about their ages, about how the industry isn’t kind to groups so old, so forgotten.
Seulgi hates them with a passion. Emboldened by the confidence she's built up over the years of working solo and fending for herself, she makes her displeasure quite obvious to The Powers That Be.
The team is replaced within the span of a week by a better one. This time, it's made up of actual nutritionists with useful advice for a change.)
The busy blur of activity suits Seulgi.
After her time abroad, she’s accustomed to working hard on a tight schedule, with little time for idle chit-chat; while she developed a friendly rapport with the loyal crew that followed her around for the main part of five years, none of her professional relationships ever bordered on the intimacy she shares with her bandmates.
It’s harder than she thought it would be to go back to a routine of rubbing elbows while brushing teeth, or bumping hips while juggling bowls of oats and fruit.
Naturally, she feels slightly cramped after years of having the leg room to stretch her independence.
However, despite the pleasant haze of tiredness colouring her days, and all the old insecurities that plague her whenever she undertakes a new project, things that Seulgi would rather ignore start to stand out in sharp focus.
Her mind picks apart seemingly unrelated occurrences, as though a logical thread links them and if she squinted harder, it would magically reveal itself to her.
She stays up at night counting imaginary sheep in her head (oddly, all of them resemble the bald one that had charged at her once, a lifetime ago) and tries not to wake Wendy with the sounds of her anxious movements.
On the more annoying nights, her thoughts whirl like birds frenzied by the smell of storm. She takes to going out for a midnight run around the gated block that their residential building sits in.
The freezing air, coupled with the ache in her protesting muscles, usually help to corral her stray musings into a shadowy pen, where she disregards their existence until the next restless night.
She gets stuck in this cycle, flip-flopping between exhausted and fretful.
It all comes to a head on the single weekend of rest that they’re allowed in December.
They get forty-eight blissfully free hours. Their schedules are wiped clean of recordings, vocal lessons, and the harsh lighting of the SM basements that makes their reflections look wan and unflattering in the mirrors that line the walls.
It’s icy and unforgiving outside, so it’s unsurprising when the five of them unanimously decide to spend the weekend indoors.
On Friday night, after the girls finish an unhurried (and unsatisfactory) dinner of sparse salads, Wendy hooks an urgent arm around the crook of Seulgi's arm, and leads her away from the dining table, out of earshot of the others.
“Hey, what is it?” Seulgi asks, mind still on the unpleasant taste of the cherry tomatoes Irene had forced her to eat after catching her in the act of covertly moving unwanted vegetables to Wendy’s plate. “I’ll do the dishes, don't worry about it. I didn’t eat my greens, so I have to suck it up and face the punishment.” She frowns, displeased at her thoughts circling back to their beautiful dictator.
“That's not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Why are you whispering?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Seulgi can see Joy and Irene putting away the leftovers into boxes, and moving soiled utensils and plates to the sink.
Yeri is still seated at the table, mindlessly thumbing at her phone, but her head is slightly cocked towards them, almost innocuously.
Seulgi isn’t fooled. Wendy catches the direction of her gaze and draws them further into the shadows of the unlit living room.
“So,” she starts, then pauses as if she’s lost the momentum to say what she was going to.
One of her hands grips Seulgi's wrist so tightly that it's beginning to cut off the circulation there, while the other absently scratches at her elbow. It’s a tic Seulgi recognizes, a sign of anxiety. Wendy’s nails look unusually short, recently trimmed.
When she finally speaks, the words leave Wendy in an breathless rush. “I—I kind of invited someone over. Can you please sleep in Joohyun’s room tonight?”
Seulgi's eyebrows raise at the request.
Wendy’s not the most social one out of them, even on a regular day when they’re free to do as they please, and she’s especially hermit-like in their days off between hectic schedules. In all the years they’d lived together, Seulgi had never seen Wendy bring a friend to their old dorm.
Then it clicks, with the satisfaction of a puzzle piece slotting neatly into place. Seulgi doesn't fight the smirk that takes her lips hostage, as a sympathetic sort of excitement bubbles up in her chest.
“Someone?” she asks, prying each one of Wendy's anxious fingers off her wrist. She tries to rub colour back into the marks they leave behind on her skin.
