Endless Season

CHAPTER 1
Present: 2016

She wished, first, that her arm wasn’t bent unnaturally under her body in such an angry
way, shoved between her breastplate and whatever, be it mattress or couch or floor, was
underneath—and wished, second, that she were someone else entirely. The sun was settling
uncomfortably on her eyelashes, pulling back the lids with insistent, spiteful tugs. This was
going to be another morning like many other mornings and as the realization settled under
her skin, she wanted less and less to open her eyes at all.

The arm around her waist tightened as she cleared her throat and rolled over,
attempting to ease the tension in her own trapped, now traumatically numb, arm. The ceiling
looked like a dozen ceilings she had seen before, the pockmarks and plaster not quite
identical, obviously, but still resolutely contributing to the intimate familiarity she couldn’t
shake.

A blithe thought came then, of how when people were cornered, they would lash out.
Previously she had wondered if they knew they were lashing out while in the process of it,
but now she wondered if they could even know they were cornered. She had lived a good
twenty-seven years; it felt over-long because it hadn’t been broken up into chapters. There
was no beginning and end to events, and so there was no way to know if one was living it
correctly, in any respect. Still, dimly, she’d had the feeling she had been living it incorrectly
for some time now.

With a sigh, Kim Taeyeon gently removed the arm from around her waist and sat up,
climbing unsteadily out of bed.
 Like most mornings, it was not a clean break. She was hunting for her clothes when the
girl on the bed stirred and mumbled something at her, her eyes opening in bleary indecency.
Taeyeon cleared her throat and zipped up her jeans. It was a little after lunchtime. “Hmm?”

“Where you going?”

She was a pretty girl, probably about twenty years old. Of the brief images she could
recall from the previous night, Taeyeon remembered that the skin at the base of her neck
was impossibly smooth, that her hands were soft as though they had never worked. Maybe
she was a student. Taeyeon blew some of the hair out of her eyes and pulled her shirt on.

“I have to go. I have an appointment.” Her cellphone wasn’t in her pocket like usual so
she had to hunt for it.

The girl then said what they all more or less said, perhaps not always because they
meant the sentiment but because it was expected and the transaction was somehow empty
without it. Her wide eyes—circle lenses, Taeyeon thought—blinked long fluttering
eyelashes—likely fake—and she said, unnaturally high and mouthwateringly sweet, “Will I
see you again?”

Taeyeon smiled because she had spotted her cellphone on the nightstand by the girl’s
head. She scooped it up and then leaned down for a quick, perfunctory kiss. “Of course. I had
fun. I’ll call you.”

“But you don’t have my number.”

She breathed out noisily through her nose. Her head was aching. She had no idea if it
was a hangover— the dry mouth and numbness of limbs would indicate so—or a habitual
headache like usual—the burden of living everyday as she did would indicate so—but it was
making her feel electric under her skin, impatient with the strain of feeling unnatural.

She patiently counted to ten and made herself smile gently. This was a very nice girl
with a very nice apartment. She brought up her phone’s address book and then wordlessly,
the smile unwavering on her lips, passed the phone to the girl’s pale, trembling hands. The
trembling inspired her annoyance to dissipate, somewhat. It was easy to forget what a young,
innocent girl looked like from the inside out.

“Here.” The phone was back in her hands. “I put my name in, too, in case you didn’t
remember it.” A genuine, heartfelt smile which Taeyeon couldn’t help but return.

“Thank you.” She kissed her again, lingeringly this time. Lee Kiyoung. “Thanks.”

•••

She escaped onto the street, her head feeling light enough to float away. When she’d left
the apartment and realized there were eight flights of stairs between her and freedom, she
had begun to feel sick and had taken them at a sprint. Now her heart was pounding in rhythm
with her head. She gulped in cold air. Her jacket was too light for Seoul in winter. Her head
was killing her. Pressing her back against the brick wall, she tried to find consciousness.
There was something she had to do today, just like there was something she had to do every
day. She opened her eyes, looking blankly at the city street in front of her. What was it.

“Lunch with Hyoyeon. In Gangnam.”

It was one of the girls who followed her.

“Right,” she said, breathless. It was a habit to not make eye contact with these fans. She
felt around for her car keys. They were in her right jacket pocket but she couldn’t see her car
on the street, nor did she have any idea where the parking garage was, if the building had
one—it had to have one, even if it wasn’t a very expensive area, there were always parking
garages—

“You came here in a cab,” one of the other girls said. A brief glance confirmed there were
only four of them today. If she was a long way from her neighborhood, that made sense; it
was only a certain type of character who could handle following one person around without
cognizance of the maze barriers. “We called it for you, both of you were too drunk to drive.”

“Right.” That was all she said.

“We called another one when we saw you were coming down, it’ll be here soon.”

How did you know I was coming down or God why are you here or Maybe I’ll just walk,
what about that, I don’t need you all clustered together on the tip of her tongue but all she
said was what she always said: “Right.”

“Your car is at the bar in Seongdong if you want the cab to take you there instead of to
lunch.”

“Right.”

The cab pulled up and one of the girls handed her a cup of coffee.

“Feel better, Taeyeon unnie.”

“Right.”

•••

The cabdriver wanted an autograph for his kid instead of cab-fare. This was par for the
course; Taeyeon hadn’t properly paid cab-fare in over five years. She straightened her
rumpled clothing on the drive over, fixing her hair. She wasn’t sure why. It hardly made a
difference. She and the girls had spent over a decade together at this point. They knew each
other’s habits better than they knew their own and used each other as a reference, an
encyclopedia on their own particular quirks and eccentricities.

Hyoyeon seemed like she had been waiting a while. She was on her second cup of coffee.
Of all the Girls’ Generation members to keep waiting, Hyoyeon was probably the best. She
was sharp and would make her aggravation known with little fanfare, which was more than
she could say for other members.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” She smiled at the waitress. “Just coffee.”

“Are you eating at all these days?” This was Hyoyeon’s version of a greeting.

Taeyeon looked down at herself. She was a little skinnier than usual but hardly worth
noting. “What do you mean?”

“Every time we’ve had lunch for the past three weeks, you’ve only had coffee.”

Taeyeon shrugged. “I eat a lot at night, trust me. I sit in the booth for two hours and just
eat junk.”

“You should exercise more.”

“If I wasn’t so lazy. Are you mothering me?” She smiled wryly but the words had an edge
to them.

“I’d try to, but I don’t think you’d let me.”

Taeyeon sipped her coffee. “Is everything okay?” Hyoyeon shrugged. “How’s your
boyfriend?”

“They’re working a lot, because of the album, so I don’t see him very much.” She
shrugged. On most people, it might have been an attempt to look as though the whole thing
didn’t ruffle her, but the truth was that little things ruffled Hyoyeon anyway. She was far from
a clingy girlfriend. It was why Taeyeon had said a million times that Hyoyeon was the only
one of them she would consider dating, even if they all knew that wasn’t entirely true.

“Speaking of album—” Hyoyeon began and Taeyeon squinted at her, the headache
coming back with a dedicated vengeance. Hyoyeon recognized her shift in mood
immediately. “Or not...”

Taeyeon shook her head. “Sorry. Headache. Speaking of album, what.”

“How close are you to finishing yours?”

She sipped her coffee leisurely to give herself some time to think of a good way to say
it. “I would say, maybe, less than half finished.”
 “Less than half?”

“Maybe closer to—”

“Well, how much of it have you—”

“I have one song finished,” Taeyeon said baldly and then smiled, feeling suddenly
neurotic. “It’s a good song.”

“Then just put out a single,” Hyoyeon chuckled. “I just ask because Juhyun asked and
Juhyun asked because—”

“Because of the group.”

“I mean, it’s up to you, really, when our next group album comes out. After your solo
album, before. It depends on you.”

“You would make a great manager, you know that?”

“No, I wouldn’t, I hate entertainers.”

Taeyeon laughed. She felt a little better; the headache wasn’t disappearing, but it
certainly was easy to ignore around someone like Hyoyeon. This was probably true of nearly
every member of the band, but most potent with Kim Hyoyeon; when they had met twelve
years ago, they had been so awkward it gave Taeyeon headaches. Over the years they had
settled into a comforting sort of familiarity. Of course, over a decade’s worth of friendship
would do that, but with Hyoyeon, Taeyeon knew that she herself had not gotten any less
awkward; they had both just become more adept at being comfortable with the mutual
awkwardness.

It was for this reason, really, that although she would not single Hyoyeon out as the
member she was closest with, she was easily the member she trusted the most.

For her part, Hyoyeon was probably incredibly aware of this, and this was probably
why she felt comfortable broaching subjects with Taeyeon that other members would be
afraid to.

Hyoyeon put both her hands on the table, fingers spread with pensive intention. “The
other thing I wanted to talk to you about—”

“Wow, really.” Taeyeon sipped her coffee. “You really would make a good manager, I
feel burdened the minute you open your mouth.”

They shared a wry smile. Hyoyeon went on, “You haven’t returned any of Juhyun’s texts,
so I’m going to ask on her behalf—”
 “Texts?” Taeyeon frowned. “I’m sorry, I literally just woke up.”

“We both expected as much. Anyway, since she has a schedule with you tonight, she
was wondering if you’d carpool with her over to Jessica’s. I’m going to be coming from
Dobong because I’m filming, so I can’t pick her up—”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Taeyeon said quickly. She had forgotten that Juhyun was a guest
on her radio show tonight. Before she had ended up in that bar last night, she’d planned to
write up some good questions to ask her, since she wanted it to be a really good interview.
She knew better than anyone how to draw good responses out of someone quiet like Juhyun,
especially since she had known her forever. She scratched the back of her neck thoughtfully.
“Why are we meeting up at Jessica’s, though, just wondering.”

Hyoyeon paused, exhaling impatiently. “Ah, really. You really don’t check your text
messages, do you?”

“I do,” she lied defensively. It was taxing, really. She had over one hundred unread
messages. She tried to prioritize them, but most times that meant only reading the ones from
her manager so that she knew to be at schedules on time.

“The least you could do is check into group chat once in a while,” Hyoyeon said. “You’re
aware that Stephanie is back in Seoul, right?”

Taeyeon felt suddenly as though she had been kicked. Hyoyeon looked at her with
something resembling pity.

“Of course I’m aware,” Taeyeon said. Her tongue felt numb. So it was like that. She had
been in Los Angeles for nearly three months. It was like that, huh. “I... am aware...”

“She got in yesterday morning.” Hyoyeon’s tone had softened. It was hard to look at her,
now, when her expression was filled with sickening sympathy. “So Jessica’s having us over
for dinner tonight. You’d know that if you checked into group chat once in a while, or even
checked your texts.”

“I’ve been busy,” Taeyeon said quietly. “I...”

“I know,” Hyoyeon said softly. “But just make the effort if you can.”

The pounding in her head suddenly intensified to the point where she felt as though
she might be sick. She felt as though the alcohol wasn’t out of her system. It prickled all over
her body, the immediate feeling of wanting to be back in that warm bed, eight floors up,
pressed against Lee Ki-whoever or any girl or anyone, really, anyone that would block out
this feeling.
 She steeled herself and inhaled. It took all her willpower to not exhale in a rush of
exhausted tension. “Good,” she said briskly. “That means we can talk about the album tonight.
And we can start production on it immediately. Good.”

Hyoyeon looked at her for a long moment. She wondered what she must have looked
like from the outside looking in. Was the forceful stamping down of emotion, desperate
climbing into her Idol Group Leader skin visible from the outside?

“Okay.” That was all Hyoyeon said.

“Okay,” Taeyeon agreed. She stood abruptly, throwing down enough money to cover
her coffee and Hyoyeon’s meal. “It’s on me. I gotta run, I have a schedule.”

Arms folded across Hyoyeon’s chest; she sat back. “Of course you do.”

Taeyeon looked out the window for a moment and then smiled tightly at her old friend.
“See you—see you tonight.”

•••

Taeyeon sat in the recording studio, listening to the mastered version of the last song
she had recorded. She had heard it thirty or forty times, mastered, by now. It was settling
into the grooves of her brain. She looked at her phone.

128 unread messages.

She swallowed hard and began to diligently scroll through each one. There was no way
she could reply to each and every one. There was a pang of guilt associated with each and
every attempt at communication from people she loved, attempts that had gone ignored. She
sighed, rubbing her temples. She continued scrolling up until her finger landed on a name
that she knew she hadn’t seen in her texts list for three months.

“Yeppeuni Hwang ♥”

She opened the message.

Taeyeon~ I’m getting into Seoul Friday morning ^^ Would you want to meet me at the
airport? Let me know!

She sucked in a sharp breath. The message was five days old. She continued scrolling
until the name, the familiar heart shape, appeared again. This was from three days ago.

Okaaaaaaay, I’m guessing no reply means you’re busy, keke ^^ It’s ok, Jessi says she’ll pick
me up. No problem ^_~
 The next message was immediately above it, only fifteen minutes between.

But! Maybe we could have dinner the night I get in? Or just drinks, knowing you, kekekeke.
Missed you a lot, let me know ^^

Her fingers scrolled hastily now, ignoring any other names except the pressing bold
one, the starkly mocking heart shape. The next one was from the day before.

Jessi says you’re pretty busy lately, so I’m guessing dinner or drinks won’t be possible? No
problem ^^ But I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow, right? I miss you a lot, TaeTae. It’s hard to talk
like this. That’s why I didn’t text you before. Okay. Miss you ^^

Another one, only a few hours later.

I’m in Seoul! Hey, haven’t seen you in group chat, by the way. The rest of the girls are there.
Anyway, let me know if you want to hang out today, otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow.

The next one was from the previous night. Taeyeon suspected it had come in when she
had pressed Lee Kiyoung up against the door of her apartment, her hand snaking underneath
her skirt.

Guess I’ll see you tomorrow night? Jessi says you haven’t touched base with her but that
she doesn’t think you’d miss it. Please come? I miss you so much. I have so much to tell you.
You’re not ignoring me, right? I bet you wouldn’t kekekeke ^^ Miss you, TaeTae.

That was the last one. There was a string of messages from her manager, a few from the
other girls. She replied to the ones from her manager, confirming schedules and
appointments. The mastered version of her song picked up its loop for the fourth time. She
read the last message from the little heart shape one last time. Her eyes traced the words. It
wasn’t until the song picked up to loop for the fifth time that she managed to press reply and
type out a message.

See you tonight, Fany.

 CHAPTER 2
Present: 2016

Taeyeon twirled her pen distractedly between her fingers. Looking across the mic, she
met Juhyun’s eyes and smiled at her. Juhyun smiled back; Taeyeon’s heart swelled. Seo
Juhyun was someone she would never tire of staring at. She was graceful in ways that defied
language. Taeyeon loved her very much.

When the commercials ended, Taeyeon plugged her headphones in again.

“Taeyeon’s Late Night Radio picks up the second half with a guest that Late Night
listeners should hopefully be very familiar with, unless they want to make me angry. This is
a person who is so cute, you instantly want to take care of her, yet someone who is so bright
and mature, you can feel only frustration that she won’t let you. In the studio with me is
Seohyun, please welcome her.”

Juhyun leaned toward the mic to introduce herself. Taeyeon watched her attentively; it
was second nature at this point. Every word and syllable was a reflection of nine different
people.

“Seohyun sshi,” she said, the term dripping with such forced formality that Seohyun
laughed. “We know each other pretty well, right?”

“Mmm,” Juhyun agreed. “I think we are familiar with one another.”

“Yes, Seohyun and I have worked together in the past,” Taeyeon joked. “I’m Seohyun’s
fan.”

“Truthfully, I’m Taeyeon’s fan.”

“Yes,” Taeyeon said distractedly, looking down at her script. “That’s why I invited you.
Seohyun, I won’t beat around the bush, because you’re a guest that... truthfully, regular
listeners should really know a lot about you, since I talk about you a lot.”

“Yes.”

“So I’ll ask the question I think everyone wants to hear the most. Since you’ve released
your first solo album, many people, I think, are curious about the answer to this question.
Especially since the album is doing so well, and the song had an all-kill on music charts, so
certainly a lot of people are wondering about this question.”

“All right.”

“The question is—who is your favorite member of Girls’ Generation?”

For the first night in many, Taeyeon wrapped two hours of radio without a headache.
The mixture of Juhyun’s company, the vibrant atmosphere in the booth that night (many of
the writers were Seohyun fans), and the vitamins and water Juhyun had brought Taeyeon
before the show started not only relieved her of the tension in her head, but did the trick of
allowing her to forget about the mounting anxiety of that night’s dinner.

Of course, as soon as she finished recording, the comfort and ease melted away and her
stomach tightened. She realized with a start that she was about thirty minutes away, give or
take traffic or a hold-up from fans on the way out of the building, from seeing a person she
wanted very badly to look at and very powerfully knew she shouldn’t.

She waited patiently while Juhyun distributed signed copies of her album to the staff,
greeting each and every staff member individually with an earnest and professional fashion
that again made Taeyeon’s heart swell. It was difficult not to see Juhyun as something
between a little sister and a daughter. Logically, she knew there was only a two year
difference between the two of them and that she, Taeyeon, was hardly mature enough to
qualify as much of an older sister, let alone a mother, but her heart could not help but feel
that way every time she looked at the girl she had watched grow up for twelve years.

“Unnie.” Juhyun was in front of her suddenly, looking down at her with warm, placid
eyes. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.” She took Juhyun’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come on, there’s a back
exit to the parking garage, we can avoid the fans.”

Certain fans were unavoidable, though. A few of the girls who followed her were
gathered around her car when they rounded the parking garage corner. Taeyeon pressed the
lock button on her keys just to hear it honk loudly and startle the fans. She smiled wryly;
Juhyun nudged her, but Juhyun didn’t live with the daily headache.

Taeyeon opened the passenger door for Juhyun and let her in. One of the fans was
standing at her elbow. Her head pounded suddenly. She slammed the door.

“Do you all want to get run over,” she said softly, edgily. She rounded the car and opened
the driver’s side door.

“Are you going to Jessica’s?” one of the fans asked politely.

 Usually she ignored them. Tonight the anxiety was scraping at the self-control she had
worked years to build up. She rolled her eyes, spat, “Don’t you already know?” and then
climbed into the car, slamming the door after herself. With a roar of the engine, she peeled
out of the parking garage, not bothering to make sure she had cleared them from in front of
the car. Undoubtedly they would follow. Undoubtedly a group of them were already waiting
at Jessica’s for her. She growled unintelligibly under her breath as she eased her car out into
the Seoul traffic.

Juhyun put one cool hand on the side of Taeyeon’s neck. “Unnie, take it easy. They just
want to rile you up.”

“Why is it me.”

All of the other girls had stalker fans who occasionally followed them, showed up at
their apartments in the hopes of seeing them, or followed them to various filming and
schedules, but she was the only one with a dedicated group that followed her every move.
She couldn’t sneeze without one of them offering her a tissue, appearing from behind some
circumspect hiding space. One had cornered her in a public bathroom once.

“I don’t know,” Juhyun said thoughtfully. “You must have done something to encourage
their behavior...”

Taeyeon’s eyes narrowed. She changed lanes abruptly because there was a taxi behind
her. She knew. “So it’s my fault then,” she said bitterly. Her tone held a hint of defensiveness
and reproof but she smiled because, in all things, she didn’t want to hurt Juhyun.

“No,” Juhyun said delicately. She paused. “But maybe you should consider the
impression you give them.”

Taeyeon was silent as she maneuvered her car through Friday night central Seoul
traffic. Perhaps it was sheer willfulness, but she had no idea what Juhyun meant. Of the nine
of them, Taeyeon was the most stand-offish with fans; she was known for it, actually, and
had often seen fans discussing it on the internet. She had worked hard to train the fans into
understanding that there was a distinct line between acceptable fan behavior and
unacceptable fan behavior. She went out of her way to be kind and approachable during
public fan events like fan meetings, signings, concerts, show tapings. The moment a fan
overstepped their bounds and inched into her private life, she was quick to change her
attitude toward them. She had done this for years and as such had developed a reputation
for her hot/cold behavior among fans. For that reason alone, she could not understand what
compelled these girls to follow her around. Certainly they knew that the moment they had
started, she had immediately begun to hate them. Why her, of all people? Many of the other
members were far more indulgent toward disrespectful fans. Why not them?

She realized with a start that she was fuming heavily, exhaling angrily out of her nose
just like Juhyun did when she was angry. For her part, Juhyun was looking at her softly out
of the side of her eyes.
 “Relax, unnie.”

Usually Taeyeon hated being told to relax. She disliked any blatant dismissal of her
feelings. But Juhyun was an exception; Juhyun got away with a lot around her. It was
impossible to be angry at Juhyun.

She exhaled, letting the tension melt out of her body. Traffic had slowed to a crawl.

“Ah.” Juhyun looked at her phone. “It’s Hyoyeon unnie.”

“Mmm.” She tried to get into the right lane for her upcoming exit. “What’d she say?”

“‘Hurry up, we’re waiting on you two and I’m impatient as—as heck.’” Juhyun pursed
her lips. Taeyeon doubted Hyoyeon’s text had been that mild.

“What?” she snapped. “Coming from Dobong is a piece of cake, so of course you got
there before us, try navigating traffic out of Yeouido, see how you fu—”

“Unnie,” Juhyun said mildly, eyebrows raised.

Taeyeon sighed for what felt like the millionth time that night. Juhyun put her phone
away. “Are you anxious about seeing Tiffany unnie?”

Taeyeon chuckled dryly. Juhyun really didn’t beat around the bush. It was surprising,
though, since their youngest was not usually the prying type. Taeyeon gave it some thought
before answering.

“Not anxious, really.”

“Excited?”

“Well.”

“Well?”

“It’s somewhere between there.” She breathed. She didn’t dare turn her head to make
eye contact with Juhyun; she could feel the sympathetic, pitying gaze. That was how they all
looked at her when it came to Tiffany. Pity. Oh you poor languishing thing. She clicked her
tongue impatiently.

“Look at it professionally,” Juhyun suggested. “Doesn’t that make it easier? Instead of

thinking about... Just think about how we can start on another group album, unnie.”