“A friend.”
“A lady friend?” Seulgi waggles her eyebrows, positively impish.
It's not often that she has the pleasure of seeing her usually composed and level-headed best friend reduced to a fidgeting mess. It's practically her right, as a friend, to wring every last drop of enjoyment out of the situation that she possibly can.
Wendy clamps her hand over Seulgi's mouth at that, knocking her upper lip painfully against her teeth.
“Could you be any louder!?” Wendy whisper-scolds. Her eyes flick towards the kitchen, from where sounds of activity and indistinct conversation float towards them, then back to Seulgi's face. “Who even says lady friend? How old are you, five?”
Seulgi tries to respond but her words blend into a gibberish that barely escapes from the gaps between Wendy's fingers.
Wendy finally has the sense to look apologetic as she ungags Seulgi, as if remembering that she's asked for a favour that hasn’t been granted yet.
“Well, am I wrong?” Seulgi grins cheekily. She’s not unfamiliar with the pangs of new love, and she knows that it can make idiots out of intelligent people like her best friend. “Say the words, Seungwan-ah!”
Wendy looks like she's torn between strangling Seulgi, and getting down on her knees to beg a little more. Her hands clawing at the air, as she appears to have a heated internal debate. “Okay, fine. You're right. I do have a—a lady friend coming over. So, will you please, please, be the good friend that I know you are, and leave us alone for the rest of the night?”
It's an irresistible opening for Seulgi to keep needling Wendy, and she takes it. She’s not usually this difficult, not with Wendy, but it’s a seemingly harmless outlet for all the strange energy that has been simmering under her skin ever since her return to Korea.
Her fingers curl around her chin as puts on a thoughtful air. “I don't know, Wan-ah. You know how picky I am about sleeping in my own bed. I just did the laundry, too. My sheets smell so nice.”
A scarlet-tinged annoyance spreads over Wendy's features as she visibly tries to hold onto her composure, and her hands ball into loose fists at her side.
Seulgi almost feels bad for being so uncharacteristically annoying, but she’s already committed herself to the task of irritating Wendy. She can't possibly back out now, consequences be damned.
So, she keeps at the charade, caressing her imaginary goatee with relish.
“You don't have to do the dishes tonight, Seulgi-ah. I'll do them for you!”
Seulgi hums evasively, her brow folding into pleats as she deliberates the offer.
“Okay, how about all your chores for a week?” There’s a mild note of panic in Wendy’s voice now.
“A month?”
Wendy takes a long breath through her nose, a vein standing out in bas-relief at her temple.
Just as Seulgi starts to think that she’s perhaps pushed her a little too far, Wendy deflates with a resigned sigh.
She extends a hand towards Seulgi's chest, as if they've just settled a business transaction. “You drive quite a hard bargain, Kang Seulgi,” she says.
The taut line of Wendy's shoulder sags like a cut bowstring, the tension dissipating instantly.
Seulgi laughs, relieved that Wendy’s not actually angry at her. She happily shakes the proffered hand hard enough to possibly rattle the bone of Wendy's arm in its socket.
“What can I say? Trying to make it in the States as a solo artist really improves your negotiation skills. I guess they could make me the manager of a rookie group now. I’d ace it.”
That draws a small smile from Wendy, as the angry flush fades from her face and neck. “I'll take your word for it. Go easy on me next time, alright, Ms. Future Manager?”
“What are you two losers plotting in the dark?” Joy has finished in the kitchen and wandered over to where the two are huddled together. She turns the lights on in the living room and fixes them with an appraising look. Wendy and Seulgi blink at her innocently, and then chorus together: “Nothing.”
With her eyes still narrowed suspiciously, Joy deadpans, “Sure, I totally believe that.”
“You should know by now that it's useless trying to keep things from us.” Yeri pops up behind Joy’s shoulder, phone raised to her face. Her attention is half on whatever her hands are busy with, and half on the pair of conspirators sweating under Joy's scrutiny. “It’s not like we’re Joohyun-unnie. We have no shame. We will investigate and we will find out!”
As if on cue, a hand materializes around the column of wall blocking off the kitchen from the living room, and smacks the back of Yeri’s head. “Say that again, Kim Yerim.”
Irene’s body joins her disembodied hand and rest of the group in the living room. A mild look of curiosity barely settles on her face before it’s gone, as though it only took her a split second to decide that it’s not worth her time finding out the context of the conversation.
“Sorry!” Yeri says, not sounding sorry at all. She looks more upset about the fact that she was caught. “What a stupid slip of tongue. Obviously, I meant to say Seulgi-unnie.”
“Yah, Yerim-ah. Isn't it way past your bedtime, anyway?”
Seulgi gets a very mature response to that in the form of a rude hand gesture.
“Oh, that reminds me! We were planning a horror movie marathon. Any of you guys up for it?” Joy asks, seemingly abandoning her interrogation for now.
“I was planning to read for a bit, and then go to sleep early.” Irene pets Yeri’s head close to the spot where she'd just hit her with a tender smile that’s part motherly and part childlike. Yeri tolerates the touch with a disgruntled expression belied by the affectionate glint in her eyes.
Then, Irene’s expression turns a bit more serious. “You guys should do the same. Remember, this break is supposed to be for resting. We’ve got a comeback ahead of us.”
“Okay, mom. Please don’t confiscate my phone!” Yeri teases, and braces herself for another attack by cowering behind Joy’s imposing stature. Joy laughs and ducks out of Irene’s way so she doesn't get caught up in the crossfire.
Irene just giggles in response, more amused than offended. The break seems to have put her in a really good mood. “Seulgi, the dishes are waiting for you in the sink,” Irene reminds after she quietens down, and then she’s gone, disappearing to her room without a further word.
“Well, are you guys in or not?” Joy prompts, after the silence Irene leaves behind stretches too long without a response.
A loud yawn escapes from Wendy's mouth as she stretches up on the balls of her feet, arms raised above her head. “Sorry girls! I’m really tired. I'll probably pass out as soon as I hit the bed.” She hooks her elbow behind her head as she forces a yawn again for good measure, eyelids drooping. “Have fun, though! Don’t stay up too late.”
Seulgi barely stifles a chuckle at how thickly she’s laying it on. The effort must show on her face, because Wendy glares at her once her back is to Yeri and Joy. Then, she starts moving her eyebrows in alarming, ambiguous circles.
It looks like she’s trying to communicate non-verbally. Maybe she's trying to tell Seulgi to keep her visitor a secret from the maknaes?
Whatever her intention, it takes all of Seulgi’s willpower to not burst into a full-bodied cackle. Before she can fully lose her composure, she shoves Wendy in the direction of their bedroom. “Goodnight, Seungwan-ah. I’ll join these two, so don’t wait up for me!” she says cheerfully, before Wendy’s eyebrows can detach themselves from the force of the acrobatics she’s attempting with them.
(She mentally congratulates herself for not stumbling over the implicit lie in her words.)
Wendy smiles, visibly relieved. She pauses to brush her hand over Seulgi’s shoulder as she makes her way across the living room, whispering a quick and almost inaudible “thanks” under her breath as she passes.
“That was kinda weird,” Joy says.
“What was?” Yeri asks absently, busy with her phone again.
“Don’t you think Seungwan-unnie was acting a bit weird?”
Seulgi shrugs with one shoulder, tilting her head as she tries to look offhandish. “She’s probably just really tired. You know how cranky she can get on a diet.”
All traces of curiosity leave Joy’s face. Her bottom lip juts out in sympathy on Wendy’s behalf. Even Yeri turns her full attention on Seulgi at the words, tucking her phone away in the back pocket of her shorts.
(This time, Seulgi has to mentally slap herself for her poor choice of an excuse.)
“Hey, no need to worry, guys! She’s fine, I promise!” Seulgi assures, as sincerely as she can, guilt flooding through her system for needlessly worrying them. “Like I said, she’s just tired. Normal tired, like we all are. Nothing to be concerned about. I’d tell you if it was.”
“You sure?” Yeri asks, face still twisted with concern.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Seulgi laughs nervously, jamming her thumbs into the front pockets of her jeans. “How about you guys go and set up the movie? I’ll join you after I finish the dishes.”