“Right,” Taeyeon agreed, feeling like a robot. Human mode disabled. Leader mode
enabled. Work, work, work; the sum of nine parts was a pop album with sweat and tears in
it. There was no feeling or desire in it. It was easier that way.
 •••

Jessica and Tiffany’s apartment was four flights up. Taeyeon had unconsciously dragged
her feet, but Juhyun was a slow walker anyway. Jessica had called through the buzzer that
the door was open; they knocked twice before opening it. Beyond the threshold, the pressing
milieu of the past ten years of her life hit her, wrapped itself around her, swept into her lungs
and pinned her to the floor.

When the nine of them got together, it was loud. Suffocating. Irrepressible.

Beautiful.

Taeyeon prided herself on a lack of soppy emotion when it came to things like this, but
occasionally it was okay to admit it.

“Took you long enough,” Jessica complained, taking their coats at the door. They slipped
out of their shoes. Yoona, Hyoyeon, and Yuri were gathered around the television, which was
set to a low murmur, talking loudly about the news broadcast. Sunkyu was in the adjoining
kitchen, counting utensils and arguing with Sooyoung, who was holding two bottles of beer
for no discernible reason, except perhaps that Sooyoung really liked beer, which Taeyeon
guessed was actually a very discernible reason.

“We had to stop for stomach medicine,” Taeyeon explained, “when I heard you were
cooking.”

Jessica punched her in the arm, hard. “Jackass. I ordered in.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Where’s Tiffany unnie?” Juhyun asked, helping Jessica hang up their coats in the front
closet. The back of Taeyeon’s neck prickled uncomfortably.

“Outside.” Jessica gestured with her head toward the back door, beyond which lay the
balcony. “Smoking.”

Juhyun wrinkled her nose. “Is she back to that?”

“Somehow picked it up in L.A. again,” Jessica said with a shrug. “I’m going to get her to
quit.” Her eyes scanned over to Taeyeon, meeting her gaze and locking it. “So you’re alive,
huh.”

Taeyeon smiled faintly, looking down at herself for a moment. “Seems so.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. With an impatient head shake she grabbed Taeyeon by the
shoulders and hugged her tightly. “Jerk. Answer my texts sometimes, okay?”
 “Okay.” Her tone was soft as she relaxed in Jessica’s arms. Jessica gave good hugs. It was
difficult for Taeyeon, who could only pat her awkwardly on the back in response, to feel as
though she even deserved them. They were warm and honest—everything Taeyeon wasn’t.
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve been—”

“Busy,” Jessica finished with a laugh and as she pulled away, Taeyeon could see her
rolling her eyes again. “I know.”

Then she said, “Juhyun—” and reached past her to pull the youngest into a hug but at
that moment the back door slid open and a rush of cold air accompanied the most
breathtaking person Taeyeon had ever laid eyes on. Her stomach fell. She was going to be
sick.

“Tiffany unnie!” Juhyun cried and Tiffany turned, her dark hair moving around her face
in slow motion, perfect white teeth flashed in accordance with two upturned eyes. Taeyeon
choked on a gasping breath; it was stupid, it was dramatic, it was like she was fifteen years
old again.

“Juhyunniee,” Tiffany said warmly, striding across the apartment to wrap Juhyun in a
hug and her proximity nearly knocked Taeyeon off her feet; if Jessica hadn’t been standing
right beside her, holding her up with sheer force of magnetic will, Taeyeon wondered if she
might’ve collapsed.

Juhyun was released and Taeyeon’s best friend turned to her, smiling so refreshingly
sweet and forgiving—there was no bitterness, no condemnation—and put her arms around
Taeyeon.

“I missed you, TaeTae.”

Taeyeon breathed in, holding onto Tiffany with one arm. She kept the other pressed
immobile to her side, knowing that if she risked to wrap it around Tiffany’s warm, lithe figure
that she would be rendered incapable of letting go. She breathed in.

“You smell awful,” she lied, mumbling into Tiffany’s hair. The smell of cigarette smoke
clung to her. It was usually enough to nauseate Taeyeon, but this was Tiffany, and there was
nothing about Tiffany that each of Taeyeon’s five senses didn’t find perfect. She swallowed
hard; with one hand, Tiffany hit her back playfully.

“Jerk.” There was a smile in her tone. “Can’t you just say you missed me?”

She pulled away and couldn’t help but fall into Tiffany’s eyes, liquid brown and
hypnotizing.

“I missed you.”
 Tiffany grinned. “Me too.” She looked over her shoulder and then suddenly Taeyeon
was reminded that not all of her senses found Tiffany’s Everything perfect, as Tiffany shouted
in that way-too-loud voice: “Yeah! Is the food here yet?”

She smiled briefly at Taeyeon, squeezed her hand, and then walked off to harass
Sunkyu. Juhyun followed along behind her (probably not with any intentions of harassment).
Taeyeon watched her. Her insides felt numb. Once again her skin tingled, seemed at once on
fire with the need to press against a mattress, feel skin around her thighs, a tongue in her
mouth. She felt helpless and could not understand why.

Jessica wrapped an arm around her shoulder tightly. Her lips pressed briefly against
Taeyeon’s temple. Taeyeon knew without looking that Jessica’s gaze was probably saturated
in pity. Just like all the rest.

“Come on, baby,” Jessica murmured in her ear, pulling her bodily toward the kitchen. “I
bought your favorite wine.”

Taeyeon exhaled, long and measured. Yes. She would need wine.

•••

Stephanie Hwang was a living angel with a halo behind her head.

Taeyeon smiled at her drowsily.

It was not a halo, actually, just a white pillow on Jessica’s white couch but it meant the
same thing, deep down.

“Hello,” she said, and there was a moment when Tiffany’s smile was so blinding white,
so naturally pure, that Taeyeon worried her headache would come back.

“Hello.” Tiffany’s voice, Tiffany’s voice, so low, so raspy, so very much the greatest thing
to ever happen to Taeyeon’s ears. Taeyeon leaned in, pressed her body close. Tiffany’s body
hummed, vibrated. Warm. Buzzing.

“You’re drunk,” Tiffany said softly.

“Mmm,” Taeyeon agreed. She had Tiffany pinned to the couch. She could make love to
Tiffany on this couch. With all of these people watching. She didn’t care. If Tiffany said the
word, she would. All she needed was the smallest bit of encouragement and she would press
Tiffany against the yielding couch cushions, put her mouth on every centimeter of flawless
skin, skin that she had dreamt about. She would draw her own name from Tiffany’s lips, make
her tremble with want the way she had for years and years. And they would watch and
maybe they would stop pitying her.
 Tiffany giggled softly, brushing Taeyeon’s bangs off her forehead. She didn’t seem to
mind being pressed against the couch like this. Her legs had even opened for Taeyeon, and
Taeyeon swallowed hard, pressed herself between Tiffany’s legs and wanted her with her
whole being.

“I thought you were going to grow your bangs out,” Tiffany commented.

“I will if you want me to,” she said candidly. “I’d do anything you wanted.”

Tiffany laughed outright. “Noooo, I just expected to come back after three months and
you’d be showing that sexy forehead of yours.”

She looked into Tiffany’s eyes. They were eyes you could look into for the rest of your
life. Music was her life, her passion, but she would give it up just to stare into Tiffany’s eyes
for her entire life. With permission. Always with permission.

“I missed you.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue but she meant them sweetly,
sincerely. Looking at Tiffany day in and day out was painful, but it was the good kind of pain,
the aching pain like long nails scratching her back, or the bitter acidic burn of hard liquor
clearing her throat. Good pain, pain she longed for.

Tiffany’s smile was soft. Sad? “I missed you, too.”

“Why didn’t you call.” Her voice felt faraway. Rough. She had drank too much. As usual.

“Would you have answered?”

She wasn’t sure. “Yes. Yes.”

“Taeyeon, you’re drunk.” It was Sooyoung. She was pulling Taeyeon’s arm. She was
trying to take Taeyeon away from Tiffany. She wrenched her arm away, snuggled into
Tiffany’s embrace. Tiffany accepted her. Her arms came around Taeyeon’s back. She put her
head in the crook of Tiffany’s neck, where it didn’t smell like cigarette smoke, it smelled like
a girl she had met at fifteen years old and promptly fallen in love with.

“Wanna stay.”

“It’s okay,” she heard Tiffany say. “I got her.”

Sooyoung lingered by them. Sooyoung was drunk, too, yet Taeyeon was sure she was
looking down at her with pity. “Are you really okay? She’s—”

“It’s fine,” Tiffany said lightly. They talked about her like she wasn’t there. Taeyeon was
a problem that the members had to deal with sometimes. Someone should check on Taeyeon.
Have you heard from Taeyeon. Does Taeyeon know about this. When Taeyeon finds out she
will be upset. Did Taeyeon say anything to you. Did Taeyeon do anything to you. Did Taeyeon
hurt you. The problem the problem the problem was Taeyeon.

She felt like crying. She pressed herself into Tiffany. It was the closest she would ever
get.

Tiffany would never love her like she loved Tiffany but at least Tiffany didn’t hate her
for it, at least Tiffany wasn’t disgusted, or afraid. Or concerned. Concern was the worst. There
were few phrases she disliked more than “Taeyeon I’m concerned.”

“I am drunk,” Taeyeon announced suddenly. She felt she should be upfront with Tiffany,
who was so pure and good. Then she felt self-conscious. “Don’t take me seriously, I’m drunk.”

“Yes, baby, I know you’re drunk,” Tiffany said. She was smiling. She was so pretty.

“You’re so pretty.”

Tiffany laughed.

“I love you.”

Another laugh. She lifted Taeyeon’s bangs off her forehead again. “Love you, too.”

“If only unnie was this affectionate sober,” Yoona commented. Where had Yoona come
from. Yoona was drunk. Yoona was a lousy drunk.

“Go away, Yoona,” Taeyeon said eloquently and Yoona laughed that great laugh, that
great Yoona laugh that was so much more Yoona when Yoona was drunk.

She looked down, and then she looked up. Jessica and Tiffany’s apartment, quiet with
the comforting volume; the eight people she loved most in the world, maybe, although she
would never say it. When Tiffany had said, three months ago, that she needed a break and
was going to head back home to California to sort out her head, none of them had suspected
it would last as long as it did—and yet none of them had really expected her to come back. It
wasn’t that they thought she wouldn’t—it was just too difficult to have expectations.

Nine years ago they had been shoved out on a stage and forced to be a group, and so
sometimes they wondered if they were forced to be a family, too.

Taeyeon did, sometimes. She wondered sometimes if she loved the group because she
loved them, or if she loved them because she had to. But that night, pressed against her best
friend, the girl she loved, and surrounded by the group members that she needed like air, she
thought it wasn’t an obligation, really. It was love, in a pure, drunk, beautiful kind of way.
 CHAPTER 3
Present: 2016

The light had faded. She wasn’t sure if she had fallen asleep, but the next time she came
to, the apartment was significantly quieter, darker, and Tiffany was attempting to extricate
herself from underneath Taeyeon’s body. The living room was dark. They were alone.

“Where are you going,” she mumbled. She tightened her grip around Tiffany’s waist.

“Just—”

“Trying to get away from me,” Taeyeon mumbled. She looked blearily at Tiffany. So
pretty. “Are you afraid of me?”

Tiffany gazed at her. Her expression was soft. “Not at all. Never.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“TaeTae, I know that.”

Her stomach lurched and fluttered. She loosened her grip a little.

“I have to pee,” Tiffany told her. She let her go and rolled over, burying her face in the
couch pillow.

“Where is everyone?”

“They went home.” She opened one eye. Tiffany’s legs. The curve of her knee. She
reached out with one finger and touched her, lightly. “Jessi said it would be better if you
stayed the night here.”

“Mmm. Can I sleep with you.”

Tiffany laughed and ruffled her hair. “You’re a pervert. I’ll be right back. Go drink some
water.”

She did stagger into the kitchen and drank glass after glass of water. She tried to relax.
Her mind felt fuzzy, pleasantly blurry, but she wanted to remember how the evening had
gone. They had eaten dinner after the food had arrived. She hadn’t eaten much—perhaps
that was why she had gotten so drunk—but she had looked at Tiffany from across the table
and that had been enough. They had discussed the next group album and had decided to
meet with their producer within the next week. They had discussed concepts, song ideas.
They were excited about it. Their sixth full-length album. It felt like it was a long time coming,
even if it really wasn’t.

When Tiffany talked about L.A. her eyes lit up. Taeyeon was sure she had a boyfriend.
She was sure of it. She had drank a lot of wine to dull the ache.

Tiffany came back. She leaned against the kitchen door and watched Taeyeon drinking
water.

Taeyeon put the glass down. “You gained a lot of weight.”

Tiffany shoved her. “You’re such an ass, oh my god.”

“Speaking of asses, yours is looking—”

She shoved her again. “Jerk.”

Taeyeon gazed at her. She wanted to say something but could not make herself. Jessica
came in then, dressed for bed. She grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.

“Does Taengoo need blankets and pillows or are you going to grab some for her?” she
asked Tiffany.

Tiffany shrugged. “She can sleep in my bed.”

Jessica looked at her. Her expression was very serious. Taeyeon stiffened.

“Are you—” Jessica began, but Taeyeon pushed past both of them on the way back to
the living room.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Then Tiffany, who didn’t know how to whisper properly, said in a hushed tone, “Stop
making her feel bad.”

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable—”

“It’s fine—”

Taeyeon pulled off her jeans and collapsed onto the couch again. Jessica came in and
kissed her forehead. She put a water bottle on the table next to the couch.

“Love you, Taengoo. Let me know if you need anything.”

 “Don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Taeyeon retorted, but regretted it the moment
she saw Jessica’s face fall. It wasn’t Jessica’s fault she was like this. It was her fault, everything
was her own fault. She should’ve fallen in love with someone else. She grabbed Jessica’s wrist.
“Love you, too.”

Tiffany had gone into her room and came back with a blanket and a pillow. Jessica went
to bed. Tiffany lifted Taeyeon’s bangs off her forehead again. Taeyeon gazed up at her. She
thought her expression was probably not dissimilar to worship. Other people looked up to
the heavens for comfort, but Taeyeon needed only to look up to Tiffany.

“You can come sleep with me,” Tiffany said, but Taeyeon took the pillow and blanket
anyway.

“You don’t know what I’ll do to you in your sleep.”

Tiffany chuckled. She put her hand on Taeyeon’s cheek. “Absolutely nothing. Because
you would never hurt me. Good-night.”

She tried to get comfortable on the couch but it was difficult and she felt guilt and her
head was killing her.

•••

There was no glamor to waking up alone, either.

She groaned and rolled over. Her neck and upper back were both stiff. The three of them
had been too drunk the previous night to think about closing the curtains in the living room.
Without opening her eyes Taeyeon knew just how much light was threatening to split
through and make the pounding in her head worse.

She blinked slowly. Slept with her contacts in, again. A groan slipped past her lips.

“Taengoo.” Jessica slapped her butt. “Rise and shine.”

Taeyeon screwed her eyes shut. There was nothing worse than being woken up by
Jessica, who had perfected the art of waking people up in the most obnoxious ways possible,
mostly in retaliation of all the years they had all spent attempting various methods on her.

“What time is it.” Her voice sounded as rough as it felt.

“A little after eleven,” Jessica chirped. Jessica was awful because Jessica never got
hungover. Not only was she a charming, happy, clingy drunk, but she never got hungover.
Taeyeon hated her. Or would, if she could.
 “Ugh.” She rolled onto her back. On the table next to the couch was a glass of water and
a bottle of pain medicine. Sitting up, she tipped the bottle into her mouth and washed down
the pills with water.

“That’s more than the recommended dosage,” Jessica said thoughtfully. She sat on the
table, crossing her legs primly.

Taeyeon closed her eyes, massaging the bridge of her nose. “You’re more than the
recommended dosage. What did I do last night.”

“Got drunk.”

“Obviously,” Taeyeon retorted.

“And didn’t wake up with a strange girl, for once.”

“You’re pretty strange.”

Jessica grinned. She moved to sit behind Taeyeon and then massaged her temples
gingerly. Taeyeon leaned back into her touch.

“You just clung to Tiffany all night and whined about how much you loved her.”

Taeyeon cringed. She could actually feel her head throbbing.

“So nothing unusual then,” she said bitterly.

“Nope, run-of-the-mill drunk Taengoo,” Jessica said softly. “How are you?”

“What do you mean?” Jessica remained silent, gently massaging her head. It felt good.
Taeyeon sighed. “It’s a little hard to see her. But...”

“But?”

“But. As hard as it is, it’s a lot harder to not see her.” She frowned. “Does that make
sense.”

“Yeah.” Jessica kissed the back of her head. “I love you, Taengoo.”

Taeyeon’s skin felt prickly. “Mmm,” she agreed. She knew Jessica wouldn’t expect her
to say it back. Not sober. It wasn’t in her personality.

“I just want you to be happy.”

 Taeyeon thought about it for a long time. “I am happy,” she lied. She felt Jessica’s arms
wrap around her shoulders from behind, felt her press another kiss to the back of her head.
She could tell Jessica didn’t believe her. Jessica, like the rest of them, pitied her.

But all she said was “Okay,” and then she stood and headed toward the bathroom to
shower, mumbling something about having to meet unnie for a late breakfast. Taeyeon
released an unstrung sigh and fell back on the couch, nursing a pounding headache. She was
beginning to forget what a head that wasn’t pounding and throbbing painfully even felt like.

She felt a weight on her shoulder and when she opened her eyes she found Tiffany
nestled against her side, eyes closed. Her hair was a mess and her face was lined with sleep.
Taeyeon shifted as gently as she could to make room for her best friend.

“Good morning,” Tiffany mumbled sleepily.

“Morning.” She cleared her throat. The discomfort was throbbing in her veins. “About
last night—”

“Mmm.”

“Sorry... I... well—”

“For what?”

“For...”

“Shhhh,” Tiffany hissed and she flung an arm around Taeyeon’s waist. “Let’s sleep.”

•••

The next time she woke up the headache was a little better but the dryness in her mouth
was a million times worse, the couch was cold and uncomfortable, and she was alone. She
wandered into the kitchen to drink water. She liked looking at all the magnets and pictures
and notes Jessica and Tiffany had collected on their refrigerator. She liked Jessica and
Tiffany’s apartment a lot. When the lease on their old dorm had ended and they’d decided to
move into their own apartments, Taeyeon hadn’t actually expected the two of them to move
in together. She knew, of course, how close they were, but they argued so often she hadn’t
expected it. They were a nice fit, though.

Hyoyeon and Juhyun moving in together had made less sense, even, although they had
been roommates at their old dorm. Taeyeon could never quite figure out how the two had
managed to fit together so well; in a lot of ways they seemed like polar opposites. Juhyun was
straight-laced, neat, meticulous, organized—Hyoyeon was none of that. Yet they fit together
so well; Juhyun cleaned up Hyoyeon’s messes while Hyoyeon forced the straight-laced
magnae to be a bit more flexible, an accomplishment the rest of the group had been
attempting to achieve for years. Somehow, despite their differences, they were perfect as
roommates.

Taeyeon supposed that, in a way, the trio of Yuri, Sooyoung, and Yoona were technically
also perfect as roommates, although she was loath to admit it. When they had announced
that they would be springing for a bigger apartment so that the three of them could live
together, her initial response had been, “Is it really safe to put so many stupid people under
one roof?” They were bad enough on their own, but if you put any of them together you
wound up with a chemical compound of so much immature jackassery it should’ve been
illegal—Taeyeon thought this lovingly, of course. Still, they somehow worked as roommates,
perhaps mostly because it was better to confine their stupidity to one place rather than
scattering it about Seoul—Taeyeon thought this lovingly, too, of course.

She and Sunkyu had considered moving in together but they both knew it wouldn’t
happen. Certainly Sunkyu was the member she confided in the most, the member she was
incredibly close to, and they had lived comfortably as roommates for many years, but Sunkyu
knew better than most people how much of a loner Taeyeon was. And she had wanted to be
with her family, who lived in Seoul anyway. She had moved back home with them while
Taeyeon had gone out of her way to get a small apartment out of Gangnam, where the rest of
the girls were living—it wasn’t terrifically far, just far enough to give her an excuse to decline
invitations when she just wasn’t in the mood for socializing. It was nothing against them; it
was just her nature. She preferred isolation and had already lived many years surrounded
by them.

There had been rumors on the internet, at the time, that there must have been rifts in
Girls’ Generation’s friendships if leader Taeyeon was living alone, but no one had ever
understood Girls’ Generation except Girls’ Generation.

The balcony door opened then and Tiffany came in from outside. She was showered
and dressed but now she smelled like cigarette smoke

“You better quit,” Taeyeon said. She leaned against the counter and drank water.

Tiffany smirked. “Yeah, or you’ll do what?”

A frown settled on Taeyeon’s lips. She decided not to rise to the bait. “Come on. I thought
you quit.”

“I did,” she replied, “but I started again while I was in L.A., and...”

“It’s bad for you, it smells, and we’re going to be working on our comeback, so your
throat and lungs need to be in excellent shape.”

“Oh, so this is an order from the team leader?”

Taeyeon looked at her. “No. It’s a request. From your best friend.”
 Tiffany’s smile was beautiful. “All right.”

“Thank you.”

Tiffany brushed past her to open up the refrigerator. She did smell like cigarette smoke
but she also smelled good, clean. It stuck hard in Taeyeon’s throat and became difficult to
swallow. She closed her eyes. The ache in her head had dulled to a steady, humming throb.
Easier to ignore.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Tiffany sounded hesitant. “Or can you stick around.”

She wanted very badly to lie to her best friend and make a hasty getaway. She could
only handle so much closeness for so long before the proximity began to drive her insane.
But it had been three months. And the earnestness in Tiffany’s tone made her insides feel
soft. Tiffany wanted her there.

She paused. “I don’t have anywhere to be,” she said. “Do you want breakfast?”

That smile again. Her entire body throbbed just looking at it. “Yes, please.”

“Okay,” Taeyeon said, looking in the refrigerator over Tiffany’s shoulder. “I guess... I’ll
make you a western-style breakfast or...”