Wendy forgot about her end of the deal in her rush to escape, but Seulgi doesn’t really mind. She’d only been messing with Wendy for a laugh, not for any ulterior motives. She hasn’t decided whether she’ll hold Wendy to her promise of doing her chores for a month. It seems like a mean thing to do, and Seulgi’s already filled her quota for the year a few minutes earlier.
(Maybe it can be a one-off thing, when she’s feeling particularly lazy, or extremely tired.)
After Yeri and Joy leave to set their TV up and decide on a crappy gore flick, Seulgi gets greeted by the hole she’s walked into while she was distracted by how much fun she having teasing Wendy.
A hole shaped like Irene's bedroom door.
It has been years since she’s shared a room with Irene, let alone a bed. Add the weird funk Seulgi’s been in to the mix, and there's a recipe for a potential debacle.
The thought of what the night has in store for her makes her scrub harder at the dishes, until there's a messy spray of water around the sink due to the intensity of her efforts. She gets soaked up to her rolled up sleeves in soap suds.
She wipes down the kitchen counter and the dining table after she's done mopping up all the excess water she’d gotten on the kitchen floor and sink. Once she's run out of flat surfaces to shine, she considers going for a long run around the block to clear her mind.
But the muffled screaming coming from the third bedroom, tucked away at the far end of the apartment past their tiny laundry room, reminds her that she can use the movie marathon to the same end.
With any luck, by the time Yeri and Joy kick her out of their room, Irene will already be fast asleep.
Luck, as always, is not on her side.
Joy barely makes it through the first few minutes of their second film—it's more comical than scary, but that doesn't stop Seulgi and Yeri from watching it with rapt, unblinking fascination—before she tips over onto her blue bedspread and promptly falls asleep with her mouth slightly open.
Yeri, the consummate night-owl, fares slightly better. But by the time the credits start rolling, even she is blinking blearily at the scrolling text.
Sometime during the first movie, she had cuddled into Seulgi's side and wrapped her arms around Seulgi's middle securely. After the screen goes blank, she turns her face and yawns into the material of Seulgi's hoodie, getting a bit of drool on the thick lettering of the logo stitched into the front.
Seulgi takes that as her signal to leave. She gently tucks Yeri into bed, pulling the comforter up to her chin. On a whim, she plants a kiss on top of her mussed up hair. Yeri hums in a pleased sort of way and mumbles incoherently, eyes already closed.
Once she's out in the living room, Seulgi realizes that she's still in the uncomfortable jeans and hoodie she’s been wearing all day.
A thin strip of light illuminates the space beneath the door to the room she shares with Wendy, but she’s loathe to knock and ask for a change of clothes.
She doesn’t want to interrupt the activities that might be keeping its occupants awake, although a tiny part of her desperately wishes to know just who Wendy’s secret guest is.
That will have to wait until tomorrow. Seulgi fully intends to corner Wendy for a post-breakfast grilling session.
For now, she’ll just make do with raiding Irene’s wardrobe.
She’s so busy with thoughts of falling asleep wrapped in clothes that smell like Irene’s new fabric softener—she’s caught whiffs of it in passing, delicate and flowery, and comes in a limited edition purple bottle—that it takes her all of five steps past the threshold of Irene’s bedroom to realize that the lights are still on in this room as well.
To her belated dismay, Irene is still awake.
She's swaddled in two different blankets, one wrapped around her head, like a baby. The red tip of her nose is buried between the pages of a thick novel. She doesn’t look up from the book, but she doesn’t startle at Seulgi’s voice either.
“Oh. You’re still up?”
A lazy smirk curves the line of Irene’s mouth until a responding warmth tightens Seulgi’s throat. “No, Seulgi, I’m obviously sleep-reading. Can’t you tell?”
“Ha! You’ve gotten so much funnier lately.” Seulgi feels a bit more at ease at the ice-breaker. Maybe this won’t be a disaster, after all. “Been working on your variety skills?” She walks over to the tiny space that doubles as a walk-in closet, on the side of the room opposite to the bed.