Tiffany’s hand wrapped securely around her elbow. She looked into Taeyeon’s eyes.
“I’ve been eating western food for the last three months,” she admitted. “I kind of missed
your Korean food.”

Taeyeon nodded, numb. “Kimchi fried rice, it is.”

•••

They stood at the counter and ate from the pan. Drinking water and eating made
Taeyeon’s headache slip through her skull and disappear. Things felt like old times, suddenly.
They leaned against the counter and caught up, trading stories of what they had done over
the past three months. This space, where their words met and brushed against each other,
the depths of Tiffany’s rolling, throaty tone, the familiar entwining of their laughter—this
was where Taeyeon felt the most at home. Tiffany’s crescent- shaped eyes and her perfect
white teeth, the soft skin along her cheekbone. This was home. She had her best friend back.

“So were you with your dad the entire time?”

“Noooo,” Tiffany intoned, laughing. “I mostly stayed with unnie and her husband. I saw
Daddy a lot but—I don’t know, if I spent the entirety of three months around him I’d probably
go crazy.”
 “Mmm, maybe,” Taeyeon agreed. She scraped the bottom of the pan. “Or you’d realize
you didn’t want to come back.”

It was a big part of why she rarely stayed with her parents for more than a few weeks
at a time. If she stayed too long, let Jeonju get back into her bloodstream, would she want to
come back to Seoul, to this complicated life with people she loved and a job she couldn’t live
without and the hollow misery and/or happiness of the past twelve years of her life? Would
she start weighing the pros and cons, an activity she had avoided for years, and come up with
the realization that it, this life, wasn’t for her? She was terrified to find out.

Tiffany was silent for a long moment. Perhaps, like Taeyeon, she was trying to piece it
together, too.

“No,” she said at last. “I’d come back, no matter what. This is my home. My real home.”

Taeyeon tried not to let on how surprised Tiffany’s confession made her. Neither of
them had ever admitted to thinking of Seoul as “home”. It was easy to circumvent the depth
of the conversation— home is where the heart is or home is where your family is—which
meant that home was both places. But Tiffany had never admitted to thinking of Seoul as her
real home.

Taeyeon ran the pan under the water and rolled up her sleeves to scrub it.

“I guess it’s mine, too,” she said quietly, thoughtfully.

“It better be.” Tiffany’s tone sounded like it was struggling to remain light, casual. “Your
home should always be where I am.” She smiled.

Taeyeon frowned, scrubbing the sponge against the sticky sauce in the pan. “Always?
But you’ll find someone else.”

She said it with the kind of frank openness that being in love with one person for the
better part of your life would bring someone. She had long accepted it. Tiffany would find a
person who wasn’t her, and she would love them and marry them. She, Taeyeon, would
remain in the wings, watching but not watching, alone but pretending not to be. She had
accepted it, and it was not quite as melancholy as words made it out to be.

Tiffany made coffee.

“Maybe I’ll find someone else, but I’ll only ever have one TaeTae.”

Her stomach felt very strange in response.

“Speaking of having you,” Tiffany went on and Taeyeon’s stomach somersaulted in turn;
her eyes caught Tiffany’s twinkling mischievous eyes and she swallowed hard.
 “Having me?”

“Jessi told me you have a girlfriend.” Tiffany grinned but Taeyeon snorted, rolling her
eyes back to her work. She let the soap suds creep up her wrists.

“You know I don’t do relationships.”

“Yeah, but Jessi said—”

“Jessica is too deep into her own relationship to be able to comprehend other people’s,”
Taeyeon retorted. She rinsed furiously. “I don’t do relationships.”

Tiffany smirked. It was maddening. “Jessica seemed pretty certain that you were seeing
one girl more than any other girls.”

“That doesn’t make it a relationship.”

She clapped her hands gleefully. “Oh my god, you are!”

Taeyeon shut off the water. For some reason a tension headache was building behind
her ears. She swallowed around the confusion in her throat and set the pan on the drying
rack. Tiffany was still smiling gleefully at her.

“So what’s her name? Do I know her? Jessi says she does hair for Yeri’s group.”

Taeyeon sighed. Tiffany was not going to give up.

“Kang Hyejin and I don’t know if you know her.”

“Did she ever work for us?”

“Why are you so nosy?” Her eyes narrowed, partly in suspicion, but also in an attempt
to ward off the sharp pain of another headache.

“Because!” she whined. She handed Taeyeon a towel to wipe her hands with. “You
dating someone is a big deal.”

“I’m not dating her.”

“But you knew who I was talking about when I said you were dating someone, so you
admit that there’s something unique about your relationship with her. Is she pretty?”

“Obviously she’s pretty,” Taeyeon said stiffly.

“How old is she?”

 “Our age. Why are you asking so many questions?”

“I can’t be excited that my best friend has a hot girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend and who said she’s hot?”

Tiffany laughed outright. “Well, if Kim Sleeps-With-A-Different-Girl-Every-Night

Taeyeon is going back to the same girl over and over again she must be pretty hot.”

“You’re just as annoying as Jessica,” Taeyeon grumbled. Her ears felt hot. The headache
clenched around the base of her skull.

“Can I meet her?”

Taeyeon was about to lose her temper. She knew that Tiffany probably realized this;
Tiffany knew her better than anyone and knew her limits, her buttons, and how to push them.
Her mounting annoyance seemed to only bring Tiffany delight. The most annoying thing was
that Tiffany was so annoyingly pretty when she was amused like this. It staved off her anger
temporarily.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Do I have to introduce you to every girl I sleep with?”

“I don’t think my brain has the capacity to deal with that many people,” Tiffany
commented wryly, “but if this one’s your girlfriend, then yes, you have to introduce me.”

“She is not my girlfriend. I see her sometimes. I see a lot of people.”

“Yeah, but do you see all of them more than once?”

Taeyeon remained silent. Tiffany had a point, even if she didn’t get it.

Tiffany clapped again. “Oh my god, this is so exciting. I’ve been waiting for you to settle
down and get a girlfriend.”

A pause. Tiffany’s enthusiasm made her feel queasy. “Why?” she asked softly, but she
thought she knew the answer.

“Because. You’re my best friend. And I want you to find someone who will make you
happy.”
 Or, thought Taeyeon as she studied Tiffany’s face silently, impassively, you want me to
get over you so that you can stop feeling guilty all the time. You want me to find someone
else, so I can forget about you, and you can stop pitying me, worrying about me, fearing me.

She released a sigh that stuck in her lungs a bit, forgetting to relieve her of any of the
pressure that had built up. “I’m gonna go.”

Tiffany walked her to the door. “Don’t forget about dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“You promised to have dinner with me tonight.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, you promised last night.”

Taeyeon slipped into her shoes, grumbling. “You took advantage of me while I was
drunk?”

“You wish,” Tiffany shot back, eyebrows raised. Taeyeon coughed quietly, embarrassed.
“There are worse things than having dinner with me,” she reminded Taeyeon teasingly.

“Yeah?” Taeyeon checked the time on her phone and then shoved it in her back pocket.
“I’ll try to think of some. Give me a call when you’re ready.”

Tiffany smoothed Taeyeon’s hair across her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.
Wordlessly, she closed the door. Outside it was cold as hell but Taeyeon’s skin was burning.
It had burned for more than ten years now.
 CHAPTER 4
Past: 2004

Later, Kim Taeyeon will attempt to romanticize it and call it love at first sight. It’s not
conscious dissimulation; it’s the frivolous imaginings of a mind streaked with teenage love.
Later, she can only recall the feeling in her stomach, the butterflies that burst into busy
activity and then settle down just as quickly as they come. Later, she will fantasize that there
were sparks when they first touched, when Stephanie Hwang’s tan, warm hand grabbed hers
and she shook it enthusiastically. She will fantasize that the world fell away and there was
just the two of them and that she was fifteen years old and in love.

Presently, though, her first thought is that Stephanie Hwang is too fat and hopes that
she’s fatter than her, Taeyeon, who felt the fattest of all the trainees. It is the sort of teenage
insecurity that has come crashing down around her shoulders without warning; back in
Jeonju, it didn’t feel this way. People in Seoul are thin, beautiful, talented. At least she thinks
so.

She thinks, with frustration, that the company’s lack of organization is probably
intentional, to jerk them around, to keep them in their place. She has been with SM
Entertainment for barely four months and already she feels jaded, cynical. She has jumped
through numerous hoops and all she wants is to sing. She thinks this quietly, staring into the
dark pools of Stephanie’s eyes. The only indication she’s received that she will have a new
roommate is another one of the girls in the dorm, earlier that morning, saying there had been
a message on the machine that another trainee would be joining them in the hostel and that
they should make room. Taeyeon’s room is the only one still unfilled; the hostel is full to
brimming now, seven—now eight—girls of various ages all under one roof, seven—now
eight—girls with nearly identical schedules, seven—now eight—girls with the same
industrious rawness in their eyes, exhaustion in their bones, tension in their muscles.

The other trainee, whose name Taeyeon still hasn’t memorized, because she isn’t in the
same practice group as Taeyeon and there are too many names to learn anyway, had told her
to make room for the new girl and she had, moderately. She has little in the way of
possessions, truthfully, and feels barely moved in herself.

When she comes back from practice that night, sore and aching, the tan girl with dyed
blonde hair is in her room, looking at the framed pictures of Taeyeon’s family on the
wardrobe. Taeyeon sets her backpack down on the floor with a thud and the girl turns. She
is chubby. Her eyes disappear completely and her smile is bright, magnetic, and Taeyeon
feels herself smiling back unconsciously as the girl dips down in a low bow.

“Hello!” she greets excitedly and with one word Taeyeon can tell she’s a foreigner, the
American accent in even her greeting unmistakable. “You must be Kim Taeyeon.”

She bows as well. “Yeah.”

Taeyeon is not shy, although many take her to be so; she suspects Stephanie Hwang
thinks so too when she doesn’t ask for her name, but it’s not in Taeyeon’s nature to prod
answers out of people if they don’t give it up in the first place.

The bright smile falters, but only slightly. “I’m Stephanie. Hwang. Stephanie. I’m from
California.”

“Nice to meet you.” She smiles but it hurts her cheeks. She looks down.

Stephanie looks at her expectantly.

“I’m going to shower,” Taeyeon says, and the communication is broken.

She showers. When she comes out, Stephanie showers, and Taeyeon does homework
in the meantime. She is in bed, lights out, before Stephanie finishes her shower. In the
morning, she leaves for school before Stephanie is awake. They spend the next week seeing
each other seldom, if at all. They only share the large dance class together at SM. At home
they eat separately, do homework separately. It is a vague, tiring routine.

She thinks, often, that Stephanie is very pretty, but she thinks many people are pretty,
and the thoughts are drowned out by thoughts of school, training, school, training, school,
training, losing weight, mom, dad, oppa, her little sister, the crushing loneliness. There is too
much. Her mind feels compacted. When the thoughts of Stephanie come, sometimes
forcefully, demanding, she pushes them out and resolves to think about them tomorrow.

What she’s avoiding thoughts of, really, she doesn’t know. She just knows it feels better
if she doesn’t think about it.

•••

“Taeyeon sshi. Are you done?”

It’s the weekend. Taeyeon is eating. Stephanie is doing the sink full of dishes left behind
by their various roommates.

Taeyeon looks down at her bowl. “Mmm.” She holds it tight in her hand as Stephanie
attempts to take it from her.
 “I’ll do it,” Stephanie says kindly. Her speech is funny. It’s not even that the
pronunciation is poor— although it is—but that she says everything with such a short
tongue. It’s cute.

“No,” Taeyeon says. She stands. “Why did you do this whole sink full of dishes? You
should’ve left them to be cleaned up by whoever dirtied them.”

“I just want to be useful.”

Taeyeon frowns. “You have just as much use as anyone else,” she says stonily, rinsing
her bowl. This is as complicated and lengthy as their conversations get. She feels like
Stephanie walks on eggshells around her. She has taken more quickly to the other
roommates, the other trainees.

Stephanie is about to leave, so Taeyeon says, “Stephanie sshi.”

Stephanie stops. Already she is becoming paler, thinks Taeyeon, and she’s only been
out of California for a few weeks now. Isn’t that funny.

“What year were you born?”

“1989. You?”

Taeyeon smiles. “Oh. We’re the same age.”

Stephanie’s eyes widen. Taeyeon can’t help but bristle at the surprise, but she’s used to
it. She is growing slowly, but there’s still time; she’s only fifteen.

“Really?” Stephanie says excitedly. “Let’s be friends, then.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, Taeyeon-ah?”

It sounds cute from her, somehow, and Taeyeon looks down busily into the soap suds
spilling out of her bowl. “Y-yes... Stephanie...yah...”

Stephanie giggles. This is cute, too. Taeyeon’s cheeks feel very warm.

“Since we’re friends, I’ll teach you how to say my name, okay? Ste-pha-nie. Okay?”

She nods numbly, not daring to repeat it back. She knows she will get it wrong. The F
sound is difficult on its own, never mind adding junk before and after it. But Stephanie is
looking at her expectantly, so she mumbles out the name quickly, hoping that it’ll suffice.

Stephanie shakes her head and repeats: “Ste-pha-nie—”

 “It’s too long,” Taeyeon says hotly. She sets the bowl on the drying rack. “What’s your
Korean name?”

Now Stephanie blushes. The pink against the tan of her cheeks is oddly mesmerizing.
She’s pretty, Taeyeon thinks and then thinks it again before she can make herself un-think it.
She’s pretty.

“Not telling,” Stephanie says.

“Well—”

She tries to brush past Stephanie out the door but Stephanie moves her body forward,
swings into Taeyeon’s personal space, and there is little she can do to stop herself from
bumping bodily into Stephanie. Her body feels warm. She is radiating warmth. Taeyeon’s
ears feel hot. Her throat closes up.

“How about this?” Stephanie is too close. Her voice is very loud, rough. Yet melodic.
Taeyeon feels like she can’t breathe. “How about just the last two syllables. Pha-nie. Ffffff.
Fany.”

“Pany,” Taeyeon attempts and the smile Stephanie bestows on her is so beautiful she
has to step backward.

“Close enough,” Stephanie says.

•••

A few nights later she watches from her bed, in the dimness of the dark moonlit
bedroom, as Stephanie comes out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. She is unable to sleep
that night. She thinks it’s probably the moonlight, which can make anything look beautiful,
irresistible. She thinks it might just be that the curve where shoulder meets neck might be
beautiful on anyone, and she theorizes that there is nothing abnormal in thinking girls are
beautiful, since doesn’t it seem as though girls were made to be beautiful? It’s a resolution
she has contented herself with many times in the past; it was fine to notice how pretty girls
were because that was the point of girls. They were pretty. To notice that much wasn’t weird;
it was normal.

It doesn’t help her go to sleep but it helps her through the next week, when Stephanie
is near and her skin looks smooth and sweet and her hair smells nice. It is not the first time
she has felt this way about a girl, but it’s certainly the most powerful.

•••

It’s when they have grown used to each other that Stephanie is transferred into her
trainee group, the sprawling cavalcade of girls unlovingly dubbed ‘Girl Group’. For the first
time, they spend the entirety of their practice together and leave at the same time. She waits
with something approaching impatience as Stephanie says goodbye to everyone, because
Stephanie is that kind of a person.

They head to the subway together.

“Where are we going?” Stephanie asks.

“Subway.”

“Why?”

Taeyeon blinks at her. “To get home.”

“Oh!” Stephanie’s eyes are wide like a puppy’s. “You can take the subway home?”

“Of course.” Taeyeon frowns. “How have you been getting home?”

“Cab.”

“What,” Taeyeon snaps and feels bad when Stephanie recoils at the sharpness of her
tone. “That’s such a waste of money, Fany.”

Stephanie scratches the back of her neck in a clumsy, anxious gesture that makes
Taeyeon’s stomach feel strange, fluttery. “I didn’t know how to use the subway, so...”

“Oh man.” Taeyeon sighs. “That’s... you should’ve said something...”

She teaches Stephanie how to use the subway system and her ears become red and stay
red because Stephanie is so impressed with her knowledge. She doesn’t want to admit that
she really only learned how to ride the subway a few months ago herself, because she’s a
country kid, and no, she isn’t cool, there’s really nothing cool about her, but Stephanie keeps
smiling and poking her arm and the truth is, she begins to feel sort of cool.

They decide to get dinner together. Taeyeon counts the money in her pocket with her
fingers, searching the streets for a place she thinks Stephanie would like. She knows
Stephanie and Sooyeon eat western food a lot. Western food never treats Taeyeon’s stomach
well, and it’s expensive, but her eyes seek out western restaurants anyway.

“How about here?” Stephanie takes her elbow and gestures and it is a long moment
before Taeyeon’s eyes can focus on anything except Stephanie’s warm hand wrapped around
her elbow. When she looks up, she sees that they’re at a noodle stand.

“Here? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s late and noodles are cheap...”

 “I figured you’d want western food.”

Stephanie shrugs. She waves her hands around frantically in the way that she does
when her Korean is failing her in an attempt to explain. They order noodles. The ajumma
gives them a lot because they’re the only customers and she says they look skinny. It makes
them laugh because it isn’t something they hear often, not while training. Taeyeon’s
eagerness to pay for both of them somehow results in a skirmish; she is unable to think
straight, batting away Stephanie’s outstretched hand with half the money in it.

The way Stephanie eats noodles is cute. Slurp once, slurp twice, big gulp of water. Her
cheeks become round and her eyes disappear. Her mouth is mesmerizing.

Taeyeon dislikes the feeling mostly because she likes it too much.

“Taeyeon-ah,” mumbles Stephanie in her terrible Korean; she touches Taeyeon’s cheek
with one finger and Taeyeon has trouble swallowing. Air becomes stuck in her throat.

“Hmm.”

“I’m glad we’re in the same trainee group now.” Her eyes disappear. Even though her
mouth is covered by the bowl she’s lifted to her mouth, Taeyeon knows she is smiling. She
has memorized Stephanie’s smile. She can even see it when she closes her eyes.

“Me too.”

“Even if one of us gets cycled out, or we don’t debut together, or—even—even if one of
us doesn’t debut... Let’s stick together, okay?”

Taeyeon is surprised to feel how quickly her own mouth turns up into a smile. “Okay.”

“Deal, okay?”

Stephanie sticks out her pinkie. Something inside Taeyeon tells her that if she goes
ahead with this, she will never be able to look back. She hooks her pinkie around Stephanie’s,
touches their thumbs together, and falls head over heels.

“Deal.”

•••

Present: 2016
 “Hey, where’d you go?”

Hyejin blinked up at her with sleepy concern. Taeyeon snapped her eyes back into
focus; her mind had wandered, as her mind was fond of doing. She smiled briefly, propping
herself up on her elbows as she looked down into Hyejin’s eyes.

“Ah, I was just trying to gather my strength up for round three,” she said with a grin.

“Technically round four.” Hyejin stretched beneath her, her soft skin pressed against
her own. “You just spaced out suddenly.”

“Sorry.” Taeyeon leaned down and kissed her, first on the forehead and then on the lips,
briefly. “Sorry. A lot on my mind.”

“Like?” Hyejin’s arms came around her waist, pulling her closer. This was their push-
and-pull, always. Taeyeon wanted sex. Hyejin wanted intimacy. Every encounter was a battle
to reconcile the two.

“New album. You know. Work.”

Hyejin tilted her head up for another kiss. “And?”

Taeyeon lifted one shoulder casually. “Just work.” She could see Hyejin wanting to ask
more and pressed a kiss above her brow, sighing. She slipped her hand between them, hoping
to distract her.

Successful, she coaxed Hyejin into round four and released a sigh from deep within her
chest. It felt warm between the sheets and she rolled off of the girl beneath her, stretching
out on her back and bringing one of the sheets with her, wrapping it around her front for
modesty while it stuck inelegantly to her skin. She had come straight over to Hyejin’s
apartment after leaving Tiffany’s; her skin, muscles had felt crackling, like they were on edge.

Hyejin was used to her coming over in that condition, raw and disoriented with the
force of her own feelings. Hyejin was a depository for the emotions she fought most seconds
of most days to keep at bay. It was in this condition that she had made love to Hyejin against
a wall, on a table, in the shower, once right against the door outside Hyejin’s apartment
where anyone could’ve seen them. Relaxation was not something Taeyeon knew how to
come by honestly.

She felt fingers stroking her hair and exhaled again, leaning into Hyejin’s touch.

“Talk to me about it,” Hyejin said.

Taeyeon bit back a sharp retort. Although she had been seeing Hyejin regularly for a
few months now, it was true that the other girl did not know her very well. Their relationship
was mostly physical, and Taeyeon did her best to keep it just that. It was for that reason that
she tried to bury her annoyance at being coerced with the phrase she liked least—talk to me
about it. Hyejin had no way of knowing how annoyed that sort of prodding made her feel.

She remained silent, releasing an impatient, long-suffering sigh that she hoped
conveyed that she had no plan of replying. Hyejin continued stroking her hair.

“I heard from Soojung that Tiffany is back in Seoul,” Hyejin admitted and Taeyeon
glanced at her. A frown set deep into her features.

She paused. “Mmm.”

“Is that why—”

“Soojung has a big mouth,” Taeyeon commented lightly.

“How are you...” She seemed to gather from Taeyeon’s expression that this was a bad
question to ask. “I just mean—”

“She’s my best friend.” Taeyeon rolled her eyes. “So obviously it’s good to have her back.
Is that what you’re asking?”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

“Then I have no idea what you’re asking.”

“Taeyeon.”

She put a hand up to her forehead. There was a headache forming there, and behind her
eyes. She brushed Hyejin’s hands away from her hair—first, hastily, and then feeling
apologetic, she laced their fingers together.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said at last and closed her eyes. She heard Hyejin sigh
and felt her move away—if not physically, then emotionally. That was what Taeyeon wanted.
She liked to picture herself encased in heavy armor. People like Hyejin kept trying to get in,
but they were wrong to do so. The armor was impassable.

“I know that you’re not my girlfriend,” Hyejin said softly. The room was so quiet and
still; her voice was barely a whisper but it practically echoed in the silent room. “But I still
care about you.”