The bed itself is a small double, and had come with the apartment. Instead of being placed in the middle of the room as it had been originally, Irene has it pushed up against the left wall, bordering a window that opens to an uninterrupted view of the night sky.
It’s overcast outside and the gibbous moon looks more like a car headlight smothered by winter fog.
Seulgi passes the scene of her crime—Irene’s neatly-arranged dresser—on her way. She automatically flinches, then glances at Irene to see if she’s noticed. Irene’s still engrossed in her book.
Strangely, Seulgi can't make out the familiar lines of the albums and related paraphernalia anymore. They had been displayed at the front when she’d last visited (or rather, trespassed).
“Joohyun-ah? I’m borrowing some clothes to sleep in. Didn't really wanna disturb Seungwan.” When she doesn’t really get a response, she starts rummaging through piles of neatly folded clothes—organized by purpose and colour, in that order—until she spots a familiar looking item of clothing.
“Hey, this is mine!” Seulgi turns around, armed with a stupid grin and an oversized sweatshirt.
It had vanished mysteriously from her belongings just before she’d left for the US. It had been one of her favourites too, thick enough to keep her warm yet comfortable enough to sleep in.
She had chalked its disappearance up to just one of those things that happened when you lived with four other girls, with whom you also shared clothes occasionally. She hadn't expected to see it turn up in Irene’s possession after so many years.
“I had the same one in white, remember?” Irene turns away to set her book on the bedside table. Her hair falls in a curtain around her head to obscure her face.
“Mine got ruined in the wash. I think it was when—hmm—when Yeri’s Slytherin socks got into the laundry with my whites. Remember when she had her weird sock obsession phase?” She laughs, and Seulgi catches the gleam of her teeth through the veil of her hair. “I guess I borrowed yours, and—um. I probably forgot to return it.”
“Huh,” Seulgi mumbles, digesting the revelation. She’s fixated on how Irene's still got her back to Seulgi, occupied with something blocked from Seulgi's view.
She forces herself to snap out of it. She’s not going to let her tendency to overthink ruin the easy atmosphere. “And you kept it, after all this time! That’s so cute, Joohyun-ah. I didn’t know you could be so nostalgic.” Seulgi keeps her tone overtly teasing to disguise the thick emotion pooling in her chest, like an hourglass filling with molasses instead of sand.
To distract herself from the sensation, Seulgi promptly starts stripping out of her clothes. Once she’s down to her bra and underwear, she balls up the soiled clothes and tosses them into the (nauseatingly cute, bunny-shaped) laundry hamper near the door.
“You must have worn it when you were missing me, right?” she wonders out loud when Irene doesn’t respond to her earlier taunt. A sense of accomplishment rushes through her when her voice doesn’t waver.
The material of the sweater is soft from use; it’s still a rich red that hasn’t faded, thanks to Irene’s fastidious approach to laundry.
Seulgi’s in the middle of pulling it over her head, vision and hearing impeded by the fabric, when she hears Irene scoff. “I just really liked it so I kept it, okay? Don’t be so sentimental.” Her voice is oddly strangled, pitched too high. “And please, put on some pants.”
“Like you haven’t seen me practically naked a million times already!” Seulgi counters, managing to get her arms through the holes after two attempts.
“We’re not backstage!” Irene protests.
Once her head is clear of the front of her shirt, and her nose has acclimated to the heady scent of detergent and wildflowers, Seulgi notices the eyes laser-focused on the bareness of her legs. It’s as if Irene intends to shame her into getting fully dressed with the brazenness of her gaze.
Obviously, that only makes Seulgi forget her resolution to maintain the illusion of peace. She grins at Irene, and flops face first on the empty side of the bed, foregoing the process of putting on pants entirely.
“You’re so immature,” Irene says without bite. And then she whacks Seulgi’s head with a foam dolphin that she seemingly pulls out of thin air.
It's probably what she'd been fussing with earlier.
“Immature! Me? Says the thirty-something who keeps stuffed animals near her bed to attack innocent people,” Before Irene can draw her weapon again, Seulgi plucks it out of her grasp. She rolls over so she's sprawled out on her back, and holds the plushie aloft to inspect it. The dolphin’s skin is made of felt, in a shade of blue almost verging on violet. One of its button eyes is missing.