Taeyeon snorted. She hadn’t meant it derisively, really; it was a sweet sentiment. There
was a vibrating sound from the nightstand and she opened her eyes to see Hyejin reach over
and pluck Taeyeon’s phone from the mess on the surface.

She glanced at it before handing it over. Her tone was strange. “I’m guessing this is
Tiffany.”
 The name on the screen was the one she had always programmed her best friend in as:
Yeppeuni Hwang ♥

Taeyeon cleared her throat, embarrassed. From this angle, even things she thought of
as casual jokes between her and her best friend had an almost sinister, embarrassingly
telling slant to them.

“It’s a nickname,” she explained half-heartedly before answering the phone. “Hello?”

“TaeTae~” Tiffany’s cheerful voice blared out at a decibel best heard from at least a foot
away, which was how far Taeyeon yanked the phone from her ear at the first sound of it.
Tiffany had somehow never understood that phones had microphones and therefore there
was no reason to yell into them.

“Yes?” Taeyeon tried for a pleasant tone but wondered, under Hyejin’s watchful gaze, if
it wasn’t too pleasant.

“I’m hungry,” Tiffany called teasingly. “Come meet me at that place in Hongdae, okay?”

“I—Hongdae?” Taeyeon groaned. Getting across the city around dinnertime was going
to be a nightmare. “Can’t you come to—”

“I’m waiting!” Tiffany interrupted. “See you soon, love you, bye!”

Taeyeon exhaled, hanging up the phone. She dared not meet Hyejin’s eyes.

“Leaving?” Hyejin said softly, casually.

“Mmm.” She climbed out of bed, dressing. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” She leaned
over the bed to kiss her briefly. Hyejin rolled her eyes.

“I’m not your girlfriend,” Hyejin reminded her. “You don’t need to make it up to me.”

Taeyeon knew it was true but somehow she still felt reprimanded.
 CHAPTER 5
Present: 2016

It was easy to get a good table, even at restaurants in Hongdae, when you were two
popular members of the nation’s most beloved girl group; they usually got the same table
every time they came here. It had been awhile, but the small square table shoved tightly in
the corner still felt warm and familiar to her. It was almost too hot in the crowded barbecue
restaurant, but even that had a pressing and comfortable familiarity to her. She grilled the
chadolbaegi because Tiffany was terrible at it and Tiffany refilled the soju.

There were times like this, when things were familiar and there was good food and soju
and it was just Kim Taeyeon and her best friend. It wasn’t painful, it didn’t make her heart
ache. There were times like this when she thought she might never be truly happy, but that
she’d probably always have her best friend, in some fashion. That was a comfort.

“Ballad to dance song ratio,” Tiffany prompted. They were discussing the new album.

“I’ve written a lot of ballads in the last year,” Taeyeon said thoughtfully, “so I’m thinking
of just shoving them all onto this album.”

“Oh, just unloading them on us, huh.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Aren’t those songs for your solo album?” Tiffany picked a piece of meat off the grill and
chewed it delicately.

“Mmm.” Taeyeon shrugged, draining the rest of her soju. She waited for Tiffany to finish
hers before re-filling them both. “Like I’ll ever finish that.”

“You seemed so excited about it a few months ago,” Tiffany pointed out.

Taeyeon relaxed, shrugging. She leaned back against the wall. She’d always taken the
seat against the wall so she could people-watch or keep an eye out for fans. It was the familiar
gesture of routine. She chewed thoughtfully. “Well, I’m still excited about it. I mean, it’s music,
I’ll always be excited about music. I just—when things don’t come together the way you want
them to, it’s frustrating.”
 Tiffany lifted one shoulder casually. “I guess that’s true.”

“Anyway, with nine people working on them, maybe it’ll work out the way I want it.”

Tiffany squinted at her and then raised her shot glass. “This is going to sound cheesy,
but—”

“What else is new.”

“—it’s kind of symbolic of life.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I keep thinking that, you know. Whatever it is I want or need, I’m sure it’ll
happen, since it’s the nine of us.”

Taeyeon shook her head, hiding a smile. “Cheesy Hwang.”

“Oh my god, whatever. You totally feel the same.”

“Yeah,” Taeyeon acknowledged, glancing away from her as she downed another shot.
“But you won’t catch me admitting it.”

“You don’t have to say it to them.” Tiffany looked at her softly. “But you can always say
it to me. I know all your secrets, Kim Taeyeon.”

She caught Tiffany’s gaze and held it. It felt warm, just like the restaurant. “All of them,
huh.”

“Yeah.”

When drinking with Tiffany, whose liver was made of some indestructible solid metal,
it was easy to go through two bottles of soju. Taeyeon was not quite the lightweight she had
been when she had first started drinking with Tiffany, but after they opened the third bottle,
she was feeling a little light-headed. She knew if she stood up she would feel as drunk as she
was, so she stayed seated, curling her legs around the table legs, and ordered more meat to
help reduce the effect of drinking.

“Thanks for having dinner with me, by the way,” Tiffany said.

“Like I had any choice in the matter.”

“Can you believe I haven’t had a single meal with Jessica since I got back? The party last
night was the only time I’ve hung with her, she’s with unnie—”
 “—Every second,” Taeyeon finished, rolling her eyes. “They’re joined at the hip these
days.”

“I mean I’m happy that they’ve gotten so serious,” Tiffany admitted. “Because they’ve
been dating forever but it never seemed serious.”

“I feel like Jessica always wanted it to seem less serious than it was,” Taeyeon said
thoughtfully.

“Why? In case it didn’t work out?” Tiffany asked. Taeyeon pursed her lips. Tiffany
nibbled the end of her chopstick in thought. “Did you ever feel like that?”

Taeyeon hummed vaguely. “No,” she lied.

If Tiffany realized she was lying, she didn’t let on. She poured them more soju in silence.

“What’s going on with everyone else?”

The liquor was making her candid, so she freely gossiped in ways she did not
ordinarily—which she knew was likely Tiffany’s intention in getting her to come to dinner
and get drunk with her. Tiffany liked gossip. She liked knowing every little thing about the
girls, weaving tidbits of information around them like rope so she could tie them together,
draw them near. Taeyeon admired her for it. She knew the nine of them hadn’t stayed
together this long through idleness and inaction; she also knew she, Taeyeon, was not
capable of the same earnestness and determination.

So she talked, because Tiffany was a lifeline, and she would do everything in her power
to keep them together. She talked. She talked about Hyoyeon’s relationship, how there had
been a brief flare-up when they’d been photographed together, but that the company had
managed to hush it up.

“Juhyunnie’s album did, of course, really well.”

“Of course,” Tiffany murmured, content. “I feel bad about missing that.”

Taeyeon shrugged. “She did great, you know she promoted it like a pro.”

Juhyun’s solo efforts had pretty much solidified, for her, that she personally was not
ready for a solo effort. Not a serious one. It seemed like it should be simple, especially when
all she cared about, really, was making her own music, putting some sort of finished product
on a shelf, being on stage, but something had held her back that didn’t exist with Juhyun.
Juhyun had no unfinished business, she thought. Juhyun’s loyalty to the group had never
been called into question. Was that it? She couldn’t quite put it into words yet. She owed the
other eight members a lot, and it wasn’t something she could understand, could only feel
heavy in her heart.
 She moved on briskly, telling Tiffany about Sooyoung’s work on her radio show,
Yoona’s recent wrap on production of her film, Sunkyu’s various MC positions.

“She loves it so much more than I ever expected her to,” she commented. “And Yuri, too.
But she and I write music a lot together and I think that’s a thing... I think it’s a thing she
needs to keep doing. I think she’s really good.”

“And you?”

Taeyeon frowned. “I guess I’m good at it, too, I just mostly do it because I need to.”

Tiffany smiled, showing those sweet curved eyes. Taeyeon sighed, unconsciously. “I
meant. What’s up with you. Since neither of us called while I was gone, like the jerks we are.”

She smiled weakly. “Nothing new.”

Tiffany bit her lip. “Nothing?”

Taeyeon shrugged. “Really. Nothing has changed with me since you left. I’m a little
skinnier.”

“Yeah, it’s gross,” Tiffany pointed out, heaping more meat on Taeyeon’s plate and
pushing some of the side dishes on her side of the table closer to Taeyeon’s side. “But I mean,
there’s got to be something.” Taeyeon shrugged, shaking her head. She had spent three
months feeling empty and needy—and guilty for feeling so. “What about Hyejin?”

There was a throbbing right behind Taeyeon’s ear. She sighed. “What about her?”

“Is it serious?”

“No,” Taeyeon said, for what seemed like the thousandth time. “Like I said, there’s
nothing serious about it.”

“If there’s nothing serious about it, why are you seeing her so often? I mean, otherwise,
you don’t tend to sleep with the same girl more than once.”

“First of all, that’s not really true,” Taeyeon muttered. It wasn’t. It was some sort of
invented misconstruction the girls had developed about her. Just because they never saw her
with the same girl more than once didn’t mean it was true.

“Okay, but you clearly see her more than anyone else. Why?”

“Maybe because she doesn’t ask me so many annoying questions, like some people.”
She tried to keep her expression casual, relaxed, but the tightness of her tone betrayed her.

Tiffany sighed. They were finishing the third bottle. “I just want you to be happy, baby.”
 “I am happy,” she lied, again.

“I want you to be happy with someone.” They shared a long, agonizingly inscrutable
look. “Why can’t you just make this a real relationship?”

“Because I don’t do relationships,” Taeyeon said bluntly, and with a note of finality. The
liquor was making her blood boil somehow. “What about you,” she retorted. “Have you seen
anyone lately?”

Tiffany didn’t hesitate. “I was seeing someone, in L.A.” Taeyeon was taken aback by her
speedy candidness. “But it didn’t work out. Obviously. But I’m open to a relationship.”

“Well.” Taeyeon drained the last of her shot, feeling like she’d been punched in the
stomach. “You and I are different. We always have been.”

Tiffany looked at her for a long moment. Taeyeon tried to meet her gaze but was seized
with a vague sense of fear that forced her to avert her eyes.

“We’re not that different,” Tiffany said at last.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“That’s because you’re drunk.” Her tone was light, flippant, but the way she looked at
Taeyeon was impenetrable.

“I’m not that drunk. I don’t need to be drunk to find you confusing. You’re always
confusing.”

“I’m confusing?” Tiffany shot back, eyebrows raised. Taeyeon’s heart fell a little; getting
Tiffany angry was never a good idea. Her best friend was probably one of the most genuinely
kind and warm-hearted people alive (although, admittedly, Taeyeon was a bit biased) but
her temper was no joke. She was Taeyeon’s polar opposite in many ways, and this was
probably the most salient; for all the intensity that Taeyeon bottled her feelings, Tiffany
regularly exploded with hers at the exact same intensity.

Taeyeon studied her plate pensively and then with careful deliberation admitted,
“Yeah. You confuse me. You’re confusing.”

“And you’re selfish.”

Taeyeon’s eyes widened. “What?”

Tiffany shook her head and looked away. There was a loud burst of laughter from the
table closest to them. Taeyeon gripped the table, trying not to get upset.

“What do you—”
 “You really only think of yourself, don’t you. I mean, you don’t think about me at all, do
you?”

Just the idea of it made Taeyeon laugh bitterly. She had no idea, did she, of how often
Taeyeon thought about her. “You’re all I think about,” she said tightly; she wasn’t sure if it
was the alcohol or her swiftly rising anger that made her tongue looser than usual, but it was
hardly a secret, was it. “How can you say that to me, when you know how I feel? I think about
nothing but you.”

“You think about me,” Tiffany argued, “but you don’t consider me. You don’t look at it
from my point- of-view. You don’t get it.”

“You won’t let me,” Taeyeon snapped and the dishes on the table bumped and crashed
into one another. “All you do is confuse me and send me mixed signals—”

“Mixed signals?”

She hadn’t meant to say that. “I just mean—”

“You just mean that it’s all about you, what you want, your feelings. Right? Have you
ever stopped to think about how I must feel?”

Taeyeon’s head felt unhinged from her neck, like it was going to float away and take her
mixed, spinning thoughts with her. What had she spent three months waiting for, anyway?
For Tiffany to come back and confuse her and ruin her and make her feel awful? Was it a fair
trade-off? There were no faint or vague emotions when it came to Tiffany, she thought; the
euphoria of her presence was just as powerful as the misery.

“I—”

“Look—”

Taeyeon waved her hand dismissively, pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want
to get angry. “Excuse me,” she said, standing up to go to the bathroom, leaving Tiffany behind
at the table. Her legs were shaky and as soon as she was on her feet she could feel the world
spin and collect itself; she was far drunker, and angrier, than she had thought she was while
sitting down.

“Sunbae? Taeyeon sunbaenim?”

“The one and only,” she joked wryly, washing her hands in the sink. Looking up into the
mirror, she met the eyes of the young girl behind her and smiled politely. “I’m just kidding.”

The girl smiled, tilting her head to the side. “You’re kidding? Then you’re not Taeyeon
sunbaenim?”
 She turned, holding eye contact with the girl. She recognized her now; she was a
member of a girl group that had debuted earlier this year. They had only met once, maybe,
when her group had come to Taeyeon’s radio show and admittedly, she wasn’t following new
groups close enough to remember her name.

“That depends, do you want me to be?” she teased, and then smiled. It had never failed
her. It worked on every person except the person she wanted the most.

This time was no exception. “Yes.”

Taeyeon looked at her. She was an idol, so she was pretty. The prettier someone was,
the more they could distract her and make her forget.

She cleared her throat. “Come on, come have a drink with me.”

The girl, whose name Taeyeon found impossible to remember, was very excited to meet
Girls’ Generation’s Tiffany, even as Girls’ Generation’s Tiffany was not as keen on meeting
her. No one, save for Taeyeon, would ever know that, though, as no one was better at being
polite and sweet than Hwang Miyoung. It just so happened Taeyeon had known her long
enough that it was easy to tell when she was annoyed—and she was very annoyed.

Taeyeon cheerfully asked for another bottle of soju. “You’re old enough, right?” she
asked lightheartedly, but the girl shook her head.

“I’m eighteen.”

“She’s eighteen, Taeyeon,” Tiffany said icily.

“Ah,” Taeyeon smiled. “Well. No one needs to know you were drinking.”

“She’s eighteen,” Tiffany repeated, and her eyes were sharp. “And a rookie, who
wouldn’t be able to survive a scandal this early in her career—”

“Oh please, no one will find out.”

“Also, again: she’s eighteen.”

“You’ve never drank with an eighteen year old?” Taeyeon joked, trying to keep the
mood light for their junior’s benefit.

“No, I’ve never drank with someone nine years younger than me,” Tiffany said
pointedly. Taeyeon scoffed. The girl looked between them, meekly.

“Maybe I should—”
 “No, it’s fine,” Taeyeon said dismissively. “You’re still a rookie so you’ll have to get used
to the fact that not every senior you meet is going to be nice to you,” she quipped, nudging
her head in Tiffany’s direction.

“And get used to the fact that some of the seniors you meet will take advantage of you,
despite the fact that they’re much older than you—”

“What do you mean by take advantage,” Taeyeon shot back.

“I mean exactly what you’re trying to do here—”

“What am I trying to do?”

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “You and I both know exactly what you’re trying to do.”

“I’m doing what you want me to do,” Taeyeon laughed. She had definitely drank too
much, and the words were leaping onto her tongue too quickly for her to stop them. “Or what
you say you want me to do. But maybe you don’t really mean that.” She felt something inside
of her break and her self-control crack apart. “Maybe it’s better for your ego if you can keep
stringing me along forever.”

She regretted saying it the minute she saw Tiffany’s face. It wasn’t a good expression. It
was an expression that for most Girls’ Generation members meant ‘duck and cover’; ‘get out
now if you want to be spared the wrath of Tiffany’s temper’.

“What is that supposed to mean.”

“I just mean that—”

But Tiffany had grabbed her wrist, yanked her to her feet. “We need to talk.”

They excused themselves from their junior, who for her part, did her best to look
politely disinterested, as though she witnessed arguments between members of the most
high-profile idol group in the nation often.

“What is your deal?” Tiffany pushed her into the bathroom, locking the door behind
them. She was angry, but she looked surprised, too. Taeyeon thought she knew why. They
had argued millions of times, but it wasn’t in Taeyeon’s nature to be aggressive,
antagonistic—that was Tiffany, usually, and Taeyeon at her worst was sullen and quiet. The
alcohol had unhinged her, but it had been three lonely months that had loosened the bolts.

“Why would you bring that girl back to the table? Seriously, Taeyeon, use your brain—
”
 “Why?” Taeyeon frowned. “I thought it would make you happy. I mean, that’s what you
want, right? For me to get out of your hair, to stop moping after you like some lovesick jerk,
so that you don’t have to feel guilty?”

“That’s not it, at all. Come on.”

“Oh, but only when it suits you, right?” Taeyeon went on. Her throat felt tight and
swollen. “I mean, you don’t mind giving me false hope every few months just to keep me
devoted to you, like an idiot, because you like the attention, don’t you?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m drunk, but I’m not stupid. You want me to date someone so badly because you want
me to get over you, right? Because I’m a burden, right?”

“You are not a burden,” Tiffany said softly. Her anger had disappeared and that made
Taeyeon feel worse, because she knew what the alternative to anger was. She would prefer
anger.

“Admit it.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“But not too happy,” Taeyeon corrected. “Because it must be a real ego boost knowing
you have me wrapped around your finger. It is, isn’t it. I bet that’s why you came back.”

Tiffany didn’t reply. She just looked at her, a long, sad look. A look filled with pity. The
alternative to anger that Taeyeon feared most.

Of course. Everyone pitied her, of course, but Tiffany pitied her most of all.

Her best friend shook her head, slowly, looked at the floor, slowly, and sighed. Slowly.

“I’m leaving,” she told Taeyeon, and then she did—turned on her heel and walked away.
Looked back once with an air of disquiet. Walked out the door. It wasn’t very different from
three months ago, when Taeyeon’s heart had climbed into her throat and Tiffany had left her
standing there, pathetic with emotion, weak with hopelessness.

She washed her face and left the bathroom, took a young, starstruck girl home with her
and hoped that in the morning she wouldn’t remember Tiffany’s face, the way Tiffany had
looked at her like she was a heavy weight not worth carrying anymore.
 CHAPTER 6
Past: 2005

When they’re sixteen Stephanie has her first boyfriend—not her first first boyfriend, as
she’s told Taeyeon that she dated back in L.A., but her first boyfriend in Korea, her first
boyfriend since becoming a trainee, her first boyfriend under Taeyeon’s apprehensive,
watchful gaze. He’s a year older than them and a student at the foreign school Stephanie and
Jessica attend. He’s tall and good-looking and has broad shoulders and clean skin.

(When Jessica is pressed for more information, she reveals that no, he has no criminal
record what a stupid question Taeyeon stop interrogating me oh my god.)

Despite herself, Taeyeon is fascinated, but her fascination only knows how to manifest
itself in biting, acidic nagging when Stephanie comes home late on weekends, cold air and
euphoric excitement clinging to her. She scolds her, because they do have a trainee showcase
to prepare for early the next morning, but mostly because that’s what she does and that’s
what she thinks Stephanie expects from her—Taeyeon, short and occasionally boyish and
somehow, therefore, the completely nonsexual roommate who has somehow managed to
become one of Stephanie Hwang’s best friends despite the fact that they’re polar opposites.

And because it’s just what Taeyeon does and it’s what Stephanie expects from her, she
just laughs at her scolding, takes her clothes off in front of their shared closet and leaves for
the bathroom in underwear that doesn’t match and is still impossible not to stare at.

When Taeyeon tries to think about it, it hurts, so she tries not to think about it at all.
She wants to be a singer and so she decides that’s all she can do; she can’t even picture herself
in a relationship. She can’t imagine herself in a romantic situation. It’s not that she’s
incapable, really, she just can’t picture it, so she shoves it out of the way.

Jessica has said to her, more than once, that she gets it, but Jessica’s had three
boyfriends since Taeyeon’s met her, so Taeyeon thinks she’s probably full of it.

•••

She first meets Shin Yoojung after math class one day when she is staring with
despondent indignation at today’s returned math exam. Sooyoung laughs so hard Taeyeon
hopes her head will collapse in on itself and then says she’ll meet her outside so they can
walk to practice together.
 She shakes her head, stuffing the test in her pocket, and then there is a girl, with clean
skin, tiny eyes, pretty teeth. She stands expectantly in front of Taeyeon’s desk as Taeyeon
pulls her backpack on.

“How did you do, Taeyeon?”

Her voice is soft, lilting. Taeyeon finds it pretty in the way she finds all melodic things
pretty, in the way she hears music in almost everything. She clears her throat, shrugging. “Uh,
not as well as I thought, but,” and when she shrugs casually, the girl smiles and it’s bright,
glittering, familiar.

“I just saw you looked upset, so if you need help in math, I don’t mind helping you.”

“Ah,” Taeyeon replies, and doesn’t know what else to say. Truthfully, she’s terrible at
math, and it’s bringing down her average, but she is not the sort of person who can imagine
being tutored, or asking for help, even when it’s being offered. Moreover, it only upsets her
in a halfhearted way, because she can’t think of what she’ll need math for. She doesn’t know
how to look in the future past the stage lights, because singing is the only thing she knows
how to do well.

“Or not,” the girl says bravely, laughing, and her laugh is even more melodic than her
voice; it makes Taeyeon’s insides feel like liquid. “Maybe we could just hang out.”

It hangs in the air a little and when she smiles, Taeyeon returns it, warmly.

“Sorry,” she says softly, “I guess I don’t know your name.”

“I usually sit in the back,” the girl responds by way of explanation, “so maybe you don’t
notice me. I’m Shin Yoojung.”

“Kim Taeyeon,” she returns, but Yoojung giggles.

“I know.”

They aren’t quite friends after that, but they do say hello everyday except the day after
Sooyoung jokes hey Taeyeon who’s that huh your girlfriend and Taeyeon feels too
embarrassed to say hello next time.