She'd almost fallen asleep back in Yeri's bed but Seulgi feels wide awake right now. She's hyper-aware of everything—the barely-there weight of the toy in her hand, the cotton of the duvet against her calves, the slight burn in her arm from holding it up.
And she’s also aware of the hairs on her thighs rising, in spite of the heat being pumped into the room through the vents near the ceiling.
“You know I can see your goosebumps, right? It's cold. Stop being a child and grab some pajama bottoms. They're on the bottom shelf, left corner.”
Seulgi angles her head so she can look up at Irene, and smirks insolently. “Feel free to take a picture if you'd like.”
Irene shakes her head, chagrined, and reaches for the plushie as if to hit Seulgi again. The left corner of her mouth pulls upwards incongruously, and a remote part of Seulgi feels triumphant.
She rolls away from her outstretched arms, and almost faceplants onto the carpet when the mattress suddenly gives way to empty space.
It's not a very big bed.
Reeling from the rush of adrenalin caused by the near fall, Seulgi changes tracks. “Do you know who Seungwan has been seeing? She didn't even tell me she had a thing going on-” she manages to get out before she freezes, realizing that she's talking to Wendy's ex-girlfriend. And that this might not be the best topic for light bedtime conversation.
She grimaces at her own tactlessness and buries her face in the sheets, groaning.
“Ugh. I’m so sorry! This must be so weird for you. You don't have to answer that,” she backtracks. She lays her cheek flat on the mattress and scowls at nothing in particular, feeling like a terrible, horrible person.
No wonder Irene doesn't want anything to have to do with her.
Her line of view is restricted to a lump at the end of the bed that must be Irene's feet. The lump shifts and squirms, raising peaks in the surface of the blanket, like the swells in the ocean caused by sharks swimming under the surface.
“Don’t apologize, Seulgi-ah.” Irene laughs and the bed shakes gently. “It’s not weird at all. In fact, I was the one who suggested that she call Eunji over tonight. They haven't had a chance to meet for months. We’ve been so busy, and to be honest, I was getting real tired of Seungwan moping around.”
It's a throwaway comment, but it only makes Seulgi feel worse. She’d been so lost in her own head, stewing in her worries, that she hadn't even noticed that something was bothering Wendy. And she’s Wendy's roommate, not Irene!
But her curiosity is sharp enough to cut through the fog of self-hatred. “Eunji, as in Jung Eunji of Apink?” she asks, propping herself up on an elbow to better look at Irene. She rubs her shins together to generate some heat, because her commitment to rebellion doesn't quite erase the fact that it's chilly outside the warmth of the duvet.
Irene's eyes follow the movement, her gaze razor-sharp, and markedly different to the affected boldness from earlier.
The goosebumps linger on her skin, but a heat spikes in the pit of Seulgi's stomach.
After a pause that’s long enough for Seulgi to wonder if Irene's zoned out enough to merit repeating the question, she responds with a half-hearted shrug. “Yep, that's the one. I was surprised, too. Eunji was always hitting on me. Go figure.”
Then, she laughs again, but there's a discordant bitterness to the sound. “But who'd want to deal with dating me, right?”
The self deprecating tone is so unlike Irene that Seulgi snaps out of whatever daze she'd been in the danger of falling into. She sits up and moves across the small distance between them till their shoulders are lined up.
She falters before she summons the courage to rest a hand on what she assumes to be a blanket covered thigh. “That's ridiculous, Joohyun, and you know it. Why would you even say something like that?”
“Did Seungwan ever tell you why she broke up with me?” Irene asks, finally looking at Seulgi. The expression on her face is serious and inscrutable.
The answer seems important, somehow.
Irene's gaze, at least, is piercing and direct. It's such a contrast from the unapproachable demeanour of the past couple months. It shakes something loose within Seulgi. Suddenly, she's uncomfortably conscious of the scant amount of space between their faces.
“No,” Seulgi says, cautiously. “She just told me that it was mutual. That it was for the best.” She shrugs helplessly. There's gaps to her knowledge of their romantic relationship, and it's not unintentional.
To Irene, it may look like she doesn't care enough to ask but that couldn't be further from the truth.