•••

Stephanie and the-guy-whose-name-Taeyeon-refuses-to-remember break up only six

weeks after they start dating. Stephanie texts her about it and when she comes home,
Taeyeon is prepared to comfort her, but Stephanie is completely unfazed. She smiles brightly,
not at all the mess of tears Taeyeon had expected.
 “It was mutual,” she says, and then, matter-of-fact: “I’m only sixteen, no relationship at
this age should be long-term.”

Despite the five months between them and the fact that Taeyeon has always seen
herself as somehow responsible and protective, everything Stephanie says to her is soaked
in wisdom she would never be able to produce. She nods, dazed with numbness, and joins
Stephanie in folding their laundry wordlessly. All the things she had planned to say as words
of comfort melt on her tongue. She wonders if Stephanie will ever be someone who needs
comfort. She wonders if she will, either.

Taeyeon is not someone who feels comfortable being comforted. And for the first time
since meeting her, she realizes that Stephanie isn’t either. They have very little in common,
truthfully, but she wonders if that’s a significant thing.

“He was a good kisser,” Stephanie admits and Taeyeon rolls her eyes. Partly, again,
because it’s what she thinks Stephanie expects of her, and mostly, really, because it’s the last
thing she really wants to hear.

Then she asks, “TaeTae, of the boys you’ve kissed, who was the best kisser?” and
Taeyeon wrinkles the t-shirt she’s folding, self-conscious.

She pretends to think. “Um.”

“I know you hate talking about stuff like that, but it’s me, you know?”

“Right,” Taeyeon agrees. She folds the t-shirt into a tiny little square and then attempts
to fold it some more. “Well—”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Stephanie narrows her eyes at her. Taeyeon feels her
ears become hot.

“Of course,” she says defensively. “I’m sixteen, of course—”

“I mean, like, a real kiss, not the kind of kiss you’d give to your mother.”

“Oh.”

“Oh my god!” Stephanie squeals and hits her shoulder. Her teeth are pearly white and
her eyes disappear into those perfect stupidly charming crescents that Taeyeon is starting
to hate looking at. “Taeyeon, you haven’t?”

Taeyeon tries, desperately, to think of something cool to say, but can only mumble,
“Don’t make fun of me,” which she thinks, really, only makes it worse. She picks up another
shirt to fold.
 “Oh my god,” Stephanie keeps saying. Taeyeon imagines inventive ways to murder her.
Strangulation by sweatpants. Suffocation by old t-shirt.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” she says finally, mostly in an effort to get Stephanie to stop
oh-my-god-ing at her. “I’ve never had a real boyfriend, and I don’t really have time, and
truthfully, I don’t really know how to.”

“Yeah, but Taeyeon—”

“No, really.” She puts down her laundry. “It’s embarrassing, leave me alone.”

She stalks into the kitchen to make dinner. A childish part of her—the part who has
never been kissed, she supposes—imagines that Stephanie will follow her to apologize, but
of course, she doesn’t. Realistically, Taeyeon knows there’s nothing wrong with never having
kissed someone, but realistically, she also knows that she’s behaving as immaturely as she
feels. Really, why should it be embarrassing, she wonders.

Because, she thinks to herself, you know why you haven’t.

Deep down, I think you know.

She makes kimchi fried rice, which is the only thing she knows how to make. She thinks
of calling her mother. She thinks of crying, but she hasn’t cried in months, and it would be
impossibly juvenile at this point. She thinks of leaving, because it’s just her and Stephanie in
the dorm and even rooms away, the awkwardness is choking her.

She turns the heat off on the pan and when she turns, Stephanie is at the entrance of
the kitchen, looking something approaching apologetic and smiling that stupidly pretty
smile.

“TaeTae,” she says, a request buried in her tone.

“Yes.”

Stephanie drifts closer. “Guess what.”

She sighs. “What.”

The world doesn’t right itself quick enough; suddenly Stephanie is pressed against her.
That stupid smile. Taeyeon sucks in a quick, shallow breath.

“I’m going to teach you how to kiss.”

But she doesn’t teach, really. There’s no instructions, no lecture, no diagrams. She leans
in and her lips are warm and wet against Taeyeon’s. The napkin in Taeyeon’s hands falls to
the floor. She feels Stephanie grip her wrist, press her thumb into her forearm; lips move,
and open, and then her tongue is there, pressing against Taeyeon’s lips and Taeyeon tenses,
her fingers flex uselessly at her sides.

Stephanie pulls away a fraction of a centimeter. Her eyes are closed. In the restless
breath between them, she murmurs, “Open your mouth for me,” and then does it again, her
lips too warm, sealed tight against Taeyeon’s and then her tongue pries open her lips and
hesitantly, Taeyeon lets her in and she is kissing Stephanie Hwang and her stomach feels like
it could explode.

In a good way. In a good, filled with heat and fluttering confusion sort of way. Her
tongue tries to meet Stephanie’s but she’s too disoriented, it’s too slippery, and Stephanie is
too experienced, her tongue knows exactly where to go, and then she makes a noise, a quiet
noise, a satisfied hm in the back of her throat and draws Taeyeon’s lower lip between her
own and then she’s pulling away and Taeyeon tries to suck in more air, but can’t.

And and and and and, Taeyeon thinks, dazed.

Stephanie’s eyes flutter open and she smiles teasingly.

“There you go,” she says. “Now you’ve kissed someone.”

•••

She finds out later that Stephanie had her first kiss with a girl, too, years ago, and that
Stephanie thinks that’s perfectly normal, really, for girls to practice on each other; the
revelation makes her wonder if she should ask, then, if it felt like this afterwards, but there’s
no way of putting into words what this is—and if she could, she’s sure she would scare
Stephanie away.

Because this is a fiery, consuming and obsessive and near 24/7 mental reenactment of
the kiss. It’s lying awake at night, her heart beating fast and her breathing shallow, as she
imagines how it could have been different, if she had suddenly transformed into the world’s
best kisser and kissed Stephanie back so exceptionally that Stephanie would say she had
never had better, if they had never stopped kissing, if they were still kissing, if she was free
to kiss Stephanie whenever she wanted to.

This was thinking, urgently, that she would never be able to kiss anyone else ever again,
and now not because of inexperience, but because she was sure she only wanted her lips to
remember Stephanie’s lips. She wanted Stephanie’s mouth to be the last mouth that touched
hers, forever. She only wanted Stephanie’s warm, taut, trembling body pressed against her,
and Stephanie’s clean white teeth knocking against her own, and Stephanie’s lips and
Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie.

It does not come gradually after weeks of analysis and self-inquisition. It comes almost
immediately, and it makes her feel like crying. She tries to put a name on it that isn’t love;
she experiments with calling it infatuation as though a technicality could make it less painful,
less jarring.

As quickly as it comes, the denial comes even quicker. It comes constantly. Attempts to
convince herself there is no way she knows what love is, and sure, this is the strongest she’s
ever felt about anyone, but there is a difference between love and an admittedly obsessive
fixation and you are bound to feel this way, Kim Taeyeon, that was your first kiss. She smells
nice and she’s pretty and her smile makes your heart feel as though it could fall out, but that
isn’t love.

She feels awful, and homesick, and very afraid.

•••

She promises to walk Yoojung home, since it’s on her way to SM and it’s nice, ambling
down side streets while the sun slips past the horizon line. Their fingers brush as they walk
side-by-side and after the fifth or sixth time Taeyeon starts to consider that Yoojung is doing
it intentionally. Their eyes meet and experimentally, Taeyeon holds the gaze for longer than
traditional and Yoojung holds it, too. Their eyes only avert when they reach the curb and
have to watch for traffic; as a bus passes swiftly, right by their toes, Yoojung takes her hand
and Taeyeon feels something in her heart clench and then release. She feels better, for the
first time in weeks.

Yoojung kisses her at the door, in the shadows sliding across the abandoned street, and
her lips are nothing like Stephanie’s. They’re shy, hesitant, and clumsy; they make Taeyeon
feel experienced and her eyes are screwed shut tight as she leans in, sighs into Yoojung’s
mouth, holding on for dear life and hoping she can fall in love with someone who can love
her back.

She waits seven days before asking Yoojung to be her girlfriend—in the least romantic
way, stupidly, in text message form with a sloppy heart tacked onto the end of it—because
she needs seven days to decide it’s okay. She spends seven days watching Stephanie—in
practice, at lunch, in their dorm, while sleeping—and seven days pretending she doesn’t love
her. There are seven days, days where she holds Stephanie’s hand on the subway and days
where they press against each other at dance practice—days where she feels terrible about
herself, worries that something is wrong with her. She’s sick, she thinks. This isn’t love, it
can’t be love, because you’re just being sick, weird.

Yoojung replies within seven seconds and of course she says yes, and for seven more
days Taeyeon keeps it as a secret in her heart. She doesn’t need to say it, she doesn’t need to
admit it to herself, but she thinks she’s taken a step to being okay with it. She is a girl who
happens to like other girls and she is not a girl in love with her best friend.

She thinks if she learns to be okay with the first part, she can convince herself of the
second part.
 •••

Present: 2016

She and Yuri had once got drunk together in this very recording studio, the first time
they’d tried writing songs together. Taeyeon remembered it well. They had paid for studio
time themselves; the label would evaluate the finished products. It was just the two of them
alone in the recording booth, messing around with the soundboard and drinking soju. Three
junk demos and one good demo had come out of the whole day, one song that they lovingly
crafted until it was good enough for an album. Taeyeon looked back on it, really, as one of
their worst songs but whenever she listened to it, her heart swelled because of how close she
and Yuri were that day.

It was like this every time she saw Yuri. Today they drank water and messed around
with the soundboard to produce significantly superior, she hoped, music, but she still felt the
same.

When Girls’ Generation had first moved in together, right before their debut, Taeyeon
had developed a brief, two-week long crush on Yuri. It was that brief. It was that moment of
living in close quarters with someone pretty and hoping that feelings could be transferred
from person to person, like admitting an attraction to another band member would
somehow reduce the intensity of her feelings for Tiffany. That day, years ago, when they’d
drank soju in this very room, she’d told Yuri that, about the briefness of her crush, and Yuri
had laughed that great way she laughed, rubbed the back of Taeyeon’s head and said, “I’m
honored,” and “You’re the cutest, Taengoo.”

Like all of them, Yuri looked at her with pity most of the time, but it was a little more
bearable from Yuri, who she supposed faked it better than the rest.

“How’s work?” she asked when they broke for lunch.

Yuri sighed. “Becoming more and more like work everyday. I don’t know what to do
with myself.”

“No one does.” Taeyeon shrugged. “But you’ll do okay.”

Yuri asked, “How are you?” in that heavy way they tended to ask how are you when they
were worried about Taeyeon. No one else got how are you with the same weight Taeyeon got
how are you. They asked it like they expected her to fall to pieces if they didn’t.

“Good,” Taeyeon replied. She thought that if she ever answered them honestly, they
wouldn’t know what to do with it. They asked her because they felt they had to, because they
loved her and they wanted her to know they loved her. That didn’t mean they would know
what to do with a real answer, Taeyeon thought.

She had promised herself long ago to never burden anyone with the chaos of human
emotion.

“How are you really, though,” Yuri pressed.

“Really good,” Taeyeon shot back, grinning slightly.

“Are you and Fany fighting?”

“No, I—” she began hotly and then broke off, breathing in through her nose and then
exhaling. “How did you know?”

Yuri laughed. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out when you two are fighting.”

“Which is good, since you’re not a genius.”

“First: you guys are always fighting, so it’s a good bet. Second: you revert to this like,
wounded puppy dog look whenever you two are fighting. And third—”

“Wounded puppy dog?” Taeyeon repeated, incredulous. Slightly offended. (Slightly

intrigued; puppies were cute, right?)

“—And third: Tiffany called you a self-obsessed jerk in group chat the other day, which
you would know if you ever checked into group chat...”

“Really,” Taeyeon said wryly, scratching her temple. “That’s not really incentive.”

“So?”

A shrug. She fiddled with the headphones in her lap. “We fought. It’s no big deal. It’ll
blow over in a few days; it always does.”

It was true. She had known Tiffany for over ten years of her life and reasoned they had
probably spent a good 50% of that decade and change in a stupid argument of some sort. It
was the way they communicated, somehow. It had always been like that.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” Yuri said. She leaned back in her chair and
pulled her headphones off.

“Why not, that sounds fun.”

“I want to know, really, how are you doing with Tiffany being back.”
 They didn’t usually say it outright. They usually stepped across the words, refusing to
say what, and Yuri’s candidness surprised Taeyeon into her own.

“I feel terrible,” she admitted. Yuri didn’t blink, just met her eyes honestly. “Terrible,
but a good kind of terrible.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s hard to be around her.” Taeyeon’s voice was soft. Recording booths were
sound-proof and she heard her words sink solidly into the walls around them. “It’s always
been hard. It never gets easier. That’s how I know it’s love, because it refuses to go away.”

She had never been this honest. She had never pieced it together aloud. Yuri’s slight
eyebrow raise was the only indication that she was surprised with Taeyeon’s bluntness.

“Then how is it good?” she asked. Gently.

“It’s good—because... because it’s Miyoung. She’s my best friend. I need her. It’s bad
because I’m in love with her and I’ve always been in love with her, but it’s good because I
love her, she’s my best friend. It’s painful to have her around, but it’s even more painful to be
away from her. Does that make sense?”

“It makes sense.”

“I’d be flat-out lying if I said her presence doesn’t affect me.” She wet her lips. It
throbbed in her throat and then in her head. “It’s driving me crazy. It makes me want to run
away. But—”

She broke off. She had no idea how to say this.

“I don’t know how to tell you how awful these past three months were for me. I don’t
even want to remember them anymore. It’s like my mind is trying to cross it out, blot it from
existence, because it was too painful. It’s the longest I’ve ever been away from her since I was
fifteen years old. Now I know.”

Yuri’s expression had become so impossibly soft that Taeyeon hated to look at her. It
was beyond pity now.

“Know what?” she asked.

Taeyeon closed her eyes. “That I can’t be away from her. I know. It’s not even about my
feelings. It’s because she’s my best friend, and she’s more than that. I’d die without her.
Really. I would.”
 Admitting it was like expelling ten years of held breath from her lungs. She felt winded.
She thought for a moment that she might cry. Yuri looked at her carefully, and then smiled.
She reached out and rubbed the back of Taeyeon’s head.

“So,” she said gently. Always gently. “Now you know.”

 CHAPTER 7
Present: 2016

Stretched out, gleaming in the mid-day sun, her eyes swallowed the sight whole. Her
lips trailed from shoulder to collarbone to throat to jaw. Beneath her, the sunlight came
undone. Fingers clasped and she pressed two complaisant hands to the mattress, pressed the
sunlight beneath her and quaked like a leaf.

Taeyeon sighed and swallowed Hyejin’s breath, the gasp of her name. Her nose nudged
lips and her lips tasted the soft, salty skin of Hyejin’s jawbone and it was two hours before
she came up for air, watched the sunlight escape, skittering over the edge of the bed and
disappearing.

Hyejin gripped her shoulder with one hand, slid down her upper arm and slipped
downward, nails scratching inside her forearm. Taeyeon shuddered. She had done nothing
but shudder since she had left the recording studio, took her car across the city, and stalked
up four flights of stairs to Hyejin’s apartment. Shuddered, when she pressed Hyejin against
the wall, shuddered when she led them inside, shuddered when they hit the bed, and
shuddered now in her arms, shuddered so violently that Hyejin held her tight and said what’s
wrong and wrapped the blanket around them both and where there had been sunlight,
minutes and hours ago, there was Seoul in winter, banging at the window and wanting in.

She kissed Hyejin’s forehead and kissed Hyejin’s mouth, ignoring her questions because
what’s wrong was not something she could truthfully answer, even if she had wanted to; all
she knew was that she needed to not think and in Hyejin’s arms, pressed against Hyejin’s
skin, was where she could do that.

Beneath her, there was a hoarse laugh and a murmur of approval. Hyejin touched her
hair. “Well, hello,” she said softly, and they both laughed because they were the first words
either of them had spoken since Taeyeon had come in two hours ago.

“Hello,” she returned.

“Surprise visit?”

“Yeah.” Her legs tangled with the legs beneath her. She dropped her head, exhausted,
her forehead against Hyejin’s shoulder warm, laden with sweat.

“You’re lucky I happened to be home,” Hyejin commented. “There was a schedule in

Busan for today that was cancelled.”
 Taeyeon held her tongue. If it hadn’t been Hyejin it would’ve been someone else. Maybe.
Or maybe not. Tiffany was right, she thought, there was something different here if Taeyeon
kept coming back to it.

Tiffany. She sighed.

“I just wanted to see you,” she admitted softly. “I said I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?”

“And I said you didn’t have to, didn’t I?” Hyejin laughed. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

Taeyeon lifted her head and searched her eyes. “Do you want to be?”

Hyejin looked taken aback. She reached up, lifted Taeyeon’s overgrown bangs off her
forehead. The action made her ache. “Are you asking me to be?”

“I don’t know,” Taeyeon said honestly. She gazed into Hyejin’s eyes, hoping for an
answer. She didn’t know what to think anymore.

Hyejin looked at her gently. At a certain angle you could even call it pity. Taeyeon
shuddered. She was becoming obsessed with seeking it out, identifying it, but she couldn’t
get rid of it, so what was the point?

“You don’t want a girlfriend,” Hyejin told her plainly. She smiled. “You don’t want a
relationship.”

“Right.” Her throat felt tight. “I don’t.”

The sun had gone down and the room had become shadows. They felt like spectators.
Yet, Taeyeon somehow felt more alone than she had.

Wordlessly, she climbed from the bed and dressed. Hyejin rolled on her side and
watched her, propping her head up on the palm of her hand.

“Are you leaving?” she asked. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

“No.” Taeyeon sat down on the edge of the bed and reached down to feel around for the
rest of her clothes. “I’m making you dinner.”

•••

“I told you my refrigerator was empty.” Hyejin sat on the edge of the counter and
crossed her legs. Taeyeon could feel her eyes following her as she moved around the kitchen.

“It just so happens kimchi fried rice is the only thing I’m good at,” Taeyeon commented,
lighting the burner. “So you had all I need.” She kissed her.
 “Do you cook for all the girls you sleep with?” Hyejin asked, lightly, joking. She leaned
in for another kiss.

Taeyeon rolled her eyes. “Just the really pretty ones.” She added oil to the pan and felt
Hyejin stroking her ear, running her thumb underneath it, trailing her fingers down the nape
of her neck.

As she made the rice she wondered why she could not fall in love with someone who
could love her back, and she also wondered if she could be loved back. She wondered about
domesticity. She wondered about being a high-profile idol and being in love and wondered
why kimchi fried rice was the only recipe she had been able to pick up from her mother.

She wondered about Tiffany, about what Tiffany was doing right now, she wondered
about Tiffany.

“Can I ask you a question?” Hyejin touched her elbow.

“You can ask.”

Hyejin laughed, a little. “If you hadn’t become an idol, what do you think you’d be doing
right now?”

Taeyeon frowned, stirring.

“I like a lot of kimchi so I’m going to use the rest of the jar, okay?”

“That’s fine,” Hyejin replied, “but are you going to answer the question?”

“All I said was that you could ask.” Taeyeon reached past Hyejin for the jar of kimchi
she’d put aside but was surprised when Hyejin grabbed her hand, pulled it into her lap. She
looked at her, briefly. It was not often that she looked into Hyejin’s eyes; it wasn’t often that
Taeyeon looked into people’s eyes, period. Yet she had found herself searching Hyejin’s eyes
several times this evening.

“So you’re not going to answer?” Hyejin asked.

“It’s a hypothetical question, so any answer would be hypothetical,” Taeyeon pointed

out. She wanted Hyejin to free her hand but it would be rude to pull away.

“So?”

“So, it’s dumb to answer. No offense.”

“You can’t just speculate? You’re supposed to be a creative person.”

 Taeyeon chuckled. “No, I’m not. I’m an idol. That means I’m supposed to be obedient
and polite.”

“Then why don’t you obediently and politely answer my question.”

Another headache. “It’s dinner time,” Taeyeon replied, glancing at the clock on the
microwave. “So I guess I’d be making dinner. Maybe for someone a little less annoying.”

She said the last part with a tight smile. She didn’t want to hurt Hyejin. She didn’t want
to hurt anybody. She worried sometimes that she was a loose cannon and all it did was make
her want to protect everyone around her.

She pulled her hand away and finished cooking.

“Do you know I didn’t go to college?” Hyejin asked after a long and uncomfortable
stretch of silence.

Taeyeon glanced at her.

“I started doing this, hair and make-up and stuff, to pay my bills. Once I made enough, I
was going to go to school. But I realized working for idols made me enough money to live on,
and I liked it, so I never went.”

Hyejin was looking at her, openly. Taeyeon turned the heat off on the stove. She wasn’t
sure what she was supposed to say. Hyejin rarely talked about herself. Taeyeon wondered,
now, if that was because she didn’t want to or because she thought Taeyeon didn’t want to
know.

Taeyeon scratched her neck. “What did you want to study, if you went?”

“Business, maybe.” She hopped off the counter. She reached up to get bowls from the
top cabinet. Taeyeon watched her.

“Can’t picture it.”

“Me, neither.” Hyejin smiled at her. She was very pretty, Taeyeon thought. It was a
dumb, simplistic thought, but it came to her suddenly.

“I didn’t want to work for idols at first,” Hyejin went on. “I really hated idols, did you
know that? I thought they were all fake.”

Taeyeon snorted. “Don’t worry, we are.”

“You’re not.”

Taeyeon neglected to reply. She sat down to eat. Hyejin joined her.
 “My favorite color is red,” Hyejin stated. Taeyeon blinked at her. “And I have two
younger sisters.”

Taeyeon held her breath. Where was this going?

Hyejin counted on her fingers before picking up her spoon to eat. “That’s four things
about me. You go.”

“I—”

She played with her spoon.

“My favorite color is—”

“Taeyeon. I can type your name into any search engine and find that out.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you,” Taeyeon said softly. “There’s not that much to
learn. I have an older brother and a younger sister—you can find that online, too. I love my
parents very much—you can’t find that, but you could probably figure it out. There were a
lot of things I thought about being when I was a kid, but when I discovered music I knew I’d
be unhappy if I did anything else. Is that what you want?”