“So you’ve asked her about it?” Irene smiles. It’s weirdly similar to Wendy's cryptic smile. A sudden heat claws at Seulgi's face.
“U-uh. Yeah. Obviously. She's my best friend. Of course I asked.”
“Of course,” Irene echoes, still smiling. “After all, I'm sure you kept her updated during those late-night video calls. I used to be so jealous, you know? Once, I even thought Seungwan was cheating on me. With you.” Irene cackles at the memory, throaty and full-bodied. It’s such a ridiculous idea that Seulgi can only stare at her, nonplussed.
“But that was just me being stupid. Trying to find excuses for why we weren’t working out. I knew those calls were just you two keeping up with each other. Talking about all the things going on in your lives.” Irene tucks a stray piece of hair behind her left ear. Her smile widens, crooked and full of teeth. “Like—about that thing with Sunmi?” She’s the picture of nonchalance, but Seulgi sees it for what it is.
Irene's fishing.
Seulgi ignores the fact that her warming face must be the colour of her sweatshirt by now, to focus on her rising irritation. She wants to storm back to her room, take Wendy by her shoulders and shake the breath out of her. The absolute betrayal! She'd confided in her about that short-lived, whirlwind romance—it took place almost as soon as she'd begun touring with Sunmi, as these things usually go—in absolute confidence!
As if reading her mind, Irene lets out a snort, and a few hiccuping laughs. “The look on your face! Seungwan didn't tell me, you idiot. I follow the two of you on Instagram. Those captions weren't fooling anyone.”
Even though she's positively mortified, and a bit confused at the turn the conversation is taking, Seulgi finds herself grinning along. “Okay, maybe we were a bit obvious. It was barely a thing, anyway,” she concedes. As casual as she can be while doing an impression of a tomato.
“It sure didn't seem that way.” Irene leans her head against the headboard, regarding Seulgi with a calculating look that does not match the amusement painted over her features. “Was it like you always imagined it would be?”
Seulgi raises an eyebrow, perplexed. “What do you mean?” She mirrors Irene, resting against the cushioned headboard. Irene's eyes flick to somewhere over her right ear, and she tuts disapprovingly.
“You're messing up your hair. Well, more than it already is.” Irene's hand reaches out to touch the right side of Seulgi's head, where parts of her hair have bunched up against the headboard. “Let me braid it for you,” she says, decisively. Her tone makes it clear that there's no room for argument.
“Um, o-okay.” Seulgi shifts from her position. Irene's hand hovers over her shoulder as she turns around to face the other direction. Now all she can see is the projector screen rolled up above the dresser, and the wall of polaroids that she’s been trying to avoid since she walked in. “You really don't need to. I'll just put it in a top knot or something.”
“I’ve seen you in the mornings, Seulgi,” Irene says, not unkindly. Her hands move to the base of Seulgi's scalp and gather up her hair, frizzy with static. Seulgi tries not to jump out of her skin at the scrape of nails against the exposed nape of her neck. The effort is herculean.
Irene seems unbothered by how clearly bothered she is.
“What were you talking about? When you asked me that question just now.” Seulgi figures conversation—anything—would be better than suffering through Irene’s ministrations in silence. “How I imagined what to be?”
“Oh, you know.” Irene's warm breath fans over skin with every exhale, every word. “You've always been such a romantic. Always talking about destiny, grand plans made by the universe. Did you...did you find what you were looking for?”
Her hands deftly part Seulgi's hair into sections, fingers combing out some of the tangles gently. From anyone else, it would be comforting enough to lull Seulgi to sleep. But Seulgi's senses only grow impossibly keener.
It also doesn't help that Irene's probing into unfamiliar territory. Seulgi and Irene have known each other for a long, long time, but they've never really talked to each other about feelings. Seulgi always had Wendy for that, or Yeri, or Joy, or any of her other friends outside of the group.
It's a strange line of questioning after months of treading on thin ice. But that doesn't mean she's going to squander the opportunity to right some wrongs.
(Such as never talking to Irene about her feelings.)