“Does that mean you’re happy,” Hyejin asked, just as soft, “doing what you’re doing
now?”

Taeyeon tensed. Everyone was so concerned about whether or not she was happy, like
the contentiousness of her own personal happiness was keeping them up at night. She
thought, maybe, the other members loved her, so that was why. They wanted her to be happy.
For Tiffany, Taeyeon thought, her unhappiness was a source of guilt. If Taeyeon was
unhappy, then certainly Tiffany would blame herself. Her guilt made Taeyeon feel guilty. It
was a constant, unremitting obligation—stay happy, or at least learn to fake it, or everyone
will be upset. An ugly cycle of guilt.

“I don’t—”

“Look,” Hyejin said. “If I had gone to school for business, there’s no way of knowing who
I would have met or what I would have done. For all I know, I could’ve been happier. I mean,
there’s no way of knowing, right?”

Taeyeon’s mouth felt dry. “Right.”

“But I can’t help but feel that I did the right thing. Because I’ve met a lot of great people
and I’ve done a lot of great things, and maybe it could’ve been better, but regretting my
decision would be like saying I’m dissatisfied with what I have now. My friends, this
apartment, my work. Even you. But I’m not dissatisfied. Get it?”
 “Yeah.”

They ate.

The sun had sunk completely so Hyejin got up to turn on a light. It made the room
yellow, sick-looking. The kimchi fried rice was a little bland.

Taeyeon said, “I think if I hadn’t been pulled into Seoul, I would have stayed back in
Jeonju forever.” Hyejin looked at her. She looked prettier standing near the window, near the
moonlight, than near the lamp. Taeyeon tried to think of a good way to say what she wanted.

“And—I mean, I’m not the sort of person who can go out of my way to meet people. I
mean, I prefer to be alone,” she explained. “So the fact that they shoved me into this oversized
group was kind of a blessing, because I have eight people who are so important to me, that
I...”

She shook her head. Tried again. “Every time I try to imagine my life going a different
way, I picture myself alone. I like being alone, so it isn’t a bad thing. I mean—I don’t know
what the difference between happy and unhappy is, really, and I don’t want to spend a lot of
time thinking about it. But when I think about how my life could’ve taken a million different
paths, the other paths end with me alone, and this path ends with them. That makes me think
it must be the right path.”

Hyejin was smiling at her, so she thought maybe she’d said the right thing. She
scratched the back of her head.

“So... yeah. That’s a thing about me,” she said awkwardly, clearing her throat. “How
many more do I have to tell you?”

Hyejin stood over her and smiled, touched her hair. She had crossed the room in two
steps and Taeyeon was grateful because she suddenly felt like she needed to be close to
someone.

“It’s okay,” Hyejin said gently. “That’s enough for now.”

She leaned down and kissed her. Taeyeon reached out, grasped blindly, but there was
only the table to hold onto.

“I like you, Kim Taeyeon,” Hyejin said, quiet. She cupped Taeyeon’s face. “A lot. I won’t
be your girlfriend, but I’ll be your friend. Okay?”

Her heart felt a little lighter.

“Okay.”

•••
 She slept in the next day and cancelled her morning schedules, much to her manager’s
exasperation. She felt drained, somehow, and would’ve cancelled lunch with Sunkyu if she
hadn’t thought that Sunkyu would track her down and drag her by the ear if she had. She
wondered, disgruntled, not for the first time, if the entertainment company couldn’t have
saddled her with a bunch of girls a little less overbearing and intrusive, but she loved them
nonetheless.

On the way to meet Sunkyu she texted Tiffany for the first time in days. She had thought
about it for awhile and had settled on the numbingly asinine, “Sorry about the other day.”

By the time Sunkyu arrived at the cafe, Tiffany had sent back a reply.

It’s okay. I miss you!

It was always okay and she always missed her. Somehow, despite not deserving it, that’s
what it was.

“Hey,” Taeyeon greeted, putting her phone in her pocket. Sunkyu sat down with a tired
expression. “How did the meeting with your uncle go?”

Sunkyu was the sort of person who knew how disarmingly alluring her smile was and
rarely hesitated to use it when she needed it. Taeyeon had known her long enough to know
that the appearance of it so suddenly was not necessarily a favorable portent.

“Do you want to hear the good news first,” Sunkyu asked smoothly, glancing down at
her menu, “or the bad news?”

Rarely did Taeyeon ever want to hear bad news, whether it was first, second, or third.
“Good news, I guess.”

“He says he’s excited for the album, excited to produce it, excited to give us the
opportunity to co-produce it—pretty much excited all around.”

“That sounds like sunsaengnim,” Taeyeon said wryly, biting her lip. “What’s the bad
news?”

Sunkyu kept her eyes on the menu. She sighed a little.

“He said it would be a good idea to treat this as our final album together. A farewell
album.”

Taeyeon felt something inside her come a little unhinged. She dragged her index finger
down the outside of her glass, gathering up the condensation and then rubbing it against her
thumb. “Last album—together,” she repeated, mechanically. “They want to dissolve the
group?”
 “Not officially.” Sunkyu shrugged a little and set her menu down. “But yes. Sort of. He
says he’s not sure what they really want, but that they’re probably going to offer all nine of
us nine different contracts, if you know what I mean.”

Taeyeon set her jaw so hard she felt it pop just slightly out of place. Bad habit. She grit
her teeth. “Why?”

“Well, the sales of the fifth album were lower than sales of the fourth, so—”

“They were slightly lower,” Taeyeon shot back, feeling her anger rise. “Barely two
hundred copies lower and it was still the best-selling album of the year, how d—”

“I know, Taeyeon.” Sunkyu’s voice was calm. “I know.”

Taeyeon tried to relax. She was getting angry with the messenger. “Sorry, I...”

“I know.”

“But still, I mean. If we can sell more than any other idol group, still, what would be the
point—our popularity isn’t declining, at worst it’s on a plateau and that’s a good thing,
considering how old we are for idols—” She was rambling, she knew, but this was one of the
few things that she had ever been opinionated, communicative about.

Sunkyu poked her tongue into her cheek and played with her hands restlessly. “Well,
Juhyun’s album sold about the same as our last group album did.”

“So? It sold that much because she’s a member of the group. Anyone can see that.”

“But look at it from the company’s standpoint, Taeyeon. If Juhyun can sell that much,
then surely Jessica’s solo album could sell just as much, if not more. Or Tiffany’s solo album.
And yours—they know yours can sell even more. Why would they waste money producing
one group album if they can make, say, five times that amount producing five solo albums?”

She knew that Sunkyu was just trying to be logical but Taeyeon was too upset to think
of it that way. She sounded like a traitor. She breathed evenly.

“That’s maybe true,” she said, “but. Why dissolve the group? Why can’t we do both?”

Sunkyu shrugged. “That’s why they probably won’t break the group up officially, but
there likely won’t be any time to produce another one once they start focusing on pushing
us as soloists. Plus—” She broke off and hesitated. The waitress came and went and they sat
silently, suddenly realizing the severity of the conversation they were having in a very
public—albeit fairly empty—place.

“Plus what,” Taeyeon prompted quietly, once they were alone again. Her voice had
become sullen and she could hear it, hear it behind the pounding of her skull.
 “Plus, they fully expect that when they offer us all different contracts, some of us won’t
sign.”

Taeyeon’s eyes narrowed. “Is that right.”

“That’s what he said they probably think. He really wasn’t supposed to tell me any of
this, Taeyeon, but he did because, you know. He’s my uncle. And he thinks that if we have
time to think about it, we can come up with a solution that will make us happy.”

There was a rhythmic, irksome tapping coming from somewhere and when Taeyeon
looked down she realized it was her own fingers drumming anxiously on the table. She
wanted suddenly to be back in Hyejin’s apartment, her face buried in Hyejin’s hair, or to be
anywhere at all where it was dark and quiet and she didn’t feel like things were falling apart.

“So,” Sunkyu said simply, “let’s focus on making this album, and we can figure it out in
between.”

“Yeah.”

“I told you, Taengoo, because you’re our leader and—I mean it’s your decision if we
should tell everyone else.”

Her body suddenly felt so weak. You’re our leader. She swallowed. “I mean, we should,”
she said softly, and her voice broke a little, “but how.”

Sunkyu didn’t have an answer for that. They ate their food silently. A little boy, maybe
about ten or eleven, had approached the table and asked them for autographs. Taeyeon
watched Sunkyu talk to him, her eyes stinging. Sunkyu was always good with the younger
fans. Sunkyu was good with everything, with everyone; she was charming in ways that
translated to any and all age groups. Which noona do you like best she would tease or can you
sing your favorite song for noona in places where Taeyeon would just put silence instead.

“I’ve liked noonas for a long time,” he said, clutching both autographs to his chest. “I’ll
always wait.”

Taeyeon looked at her hands. Where did they find their faith, their trust. Where would
she find hers.

Outside, winter pulled at her scarf and coat and tried to swallow her whole. The girls
who followed her everywhere sensed her mood and didn’t try to talk to her today; they stood
at a distance as she got into her car and closed the door, put her forehead against the steering
wheel and cried for the first time in three months.
 CHAPTER 8
Past: 2006

Stephanie gives her exactly seven days before changing her life; in retrospect, Taeyeon
thinks it’s nice, since she’s already changed her life a million and one times over the past two
years.

Taeyeon isn’t sure how she figured it out; she and Yoojung had been sitting on her bed,
a foot and a half —at least—between them, doing their math homework and Stephanie had
really only walked in and saw them for all of five seconds. But well, maybe that’s a thing
about Stephanie, because as much as she and Sooyoung like to make fun of her awful Korean
and call her dumb, the thing is, the thing about Stephanie is—Stephanie’s smart. She’s really
smart.

Because somehow she figures it out, and she waits seven whole minutes after Yoojung
leaves, after Taeyeon has walked her to the door and kept her hands deep in her pockets and
nowhere else, when Stephanie asks, “How long have you two been dating?”

The question is so unexpected that Taeyeon answers it immediately: “Only a week.”

And then: “What? Dating? No—”

Stephanie laughs. They’re going to order jajangmyeon and are turning the messy dorm
upside down looking for the menu. Taeyeon pauses, one hand deep in the couch cushions,
and faces Stephanie. Stephanie with her white teeth and crescent-shaped eyes and her long
eyelashes and her pretty lips and the totally non-judgmental look on her face.

“It’s okay,” she says with a smile. “You can tell me. Why didn’t you tell me, jerk, we’re
supposed to be best friends—”

“I—but—how did you know we were...”

“Oh.” Stephanie waves a hand dismissively and then attempts an explanation that she
apparently doesn’t know enough Korean for. “It doesn’t matter, I can just tell.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” She finds the menu underneath the throw rug in front of the
couch.

“Why would it bother me? She’s pretty enough for you, I guess.”
 “I mean that we’re both—” She breaks off. It’s one thing to say it to herself, in the quiet
space of her head, but another thing entirely to say it out loud.

“Girls?” Stephanie supplies. “Oh, come on. I knew you liked girls.”

Taeyeon can only sputter in response, her eyes and mouth both open as wide as they
can be, because how in the world could Stephanie have known when she hadn’t even known,
not really, and did this mean that other people knew and did it mean that Stephanie—

“Don’t worry, it’s not obvious, TaeTae.” Stephanie’s voice was gentle. “A lot of my
friends back in L.A. were, so I guess I’m just good at being able to tell? I wish you’d trusted
me enough to tell me.”

Taeyeon twists her fingers together anxiously. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”

“Well.” Stephanie shrugs. “I’m happy for you.”

It’s a little thing, objectively, but it feels like an enormous weight no longer pressing
against her heart, and Taeyeon forgets, a little bit at least, how she feels about Stephanie
because she really does like Yoojung a lot—she’s pretty and has a cute smile and likes
Taeyeon back and Stephanie approves of her which is good because—it’s true, she and
Stephanie are best friends. Whatever else it is she feels for Stephanie, and she really doesn’t
want to think about it, but whatever else it is, they’re still best friends. Stephanie looks out
for her, covers up for her, and when Taeyeon asks haltingly for privacy one night, Stephanie
is willing—too willing, really—to find somewhere else to sleep the entire night while
Taeyeon is clumsy and stupid before getting it right, just near the end.

She even asks about it, later, like a best friend should. “How was it?” she wants to know.

“Good,” Taeyeon says. They lie on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Neither of them have
made it to the shower after practice, the exhaustion too fastened to their insides.

“Just good?” Stephanie snorts.

“Well, at first it was awkward,” Taeyeon admits. “But then it was good.”

“Is it different than with a guy?”

Taeyeon turns her head to give her a look. “How would I know, I’ve never slept with a
guy.”

“Oh, right.” They lie in silence. Taeyeon feels like her words are hanging in the air and
for the first time in weeks she remembers how much she likes Stephanie and suddenly the
idea of talking about it with her is mortifying. And on the other hand, it isn’t. Because
Stephanie’s her best friend, her world, her stupid wife, her other half and that’s all a lot
heavier than feeling attracted to her, or infatuated with her, or liking the way she looks when
she smiles.

Maybe. Maybe, Taeyeon thinks, a stupid, helpless, schoolgirl infatuation is nothing in

comparison to finding the best friend you’ll ever have.

Stephanie sighs, content. The moment stretches.

“Are you going to do it again?” she asks.

Taeyeon laughs. “Yeah, definitely.”

“You know,” Stephanie says, conversational, but with an edge that makes Taeyeon’s
shoulders hunch up near her ears. “She’s cute. Yoojung.”

“She is,” Taeyeon agrees, feeling like there’s more.

“But...”

“But what?”

“I mean, we’re going to debut in a few months.”

“Uh, hopefully,” Taeyeon corrects.

“Hopefully. I mean, do you think it would be okay to date someone like that once you
debut? I mean, you’re an idol. You’ll be an idol.”

Taeyeon frowns. She hasn’t thought that far. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s dangerous, isn’t it? Even if it was a guy it would be dangerous just to date
anyone. What if they say something? You have to date another idol, at least, because they’ll
want to keep it secret too.”

She’s so pragmatic about it, Taeyeon thinks. It’s human emotion, and yet she thinks
about it so maturely.

She forces herself to laugh a little. “What other idol am I going to date? I mean, really...”

“Jessica? I mean, she’s really pretty—”

Taeyeon sits up, twisting around in surprise to look down at Stephanie. “Jessica? Too?
She—”
 “Well, she hasn’t said anything to me about it but she obviously is, I mean, come on...”
She rolls her eyes and Taeyeon wonders, first blithely, and then with growing desperation,
how Stephanie manages to see things like that when she has no idea.

“Jessica would be good,” Stephanie says casually, putting her arms underneath her head
and looking up at the ceiling. “Since we’ll all be in the same group.”

“Uh, I don’t think Jessica would date me,” Taeyeon says, holding back a laugh. She lies
back down. “I don’t think I’d date her either.”

“Well, someone else, then, there’s tons of idols who are—”

“How do you know.”

“I just know, it’s obvious, okay.”

They spend the next hour talking about which idols are and aren’t and which trainees
are and aren’t and who is but doesn’t realize it yet and the hour hand creeps toward midnight
as their words become slower, more slurred, until they drift off to sleep side by side, practice
clothes still on, sweat drying and sticking to their skin, and the weightlessness of their
friendship settling between them.

•••

Somehow, though, even though she really hadn’t even considered listening to
Stephanie’s words, by the time they receive word they’ll debut—after a million false starts
much closer to a year later, rather than the months they had hoped for—she feels like the
thing with Yoojung has run its course anyway. She tries, more than once, to make it work,
because she’s dated Yoojung for more than a year now and she thinks, maybe, pragmatically,
she probably loves her, or loves being with her. And it isn’t the idol thing, she thinks, or at
least she tells herself that, and it isn’t the Stephanie thing either because she tells herself that
every single day.

“It’s just time,” she tells Yoojung, who is crying. She touches her shoulder and pulls
away. They made her leader. There is so much to do, so much choreography to memorize, so
many songs left to record, so much weight to lose, so many teeth to get fixed, so much to
refine a normal, confused, maybe-in-love eighteen year old kid into a polished idol. She feels
like the weight of it all is crushing her.

“I really care about you,” she says, “and I always will, but I don’t think I can—”

And maybe the worst part of it is that Yoojung seems to understand entirely,
understand too well; she cries but she takes it okay, says she understands, and when she says
she understands, Taeyeon wonders how much she’s understood over the past year and
change—did she understand, because she had looked like she understood, one time, one time
when they were sitting in her room and Stephanie had come in to get something and
Taeyeon’s eyes had followed her like magnets stuck to iron and Yoojung had looked at her,
sadly, and maybe she had, really—understood.

When she comes home that night, she thinks she must look awful because Stephanie
rubs her shoulder and then pulls her close. She tries not to, she really tries, but the tears
come anyway, hot and shameful. It’s the first time she’s cried in front of Stephanie, or really
anyone in years except her mother, and she doesn’t even know why she does. She just does.
It feels terrible, in the pit of her stomach, and the way Stephanie strokes her hair feels nice,
and the two feelings together make her cry harder.

Her best friend holds her tight. She clings to her, making a mess of her shoulder, but
somehow it won’t stop. She doesn’t know how long it’s been, but finally Stephanie speaks,
soft and soothing against her ear.

“Hey, can I tell you something?”

She can only bury her face in the crook of Stephanie’s neck, nod silently.

“I’m scared,” Stephanie says.

“Of what?”

“Of debuting. Of all of it. What if they don’t like us? I mean, they already don’t like us,
and we haven’t even done anything. What if we have no fans? What if no one likes the song?”
Her voice is steady. Somehow, Stephanie’s the strong one and she, Kim Taeyeon, is a crybaby.

“What if... we fail,” Stephanie says softly, “and I have to go back to California, tell my
daddy I couldn’t do it? I don’t even know if I can do it—”

“You can do it.” She mumbles it, quiet, into Stephanie’s shoulder and grips her tight
around the waist. She’s ashamed to lift her head and show her red, crying face, but she does
it anyway because Stephanie has to know. “That’s the only reason I know we’ll do well,
because you can do it. I know you can. You’re amazing.”

Somehow saying it is like a weight off her shoulders, like she has spent the last three
years needing to tell Stephanie that she’s amazing, that she’s the best person Taeyeon knows,
that she’s changed her entire life.

Stephanie smiles at her, wipes the tears off her cheek with her sleeve.

“TaeTae.”

“Hmm.”
 “Let’s make a pact, okay?” She holds Taeyeon tighter, guides her head back onto her
shoulder and pulls her close. “No matter what happens—we fail or succeed or whatever—
no matter what happens, the two of us will be together. Okay?”

Taeyeon doesn’t know how to answer. She sniffles, nods her head against Tiffany’s
shoulder, her nose brushing the soft skin of her neck.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she murmurs.

They hook pinkies and touch thumbs and Taeyeon suddenly feels like crying again,
because she is eighteen years old, about to debut, and she is so in love with her best friend
her heart feels like it could burst.

•••

Present: 2016
Her mouth felt numb as she introduced the song and then sat back, slipping her
headphones off. There would be fifteen minutes of commercials after the song, so she took
the opportunity to look over the new page of script that one of the writers had placed in front
of her.

Shifting impatiently, Taeyeon released a sigh. She’d only been sitting in the booth for a
little over an hour and she was already tired, aching to go home. Usually two hours of radio
passed like a blur, because it was enjoyable work, but now, when she had something else
weighing on her mind, it couldn’t have dragged slower.

“Ah,” one of the writers said, passing behind her chair, “isn’t that Tiffany sshi?”

“Huh?” Taeyeon snapped, wondering if it was possible that she had read her thoughts.
“Tiffany—”

Glancing up from her script, she spotted Tiffany outside of the DJ booth, waving from
the window. Taeyeon bit her lip, trying to mask how excited she was to see her. Wordlessly,
and she hoped, impassively, she waved her in.

“What’s up,” Tiffany called cheerfully as she came in. She looked good. Taeyeon could
hardly speak, could only watch her with longing, careful eyes as she came closer and then sat
on the table right next to the script Taeyeon was currently studying.

“What are you doing here,” she asked, soft. She suddenly felt better than she had all day.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d come visit you.”

 Taeyeon pointed past her at the camera. “It’s viewable radio today, say hi.”

Tiffany looked surprised, twisting around to wave at the camera. “Good thing I wore
make-up,” she joked, smiling brightly. It was her Idol Smile, Taeyeon thought with
amusement, but it wasn’t any less pretty.

The messages were coming in very quick on the website now. Taeyeon checked them
quietly, mostly as a way to stop herself from gazing at Tiffany until her eyes fell out. There
was a small satisfaction in how excited the fans and regular listeners were at Tiffany’s
presence; if only the label understood that, that people liked them as members of a group
more than individuals, or that they liked them as individuals because they were a group. But
even if they could be convinced of that, was she really someone who could do the convincing?

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you working,” Tiffany commented casually. She
touched the back of Taeyeon’s hand with one finger, featherlight. “I was going to text, but I
thought I’d surprise you.”

Taeyeon hummed, content, and gave her a smile. All the worries that had colluded in
her head since lunch with Sunkyu earlier were slowly easing their way into nothingness.
Tiffany’s presence was always a collaboration of extremes—comforting or stressful.
Sometimes both. Today it was mostly just the former.

They sat in comfortable silence as the commercials played; Tiffany looked over her
script for her, making amused sounds at the funnier bits, and Taeyeon read messages on the
website.

“‘Tiffany noona, marry me,’” she read.

“You have to buy a ring,” Tiffany said casually, “and don’t call me noona, Taeyeon.”

When Taeyeon turned to look at her, stricken, her best friend was grinning. Taeyeon
blushed. “I’m just reading the messages—”

“I know.”

Her smile was teasing. Taeyeon shook her head.

“You look cute today,” Tiffany added. She plucked at the bracelet Taeyeon wore on her
wrist and then dragged her finger up the sleeve of her navy blue sweatshirt. Taeyeon bit her
lip, looking down at her outfit. She had literally thrown on the most comfortable clothes she
could find.