“At first,” Seulgi answers after the long pause she takes to gather her thoughts. “Sunmi did kinda feel like fate to me. Because of how similar we are, you know? How we got paired almost randomly on that show. It felt like the universe was finally revealing its design to me.” She chuckles at that, thinking back to how naïve she had been. “New things always feel grand, don't you think? I always wanted to go on an adventure, and being with her felt like that for a while.”
Irene's hands still against Seulgi's scalp, fingers pressing against her skull in a way that feels heavenly. Seulgi bites back any inconvenient sounds.
Irene seems to be waiting for her to continue, so she does.
“I think I was wrong, though.” Tentatively, Seulgi leans back into the touch. Irene sparks back to life, and resumes twisting the messy ends of Seulgi's hair into a loose braid. “Fate doesn't always have to be dramatic, or a sudden change. I think...it can be quiet too. Like—like discovering something that's been there all along.”
Once the words are out in the open, the atmosphere feels oppressively somber. It's too much, too soon. A slow panic starts expanding inside her chest.
Irene is silent, slowly working through a task that should have taken her all of forty seconds.
So, in true Seulgi fashion, she decides to lighten the mood before Irene can respond to her spiel. “How come you're so curious about my life all of a sudden? I thought you were never gonna speak to me again. I was like, so devastated.”
She cranes her head back until it’s almost in Irene’s lap. She can just make out Irene's face. She’s smiling but her eyebrows are pulled together, conflictingly.
“Ah! Now you have a problem with silence?!” Irene flicks Seulgi on the forehead (to which she responds with a theatrical ‘Ow!’). “I just needed some space to think, without you being...your annoying self. I’m still...processing. Stuff.” Irene tugs sharply at the end of the finished braid. “And did you really have to sneak into my room? Next time you touch my things, there will be consequences!”
“Is that any way to talk to your idol? I saw your collection.” Seulgi snickers. Irene makes to attack her face again, but Seulgi catches her wrists in her hands before she can do any damage. “What? I’m not making any of this up! I saw it with my own two eyes.”
“No one will believe you,” Irene says, smirking down at her. Her cheeks are flushed despite the bravado in her voice. Seulgi’s breath catches in her throat, and her grip loosens for a moment. Irene takes that moment to free herself from the hold. She pushes Seulgi’s head away, still blushing.
Seulgi climbs inside the covers. The remote part of her that had been crowing in celebration is not so remote right now. At Irene’s questioning look, she says, “What? You can’t make me put on pants.”
Irene tries to look annoyed but it falls flat, the amusement still clinging stubbornly to her features. She just shakes her head and reaches to turn off the bedside lamp. “Goodnight, Seulgi-ah.”
“Goodnight.” The bedsheet on Seulgi’s side is still cool, as is the pillow. “Hey, don’t you usually have the temperature set much higher?”
“Yes. But I also know that you run hotter than I do. And you get sweaty in your sleep.” Seulgi can barely make out Irene’s features in the dark, but she can hear the smile in her voice. “Try not to move around a lot, okay? I have to wake up early.”
Seulgi twists and turns till she finds a comfortable position, one leg bent at the knee and sticking out of the blanket, an arm curled under her head. “Do you have to go somewhere? I thought you were staying in.” Her eyes have adjusted to the lack of light, and she notes the thoughtful look on Irene’s face.
“Actually, I have a thing tomorrow…” Irene trails off. There’s sounds of shuffling, until Seulgi feels toes against her shin. They’re not cold but she jerks back from the touch, anyway. Irene huffs out a laugh, and presses her feet against Seulgi’s calves again, undeterred. Seulgi gapes at her shamelessness, unable to retaliate. “Do you wanna come along, tomorrow? I’m going over to SM.”
“What? Why? We’re on a break!” Seulgi tries to ignore the fact that Irene’s running her toes up and down Seulgi’s leg, possibly as some sort of punishment for defying her. “Why would you wanna wake up early on a weekend?”
“It’s a surprise. Are you in or not?”
It only takes a moment for Seulgi to decide. “Yeah, okay. I’m in.” After a pause for effect, she adds, “After all, can’t I give up sleeping in on a Saturday morning for my biggest fan?”
Their conversation is signed-off by a muffled yelp as Irene kicks her in response.