“I look like a bum,” she joked, her tone careful as Tiffany’s finger slid distractedly up her
covered forearm.

“A cute bum,” Tiffany returned and she laughed, uncomfortable.

 Tiffany was a natural flirt, and always had been, but sometimes it was harder to handle
than other times.

As the commercials came to a close, she made Tiffany sit down before she picked up the
last thirty minutes of the show. She cut out one short segment so that Tiffany could talk a
little and the last half hour flew by in ways she had wished the first hour and half had.

“Let’s go get something to drink,” Tiffany said as they were leaving and Taeyeon agreed,
because she would never turn down alcohol—although maybe she should—just as she’d
never turn down time with Tiffany.

Although, she thought, maybe you should.

They slipped out the back way toward the parking garage. There were a few more fans
waiting for her than usual.

Tiffany, polite as always, smiled and bowed to them as they approached the car. “Excuse
me,” she said sweetly to the ones blocking their way to the car, and they moved quickly.
Taeyeon rarely spoke to them, but they were surprisingly obedient when spoken to. Really,
Taeyeon thought wryly, they pretty much listened to anything you said except leave me
alone.

“Don’t talk to them,” Taeyeon muttered, holding the passenger door open for Tiffany.

She held her breath as Tiffany slipped past her into the car, too close for comfort.

“What am I supposed to do,” Tiffany complained once Taeyeon had come around the
car to climb in the driver’s seat, “ignore them?”

Taeyeon slammed the door shut. “Yeah.”

“I can’t. Maybe if you were more friendly with them, they’d leave you alone.”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Taeyeon replied, rolling her eyes as she pulled out of the garage.
She glanced in her rearview mirror to see if they were following. They were. She turned on
the radio and turned up the music.

Tiffany drummed her fingers against her thighs rhythmically, distractedly, before
turning the music down a little.

“Did you ever sleep with any of them?”

Taeyeon’s brow wrinkled. “Who?”

Tiffany gestured vaguely behind them, where a taxi was following the car.
 “Them?” Taeyeon spat. “Uh, no.”

“Really? I know some idols who do.”

“Uh, maybe they do, but I would never—”

“Why, you’ve slept with fans before. Haven’t you?”

Taeyeon gaped at Tiffany in disbelief. As they crawled to a red light she turned to see if
Tiffany was really serious. She was.

“Um, no? Maybe a casual fan but—I mean these girls know my schedule better than I
do, they know what kind of toothpaste I use, they probably know what color my underwear
is right now. Who would sleep with someone like that?”

Tiffany shrugged, frowning. “You know my schedule better than I do.”

“We work together.”

“You know what kind of toothpaste I use.”

“We’ve lived together.”

“What color’s my underwear?”

“Probably pink, but anyone who’s met you for ten seconds could guess that—are you
trying to say I’m stalking you, or that you wouldn’t sleep with me, or both?”

“Neither.”

The light turned green and Taeyeon accelerated briskly, trying to lose the taxi behind
her.

“So you would sleep with me?” she joked with a grin. This was a game they played,
sometimes, a stupid, dangerous game where they pretended they could joke about things
that Taeyeon yearned for with her entire being.

“I’m just pointing out that someone knowing that much about you isn’t really a reason
to not sleep with them,” Tiffany replied, crossing her arms over her chest. Still, she was
smiling. “And yes, they’re pink.”

“Either way, I haven’t, and I wouldn’t. They’re crazy. There’s a pretty big difference
between allowing someone into your life and someone forcing their way into your life.”
 She had managed to lose the taxi by taking a side street but the roads were unlit and
sheathed in shadow. When she glanced at Tiffany, she could barely see her face but her
silence was oddly telling.

Taeyeon sighed. “What’s your deal?”

“I just think, why else would they follow you around like that?”

So she thought it was her fault, too. Just like Juhyun had. “I’ve never encouraged them,”
she said evenly.

“If you say so.”

Taeyeon scoffed. “Why do you care so much?”

Tiffany was silent for a long moment. Taeyeon tried to find a parking spot that wasn’t
an hour walk from the club.

“I don’t,” Tiffany said, finally, in a small voice, and Taeyeon wasn’t sure why, but her
heart suddenly began to beat very fast. For a long time, she wasn’t sure what to say, and
busied herself parallel parking.

She turned the car off. “Look. Who I sleep with is none of your business. Just like who
you sleep with is none of mine. Right?”

“Right,” Tiffany said, and got out of the car.

Taeyeon sighed and counted to ten slowly. She wasn’t going to risk getting into another
fight with Tiffany so soon after making up. She didn’t have the energy needed to make Tiffany
aware of just how emotionally traumatic and manipulative her preoccupation with
Taeyeon’s sex life was, and she wasn’t sure she had the willpower for it either. She took a
breath.

It occurred to her, suddenly, that she had spent a good ten years of her life convincing
herself that being Tiffany’s best friend was the healthiest thing to strive for—that if Tiffany
could never feel the same as she did, that at least there was that, at least there was their
friendship, and that had to be a good thing. It was only now that their mutual codependence
had become stifling.

It wasn’t a normal friendship, she thought, because it had nothing to do with choice.
They needed each other. They had tied themselves together so tightly that there was no room
for movement. She could tell Tiffany that who she slept with was none of her business, but
of course it was her business; Taeyeon’s entire life was Tiffany’s business, and Tiffany’s life
was Taeyeon’s. How could she hope to move on when everything she did only made the rope
tighter, tied them together more profoundly—how could she even breathe?
 The revelation made her feel weak, dizzy. She got out of the car and followed Tiffany
into the club. First order of business: get drunk. Second order of business: loosen the rope.
 CHAPTER 9
Present: 2016

The sun came in strong and crooked and it was like most mornings: Taeyeon wished
for her headache and almost diurnal hangover to disappear, for her to learn to sleep in a
manner that didn’t leave her with numb limbs and aching joints, that whatever girl she had
brought home and was currently pressed against her like a too-warm blanket would leave
with little to no fanfare. She rolled fussily onto her back and attempted to stretch but she was
bound, restrained by a solid weight.

She might’ve pushed it off if she hadn’t inhaled just then and the familiar shampoo scent
caused her eyes to snap open and blink blearily.

Tiffany.

Taeyeon had watched Tiffany sleep for years. Well, no—hastily, she amended that
thought; it made her sound like a stalker. But she had. She could cast her memory back pretty
far and still, there was Stephanie Hwang at fifteen years old, sleeping in the bed across the
room. There was Stephanie Hwang at twenty, asleep in the van en-route to another schedule.
There was Stephanie Hwang at twenty-five, slumbering in the practice room after another
all-nighter. It was an image she was used to and yet irrepressibly moved by.

She followed the line of Tiffany’s nose with her eyes and then studied her mouth and
her jaw. Her headache fell away a bit. She watched the rise and fall of Tiffany’s chest and felt
lighter than air.

A rumbling vibration came from somewhere on the other side of the bed and then a
piercing, shrill ringtone, a catchy American pop song, burst forth, and Taeyeon’s eyes
widened as though she’d been caught; instantly, she shrank backwards, attempting to put an
impossible distance between her and Tiffany as she watched her best friend’s eyes flutter a
bit, rousing herself.

The eyes remained closed, but she rubbed quickly at them and her nose and then threw
her hand behind her, groping around blindly for the source of the noise.

Taeyeon watched as Tiffany stifled a yawn, flung one arm over her eyes to block out the
sunlight, and then answered the phone with a hoarse mumble: “Hello.”
 She shifted a bit, arm still thrown over her eyes. “Yeah. Hey.” She had switched to
English. Her voice was hoarse and thick from sleep, but warmth and sweetness escaped it
and Taeyeon felt stupid, lovesick, just watching, just listening. She could catch little of the
conversation but thought maybe she understood “time difference” and “six in the morning
here in Korea” and some vulgar slang word that Taeyeon was pretty sure constituted an
insult but was said gently, like a term of endearment. It ended, maybe, with something about
“call you later” but her lack of English comprehension coupled with the weird feeling of dread
in her stomach made it very difficult for Taeyeon to really understand.

Tiffany disconnected and dropped the phone to the floor, keeping her eyes covered for
a few breathless moments; for a second, Taeyeon was sure she had fallen back asleep, but
then there was a sleepy groan and Tiffany rolled over, pressed right up against her and put
an arm around her waist.

“Morning, Taeyeon,” she murmured sleepily, and bumped her nose against Taeyeon’s
cheek.

“Good morning,” Taeyeon croaked out. Her mouth was dryer than she had thought.

Tiffany mumbled something unintelligible and shifted. Her body felt warm; her breath
warmer. Taeyeon swallowed hard.

“How’s your head,” Tiffany asked, eyes still closed.

“Could be worse,” Taeyeon admitted. “You?”

Tiffany laughed lightly and it was soft, tingling against the skin behind Taeyeon’s ear
where her mouth had settled. “You know I don’t get hungover,” she replied.

“Oh yeah, I forgot that I hate you.”

“You do not. Thanks for letting me stay.”

Taeyeon made a dismissive noise and closed her eyes. Maybe they could fall back asleep
like this. Maybe she’d loosen the rope tomorrow. Or next week. Or in a year or two.
“Whatever. I’m sure I begged you.”

“You did, actually, but I wasn’t going to tell you about it for the sake of your pride,”
Tiffany laughed and Taeyeon laughed too.

What pride, she wondered.

A warm silence followed and Taeyeon felt herself drifting off to sleep. Tiffany rested
her head onto her shoulder and breathed evenly.

“TaeTae?”
 “Quiet, this is quiet time.”

“There were just eight hours of quiet time.”

“Shhh... I can’t hear you... I’m asleep...”

Tiffany punched her in the stomach and she groaned, rolling away from her.

“Never mind, I’m awake.”

Tiffany rolled over, too, onto her stomach, and put her cheek down on the pillow.
Taeyeon peeked at her and mirrored her position. They looked at each other, one eye each,
a breath between them.

“You were right,” Tiffany said at last.

“Of course I was,” Taeyeon agreed. “I’m always right. What about?”

Tiffany rolled her eyes—well, the one eye Taeyeon could see. “About. Me wanting you
to date someone. It’s true.” Taeyeon held her breath. “I want you to get over me. You need to
get over me.”

Push. Pull. Push.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Taeyeon.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Tiffany sighed. “But you don’t even try. If you’d let someone else get close, then you
could...”

She trailed off absently. Taeyeon exhaled, rolling over and flopping onto her back. She
looked at the ceiling, at the miniature holes formed by little pockets of air in the paint. She
could feel Tiffany watching her and wanted very badly to disappear from her sight.

“I just want you to be happy,” Tiffany said, just as she’d said a million times. “That’s all
I want. You’re not a burden. You’re my best friend. I love you. And I want you to be happy.”

Taeyeon closed her eyes. Was that possible, she wondered. Happiness. Had she
convinced herself that there was only one thing, one person, that could make her happy? Was
it natural to want, yearn for the same thing since you were fifteen years old, encumbered by
awkward adolescence, dizzy with hormones?
 But love wasn’t a thing you could turn on and off like a faucet. Romantic love or platonic
love—it was all the same involuntary feeling. If it could be controlled, she would have turned
it off long ago. Not just her feelings for Tiffany. Even her feelings for the rest of the group, she
would turn those off, too; feeling desperate with devotion toward the members wasn’t a good
thing, had never been a good thing, wouldn’t be a good thing. If she could turn it off, she
would push them into distant slots. The slot for friends, acquaintances, co-workers,
colleagues. People you could get along with, but didn’t feel like you were taking your every
breath for.

She thought about it, because she needed it. She knew Tiffany was right. Maybe Tiffany
didn’t even know how right she was. It was like a Chinese finger trap, and the more she tried
to pull away, the tighter she was held. The only break was a clean break.

If she could say it, she would try, but her lips stayed closed. At last, Tiffany sighed and
rolled closer again, putting her head on Taeyeon’s shoulder and her arm around her waist.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Taeyeon laughed silently, reflexively. Involuntary. She could no more make herself stop
feeling this way about Tiffany than Tiffany could make herself feel something that wasn’t
there. It made Taeyeon feel guilty to have burdened her so badly.

“No, I’m sorry,” she replied, whispered. “You were right, too. You were right. I don’t
think about your side of things. It’s selfish.”

Tiffany didn’t respond for a long moment and then she laughed. “Did you just admit that
I was right about something?”

Taeyeon opened one eye. Tiffany had lifted her head to grin at her.

“Well...”

“So if I was right,” Tiffany began thoughtfully, “that means that you were...”

Taeyeon narrowed her eyes.

“You were... ugh, what’s the word, you know my Korean’s bad... you were—”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“No, don’t kill me,” Tiffany cried dramatically, “you have to teach me Korean,
sunsaengnim, sexiest sunsaengnim—”

She shrieked, dodging the hand Taeyeon shot out to violently murder her with.
Reaching behind her head, Taeyeon seized a pillow and lobbed it in Tiffany’s general
direction—the ensuing yelp and thud confirmation that she had hit her target.
 She barely had time to feel smug before the pillow was flopped with a dull thwack on
her nose as Tiffany whined, “Not the face, you jerk, this face makes money.”

“Like this one doesn’t?” Taeyeon shot back, lifting the pillow off her face and flinging it
back in Tiffany’s direction.

“Not as much as this one does.”

That was it. Taeyeon scrambled to her knees, reaching for another pillow. “You’re
dead.”

“You can’t kill me, the fans would totally hate you—hey, ow.” The pillow had smacked
her in the side of the face. “Not the face, you jerk.” She dove across the bed, grabbing Taeyeon
by the arms and shoving her into the mattress, hard.

“You started it,” Taeyeon gasped, trying to free her arms.

“Because.” Tiffany pinned her left wrist down. “You.” She pinned the right. “Wouldn’t.”
She forced Taeyeon’s flailing legs still with her own. “Say.” She sat down on Taeyeon’s
stomach, forcing the air out of her. “It.”

“Say what,” Taeyeon gasped, grinning.

“Say it. You were...”

Taeyeon looked at her, wide-eyed, silent.

“Taeyeon, I will suffocate you with a pillow.”

“I’m calling your bluff.”

“You think I won’t?”

Taeyeon looked at her expectantly. Her hair fell around them and there was no light, no
distraction, just Tiffany’s face, lined with sleep, cheeks and nose flushed pink, her eyes like
the promise of a storm. Taeyeon held her breath and tried to memorize the space between
them.

Tiffany looked at her for a very long moment, touched her face.

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?”

Taeyeon exhaled unsteadily. She could feel her heartbeat in her entire body, throbbing
against every vein, even her blood enraptured by Tiffany’s presence.
 She cleared her throat, a mess of wrong feelings. “Does that mean you won’t kill me?”
she tried to joke, and Tiffany narrowed her eyes.

“All you have to do is admit it.”

“Admit what,” she asked innocently.

Tiffany reached for the pillow.

“Okay, okay!” she cried. “Wrong. I was wrong.”

Tiffany’s triumphant smile was mirrored in her eyes; it was so sweet one could almost
forget that she had wrestled Taeyeon into submission and threatened to asphyxiate her.
Almost.

As Tiffany loosened her grip, she added, “I mean, I wasn’t really wrong, to be fair, I’m
just saying you had a point, I was still right about—” A hand reached out for her again; she
leapt from the bed, running toward the bathroom, howling even as Tiffany was hot on her
heels, “I have to shower, sorry!” and slamming the door in her best friend's face.

“I’m going to dump all your stupid perfume down the sink,” Tiffany shouted through
the door.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Every single bottle.”

“I’ll tell Jessica about that time you had sex in her bed.”

There was a long silence from the other side.

“Okay, you win.”

It was a hollow victory at best.

•••

When she came out of the shower, Tiffany was nowhere to be found. She dried her hair
and neatened up the kitchen. Tiffany came in from the balcony; she let the cold in.

“Where did you...” Taeyeon began and then made a gagging sound when the smell hit
her. “You said you’d quit.”

“I am quitting,” Tiffany said, frowning. She held out her pack of cigarettes, of which
there were only three left. “This lasted me all week.”
 Taeyeon threw the pack out. “Congratulations, you’ve just quit.”

“I hope you know you’re a bad person.” Tiffany narrowed her eyes.

“I’m aware.” She made coffee. “We have to record today. I bet your voice sounds
terrible.”

“Okay enough for a demo. We really need to be rehearsing, Taeyeon. The nine of us.
Even if there’s nothing to rehearse yet, we need to get back into practicing together
regularly.”

“I know,” Taeyeon admitted, and her mind circled restlessly around what Sunkyu had
told her the other day. It was difficult enough finding a good rehearsal schedule for all nine
of them, with their separate and numerous schedules; knowing that they were on a timeline
and that the label was ready to discard them made it even more difficult. She didn’t know
which managers and executives to talk to about practice space. Even the names of the most
trusted manager oppas had looked sinister in her phone contacts’ list. Did they know? How
many higher-ups knew that the label wanted to dissolve the group? She felt sick about talking
to anybody who didn’t believe in them.

Tiffany’s cool, grasping hand circling her wrist alerted her to the fact that she had
spaced out, thinking about it. Tiffany’s face was clouded with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Taeyeon wet her lips. Should she tell her? They all were going to have to know
about it. Why had she been tasked with doing it? Why hadn’t Sunkyu come to all of them and
told them, instead of unloading the burden onto Taeyeon and expecting her to be able—she
had never been able to talk to them, not in this way. It felt like a supplication, somehow, like
she was being implored to act like a leader do the leader thing Taeyeon I know you hate it I
know you think you can’t but that’s what we need right now.

She shook her head. “Nothing, I’m fine. You can use my shower.”

Another thing filed away to think about when it seemed less stressful. She was used to
it by now.

•••

A can of coffee plonked down on the table in front of Taeyeon. Another can followed,
balanced precariously atop the first. A third wobbled falteringly as it was balanced on top of
the second. As the fourth was being set down, Taeyeon snapped out of her thoughts and
looked up at Sooyoung.

“What the hell are you doing.”

“Building you a tower of caffeine.”

 Taeyeon grabbed the top can before it fell. “Thanks, I think.”

“I’m just being cute, tell me I’m cute.”

“You’re cute,” Taeyeon said mechanically, opening the can to take a sip.

Sooyoung sat down next to her. The nine of them had arrived at the studio an hour ago
but they hadn’t even started yet; they were slow to get back into the swing of things, and the
undertaking of producing it on their own was both burdensome and freeing. It was going to
be difficult, obviously, but on the other hand, they were more or less on their own timeline,
if they could make up for the studio costs and production costs.

Taeyeon thought about that a little, in light of what Sunkyu had told her. She sighed.
Anyone would be better than her at breaking this kind of news.

“What’s up,” Sooyoung asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t sigh if it’s nothing, you only sigh when you want someone to ask.”

Taeyeon locked eyes with her and sighed loudly, pointedly. Sooyoung shoved her
shoulder. They drank coffee in silence, waiting for the other girls to come back from
bathroom breaks and vending machine raids.

Silence with Sooyoung was one of the most comfortable silences. She wasn’t sure why
that was. Sooyoung was one of the most talkative people she knew, which was good, because
Taeyeon was the opposite. Sooyoung could happily carry an entire conversation by herself
and all Taeyeon needed to do was listen. Yet, the silences were just as comfortable.

“Thought you were going to come visit me last night,” Sooyoung said finally.

“Oh yeah,” Taeyeon apologized. Sooyoung’s radio show was in the slot directly after
hers, so she often stopped by on her way home, if she had nothing else to do. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure you were busy with your incredibly taxing schedule of doing
nothing,” Sooyoung joked. “What is your job again?”

Taeyeon laughed. She really did just DJ lately. All the attention she had meant to give to
working on a solo album had fallen away. It had been an uneventful three months.

“Sorry.” She had really meant to stop by, but Sooyoung had flown out of her head
completely when Tiffany had appeared. She knew that if she said that, Sooyoung would
understand, but she also knew Sooyoung would understand without her having to say it.

“No big deal, I only cried about it a little.”

 “Use this tragic experience as inspiration when we record our next ballad.”

“I think I might. Everything okay?”

The way she said it made Taeyeon pause, canned coffee halfway to her lips. She sighed.
“Man, Kwon Yuri, she doesn’t know how to keep anything between two people, does she?”

“Hey, Yuri tells me everything, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Taeyeon grumbled.

“I was just worried about you, and you haven’t been talking to me about stuff. She
wasn’t blabbing or anything, she was just trying to tell me I didn’t need to worry about
anything. You’re fine. You’re you.”

Sooyoung smiled. Taeyeon smiled back.

“Yeah, I’m me,” she said, and drank her coffee. It was another comfortable silence that
prodded her into thought. She set her coffee down. “I’m sorry, I’ve been a bad friend.”

“No, you haven’t.”

She snorted.

“You’ve never been a bad friend. You haven’t. You don’t have to be communicative for
us to know how you feel, jackass. We’ve known you forever. You think we don’t have you
figured out?”

“I don’t know. That sounds scary.”

“If I need advice, I go to Sunkyu,” Sooyoung explained. “If I need to complain, I go to

Yuri. If I need to laugh, I go to Hyoyeon. If I need to be felt up, I go to Jessica.”

“Do you often need to be felt up?”

“I like to feel attractive. Anyway, my point is, everyone has their own role, and not
everyone needs to occupy the same one. If I need reassurance that my life is going
somewhere, I go to you.”

Taeyeon was surprised. “Me?” She could scarcely reassure herself that her own life was
going somewhere; how could she be responsible for someone else’s reassurance? “Why me?”

“Because,” Sooyoung said simply. “Even if you don’t know what you want, you know
that you want what’s best for us. So I don’t have to worry. I know you have our best interests
at heart.”
 There was noise and laughter outside; the girls were coming back. Taeyeon stood up to
throw out her coffee. “Thanks for the extra weight on my shoulders,” she joked, and
Sooyoung grinned.

“No problem.”

Taeyeon opened the door and rushed the rest of the girls in. “Let’s go, come on, we need
to get started, I want to get this thing finished before I turn thirty.”

It was that day, when they pumped out six demo recordings in one afternoon, the
recording studio empty of outsiders, that Taeyeon really thought about it.

It was a thing they had known for a lot of years—that there were people you could rely
on, people you could ask for help, people who knew you, but—when it came down to it, there
was really just the nine of them. They had said it, hushed, in moments of privacy and stupid
sentimentality—sometimes they said it to other people, sometimes to make them feel like
outsiders, mostly to make them understand that it wasn’t a thing you could put a name or a
label on, that it was a feeling and not a word.

When they broke for dinner, Sooyoung wrapped her arms around her from behind and
said, “Like a well-oiled machine,” and she was right, because that was what it was. The scary
part was knowing what came next. It was hard to see the surface when you were in this deep,
and Taeyeon tried, pressingly, to imagine ten years into the future—even just five. It worried
her. There was the idea of living in the present, and then there was being incapable of seeing
past the next ten minutes.

It was true; she did want what was best for them, and maybe whatever was best for
herself.

Again, she thought about a clean break; again, she thought about loosening the rope.
 CHAPTER 10
Past: 2007

Kim Taeyeon learns very quickly that being an idol is mostly about not getting enough
sleep, rushing from schedule to schedule and being left at the whim of production rather than
output, and then occasionally, very occasionally, getting to perform onstage and do the thing
you love. She learns that there are hours upon hours of promoting yourself for every three
and a half minutes of performing. There are cameras everywhere, well-meaning senior
singers, some less-well-meaning senior singers, the crushing disappointment of falseness
found in people you admire, the burden of being eighteen years old and shoved into a
business made for and by adults, people who are slick and smart and completely
disinterested in the fact that you are a teenager who only wants to sing, really, that’s about
it.

She smiles wildly on camera; it’s not fake, she means it. She’s happy, and the happiness
sinks around the edges of her and at the center there’s exhaustion, there’s disappointment,
there’s worry, but there is genuine happiness there and she thinks, sort of, this is probably
the happiest she’s been in her life, the most exhausted she’s been in her life, the most afraid
she’s been in her life. It’s not perfect, but it’s certainly the most anything she’s ever been or
felt.

The camera is a fickle, fair-weather friend. It magnifies her flaws, physical and
emotional and mental and creative. It scares her, because she knows there’s a disconnect
between what she says and does and what they hear and see and what is shown and
dispatched. She knows that. But sometimes she prefers it to the quiet moments at home—
not home, no, the dorm, which isn’t home, home is in Jeonju—with the girls she grew up with
and yet doesn’t know.

She looks at the eight of them and they scare her, too. There is a part of them that are
like friends, sort of, people she’s trained with for years and likes and enjoys spending time
with. But there’s a part of them that she thinks of as sinister, because they’re all idols, too,
aren’t they, they’re all desperate for success and the raw hunger in their eyes to be more than
just rookies terrifies her, even as she knows it’s mirrored in her own eyes. They terrify her,
because they made her leader, and there’s no pressure, really, but sometimes they look at
her expectantly like they’re waiting for her to know what to do, and the truth is, she never
does. They terrify her because she doesn’t know what she wants them to be. Colleagues?
Friends? Family? Distant co-workers? What they should be to her is contingent on what she
should be, and she doesn’t know what she should be.
 Stephanie—Tiffany—Tiffany is the exception, though. There’s them and then there’s
Tiffany. Her best friend, her Tiffany, nervous and excitable Korean and pretty smile and the
entire nation falling in love with her. She clings to Tiffany as Tiffany hangs on her, but she
thinks she probably needs Tiffany more than Tiffany needs her. Tiffany is outgoing,
personable, and has people eating out of her hand within moments of meeting her. Tiffany is
made to be an idol, Taeyeon thinks. It’s a reason not to give up, maybe, because she and
Tiffany promised to be together, and this is the only way they can be.

It’s confusing, this business of being an idol, but it’s less confusing when her best friend
is next to her.

•••

“I think I messed that up,” Taeyeon mutters. They’re standing in the waiting room and
re-watching their performance. Taeyeon had been half a beat slow near the end. She sighs
heavily; there are no do-overs. Three and a half minutes and you were done.

She feels Sooyoung wrap an arm around her shoulders. “I think we all messed up at
least once.”

“Yeah, but—” Taeyeon begins and then pauses because there’s no way of saying you
guys aren’t me that doesn’t sound selfish. She sighs. Her throat feels raw, inflamed. She thinks
she’s probably been pushing her voice way past its limits, but she has to, because there’s a
lot at stake. She wishes, not for the first time, that the line-up had been a little different. Then
she wouldn’t have been shoved in the lead singer position. Or leader. She could sit back and
sing the way she liked, behave the way she liked, not drag around these heavy
responsibilities shackled to her like dead weights.

She feels Tiffany take her hand, lace their fingers together; she can tell it’s Tiffany
without looking. They watch the performance again, monitoring for more mistakes. It was
okay to make a mistake once, but if you made the same one twice you could forget about
sleep—you need more practice—you need more practice—you need more practice—

“Isn’t it weird,” Tiffany says in the van on the way to their next schedule. “We wanted
so badly to debut, for years, and now that we have it’s like... wow, we need waaaay more
training.”

Taeyeon nods vaguely but doesn’t respond because the rest of them are listening. She
is figuring out what she’s meant to do with this stupid title they gave her. There’s no way
she’ll ever feel comfortable being the sort of person who tells other people what to do, so she
can’t do that. Even their mistakes, she feels hesitant about pointing them out; instead, she
hovers vaguely around them, watching them, hoping they notice themselves so that she
doesn’t have to say anything.

Boost morale is the only thing she can think to do, so sometimes she goes around to
them with a stiff smile and says good job and she can tell by looking in their eyes that they
think she’s awkward, forced, strange. What is their relationship, she wonders. To the
cameras, she would say friends, but truthfully, behind closed doors, she thinks she’s really
only friends with Tiffany. There’s a distance even in closeness with the rest of them, and she
knows it’s her fault. They try, repeatedly, to get closer to her but it makes the hair on her
arms raise. She likes them a lot. In a way, she loves them. She can envision herself working
with them for years. But something is telling her not to get too close—don’t let them get
under your skin, Taeyeon. Don’t love love them. If they knew you, they would run.

So she keeps them at arms-length. She listens to their feelings, their thoughts, their
emotions, and she swallows her own. She thinks of good things to say—good, encouraging
things. Sometimes she looks at them and her heart clenches with how much they are coming
to mean to her and that’s when she knows she needs a break, to close off for a few days,
weeks.

She spends a lot of time thinking about love and how many forms it appears in.

•••

“That’s enough,” she tells Tiffany one day, softly, under her breath. The rest of the girls
are talking over the commercials in the radio booth. Her hand finds Tiffany’s underneath the
table and she squeezes her fingers gently, briefly, before letting go. Her cheeks are hot. “Stop,
okay.”

Tiffany looks at her. Playing dumb is her new thing. It’s cute and has garnered her a lot
of fans. Like most things in this business, there’s as much truth to it as there is falseness.

“Stop what?” she asks, just as soft.

“The whole...” Taeyeon frowns. Embarrassed. “The... couple... thing. The fanservice.
Knock it off.”

Tiffany blinks at her. She has pretty eyes. She has pretty everything. That’s really the
problem.

“Why? It’s fun. The fans like it.”

“I know they like it,” Taeyeon hisses, “but it makes me uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” Tiffany rolls her eyes. “It’s just for fun.”

But it isn’t fun, Taeyeon wants to say. It isn’t really fun when the person you think you’re
in love with plays with you like that, for the sake of fans. It isn’t fun, really, because that
person doesn’t love you back, but they’re still pretending because they think it’s fun. It isn’t
fun.
 “I just,” Taeyeon says softly, delicately. Despite the softness of their conversation, the
serious tone of it seems to have attracted spectators. Across the table Sooyoung looks at
them, frowning.

“It’s not even really fanservice, TaeTae,” Tiffany points out. “I mean, I think it’s okay if
the fans know that we’re really close, and obviously we’re just joking around—”

“Yeah, but.” Taeyeon wets her lips. Tiffany hasn’t seen the comments on the internet.
Isn’t it unprofessional of Taeyeon to show that much favoritism and Couple fanservice is one
thing but if you’re the team leader shouldn’t you like all members equally, instead of favoring
one or the worst ones, the ones lined with sinister intention, the Doesn’t it seem like there’s
something different about Taeyeon and the I like her voice but I’ve read rumors about her that
make me dislike her.

She knows she shouldn’t read them; she tells the rest of the girls, repeatedly, not to read
the comments, but she can’t listen to her own advice. It’s like a sickness. As soon as she steps
off stage, off the camera, back from the microphone, she has to look. Her fingers type in her
own name without her realizing it and she can’t help but look, make herself sick with the
things people say. There are nice things, there are supportive things, but they seem so small
and pitiful compared to the gigantic looming words like unprofessional and favoritism and
the worst one: rumors, those rumors, rumors.

“I honestly didn’t think it would bother you,” Tiffany says later, at home. It’s been a day-
long argument. Since debut, all conversations and arguments occur like this—in small
windows of time between schedules, stretching out sometimes for days because of lack of
time. There was hardly time to breathe, let alone talk, let alone argue.

“You didn’t think it would bother me?”

“Because you’re, you know.” Tiffany shrugs, looking around to make sure none of the
other members are lurking around the kitchen.

“Because I’m, you know,” Taeyeon repeats wryly. “What does—”

“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t do it with someone if I thought it would make them

uncomfortable,” Tiffany reasons. “But I guess maybe you’re sensitive.”

Taeyeon counts to ten slowly in her head and reminds herself that Tiffany’s Korean is
awful and that’s why she’s sometimes not as tactful as she should be. She sets her jaw. “Yeah.
That’s why. Because I’m sensitive.”

Tiffany sighs. “I don’t get what the problem is, but if you want me to stop, I’ll stop. What
am I supposed to do, stay away from you on camera? Should I pretend you’re not my best
friend? Ooh, should I act like we’re complete strangers? That could be fun.”
 Taeyeon massages the bridge of her nose. “You’re being immature. I’m just asking you
to stop the pretend couple thing. I don’t care if people know we’re friends.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem when Jessica does fanservice with you.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“It just... is. Okay? This makes me uncomfortable.”

Tiffany looks at her for a long moment and then her expression softens. “Okay.
Whatever you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Whatever makes you happy, I’ll do it.” She smiles. Taeyeon’s entire body feels
warm.

“Thanks,” she says softly.

They stand alone in the kitchen quietly. Tiffany taps her fingers on the counter; she
wants to say something. Taeyeon can tell.

“What,” she prompts.

“Taeyeon.” Tiffany looks at her. Her expression is careful. “Have you thought about, you
know. Telling the rest of the girls.”

Taeyeon scratches her head. “I don’t think it’s their business.”

“I mean it’s up to you, of course,” Tiffany says hastily. “I just mean. We live together. We
work together. We’re friends. Don’t you think they would want to know?”

Taeyeon shrugs. She’s thought about it. But truthfully, if Tiffany hadn’t figured it out on
her own, Tiffany wouldn’t know either. She wouldn’t have told her. It’s not something she
feels capable of saying, even as much as she realizes it’s true. Tiffany is the only person in the
world, other than Taeyeon’s ex-girlfriend, who knows, and that means something, Taeyeon
thinks. Maybe.

“I just think—”

“I don’t want...”

“They’d understand, Taeyeon,” Tiffany says quietly. “They’re really nice kids. You’d
know that if you let yourself get close to them.”
 Frowning, Taeyeon shakes her head. Is it obvious that she wants to keep them at a
distance? Is it just obvious to Tiffany because Tiffany knows her best, or is it obvious to them
as well? “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

She fully plans, really, on not thinking about it at all—she says it to appease Tiffany, but
truthfully she has no intentions of telling anyone anything. That’s her plan, anyway, but
Jessica ducks her head in the kitchen. Her face is scrubbed of makeup and her expression is
one Taeyeon is not used to seeing from her—shy, hesitant. She knows that Jessica is a shy
person, but even around them she usually attempts some pretense of bravado.

“Hey. I was looking for you guys.”

“You found us,” Taeyeon says uncomfortably. “We were just, you know, standing quietly
in a dark kitchen, staring at each other. Apparently.”

“That’s a good way to spend a Saturday night,” Jessica jokes but her entire demeanor is
awkward, tense. Had she heard them talking, Taeyeon wonders. Her heart beats fast.

“What’s up?” Tiffany asks, sensing Jessica’s mood as well.

“Uh, nothing. I was just—um, I want to talk to everyone. So I wanted to make sure
everyone was home. So I could. Talk to everyone. Uh.”

“Is everything okay?” Taeyeon presses.

“Yeah! Yeah, uh...” It’s weird seeing Jessica like this. Uncomfortable. Taeyeon feels on
edge, watching her. She doesn’t want to see other people’s weaknesses; it makes her feel
protective. She doesn’t want to feel like this.

“Um, I’m going to get the rest of the girls. Can you meet me in the living room?”

“Sure.”

Taeyeon checks the clock as she and Tiffany make themselves comfortable in the living
room. It’s a little after four in the morning. Their schedules had only finished two hours
earlier. Jessica is usually the first in bed after a long day like the one they’ve had; whatever
is keeping her awake is important, Taeyeon thinks.

“Unnie, you’re being so cryptic,” Yoona whines as the rest of the girls file in, flopping
down on the floor in a loose circle. Somehow it’s natural for them to gather that way, little to
no thought ever put into formation.

“Are you pregnant?” Hyoyeon jokes, cleaning her glasses before putting them back on.
She looks like she had been sleeping.

“I’m not pregnant,” Jessica laughs.

 “Good, that would totally ruin my career.”

“Don’t worry, ‘Kim Hyoyeon’s Career’ is pretty much number one on my list of
priorities.”

“What about ‘Choi Sooyoung’s Career’?” Sooyoung demands.

“Dead last.”

“Wow, sleep with one eye open, Jessica.”

They laugh lightly and then it dies out, weary with exhaustion. Jessica looks at all of
them fleetingly, but individually. She’s chewing her lower lip so hard Taeyeon’s surprised it
isn’t bleeding. Despite herself, Taeyeon spares a glance to Tiffany, whose expression is
serious. Gentle. Taeyeon can tell she thinks she knows what Jessica’s going to tell them.

“Uh, I wanted to talk to you guys...” Jessica begins and then breaks off uncertainly. “I
mean, we debuted a few months ago, so... I don’t know. It’s been a really difficult couple of
months, and um, I feel like it’s moved so fast and I just thought I’d let you guys know—uh,
how much I like working with you. And living with you. And—yeah, all that stuff.” It seems
as embarrassing for her to say as it is for them to hear. They all shift uncomfortably.
Sentimental displays of emotion aren’t exactly frowned upon, but all nine of them are
somehow all similarly embarrassed by that sort of thing. They try to avoid it when possible.
It isn’t that they all don’t agree—it’s just difficult to be eighteen, seventeen and sixteen years
old and tell people you love them without feeling corny.

Yuri laughs. “You pulled us out of bed to be gross and cheesy?” she asks lightly, breaking
the awkward atmosphere a little. “Thanks, Sica.”

“Yeah.” Jessica laughs halfheartedly. “Also... I feel like we’ve all become really close. So.
I wanted to tell you. I thought you guys should know, you know, that I’m dating... someone...”

They all nod slowly. Jessica’s voice is shaking. Sunkyu touches her shoulder gently. A
lot of them had suspected, because she had been sneaking around a lot.

“I just want to be upfront about it,” Jessica goes on, her voice becoming smaller. “The
person I’m dating is, um... female, so... that’s... what I wanted to tell you...”

The room is so silent that Taeyeon can hear how hard Jessica swallows once she’s said
it. Taeyeon has to hold her breath. She glances at Tiffany, who glances back at her. Her hands
shake for some reason.

Sooyoung is the first to break the silence. She and Hyoyeon have known Jessica the
longest.

“Ah,” Sooyoung says lightly. “It’s that unnie, right?” She smiles.
 Jessica laughs nervously, relief hesitantly crawling across her features. “Yeah. It’s her.
We’ve been dating for a few weeks now.”

“That’s cool. She’s pretty.”

Once Sooyoung says it, the rest of them relax. They agree. Jessica relaxes. Yuri tries to
give them a couple name. Hyoyeon jokes that she didn’t realize Jessica could get a girlfriend
that pretty. Taeyeon’s heart beats so loudly she can barely hear them; it roars in her ears,
throbs behind her eyes.

“I’m really glad you told us,” Tiffany says, finally.

Relief has washed through Jessica’s body so completely she looks boneless. Taeyeon’s
entire body feels rigid. The more relaxed Jessica becomes, the more she feels herself strung
tight. Jessica exhales heavily, smiling. “So it’s okay with you guys that I, you know, would...
uh, date a girl?”

Yoona laughs. “Why wouldn’t it be okay? Since that’s who you want to date.”

No one disagrees. Whether they’re all genuinely okay with it, Taeyeon doesn’t know;
she’s not sure if they know, really, either, just that they know they love her and wouldn’t dare
make this harder on her than it already is. Consolation is first priority, and their instinctive
protectiveness gives Taeyeon goosebumps, unsettles her. She can feel Tiffany looking at her.
She breathes evenly.

Jessica looks at the youngest. “Juhyun, is this okay with you?”

Juhyun frowns thoughtfully. “It’s a lot less gross than if you dated a boy.”

Jessica laughs and then glances at Taeyeon. She fights to keep her expression neutral,
but it’s difficult, and she knows she must look pained. Jessica’s voice is even more careful
when she addresses her.

“Is it okay with you, Taeyeon?”

Taeyeon’s tongue feels too heavy to move. Tiffany nudges her. “Uh...” Taeyeon begins,
uncomfortable. She sees the rest of the girls exchange looks. “It’s okay.”

The atmosphere has become uncomfortable. Jessica smiles nervously. “Your opinion
matters a lot to me. I don’t want you to be freaked out.”

“I’m not,” Taeyeon says, and that’s all she says.

It has to do for the moment. They go to bed. The weeks stretch forward and teenagers
become seasoned idols and at a certain point, they stop being friends and start being a family.
There are times when Tiffany says you should tell them and there are times, inextinguishable,
tense with desperation, times when Taeyeon thinks I should tell her.

She attempts to keep them at arms-length until her arms give out.

•••

Present: 2016

Taeyeon closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. “Okay,” she began,
exhausted, “all yes votes raise your hand.”

A quiet moment passed.

“Oh, I’m going to have to open my eyes to count votes, aren’t I?” Wearily, she lifted her
head and opened her eyes. As expected, four members had raised their hands. Taeyeon
cursed under her breath. She hated being the tie-breaker.

“Uhhh...”

“What did you think, Taengoo unnie?” Juhyun asked.

“Uh, well... truthfully, my brain leaked out of my ears like an hour ago, so I don’t even
remember what it sounded like,” Taeyeon mumbled vaguely. “So... I’ll say no, it sucks.”

“You suck,” Tiffany shot back. She had raised her hand the highest.

“Okay,” Taeyeon agreed. “I suck and the song sucks. Neither will be on the album. Next
song for eight-membered Girls’ Generation’s album, let’s hear it.”

Sunkyu loaded up the next demo. Taeyeon shifted in her seat. Her ass had fallen asleep
roughly two hours ago. They had spent the entire morning sifting through the many demos
sent to the label from various and many songwriters, of which there were hundreds. With
the new responsibility that the co-producing title they had all begged for came with was the
added burden of having to select which songs to record. It was mind-numbing; the ones that
weren’t just plain awful were of such awful production quality it was hard to tell whether
they could be good or not. Never again would Taeyeon complain about the label’s ability to
pick songs for them; it was a terrible job. She had started the morning taking diligent notes
on which songs she liked; by now her notebook had devolved into wrathful angry scrawls of
BAD MUSIC and EVERYTHING IS BAD and I HOPE MY EARS FALL OFF which were wholly
useless for assembling any sort of album.
 Unwillingly, her mind wandered. What would happen after this? Would this be the last
album she ever recorded? Not just the last with the group, but—the last album ever? She
couldn’t imagine herself releasing a solo album. She couldn’t imagine where she would even
release it. She couldn’t imagine anything past this very moment.

“Hey, do you guys want to hear some news?” Jessica asked when they decided to break
for lunch. They sat on the floor of the office in a tight circle, eating from a pile of food in the
middle.

“Only if it’s good news,” Sooyoung said just as Hyoyeon said, “Only if it’s bad news,” and
Yuri said, “Only if it’s sexy news.”

“It’s horrible news,” Tiffany interrupted. “It’s horrible news from a horrible person.”

“If Tiffany unnie thinks it’s horrible, I definitely want to hear it,” Yoona said.

“It’s not anything big,” Jessica said calmly even as she gave Tiffany a cold look. “I just
wanted to let you guys know, I’m moving in with unnie.”

“In her apartment?” Yuri asked. “That’s awesome, her apartment is so much bigger than
yours.”

“Yeah, she makes way more money,” Sooyoung agreed.

Jessica frowned. “It’s not because it’s bigger, it’s because I love her.”

“Love is really cool, unnie,” Yoona said dismissively, “but penthouses are cooler.”

“Seriously, she has that view of the Han river—”

“Don’t listen to them,” Taeyeon said. She smiled. “That’s great. You guys have been
dating forever.”

“It’s a big step, but I’m excited,” Jessica said. She had become shy. “And I don’t think it’ll
be suspicious or anything because, you know, there’s been news articles about the two of us
being friends. I mean, I’ll ask one of the managers what he thinks.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Taeyeon said. “I’m really happy for you. You—ow, why—” She
rubbed her shoulder where Tiffany had punched her.

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” Tiffany cried.

“I don’t know what your side is!”

“She can’t move in with her, because then I’d have to find a new place to live. I can’t pay
the rent on my own.”
 “You can do a bunch of easy commercials to make money,” Yuri said. “I just did all those
CFs and I made so much money.”

“But I don’t hate myself as much as you apparently do,” Tiffany whined. “Seriously oh
my god a commercial about raisins—”

“Hey, they’re not just raisins, they’re raisins covered in yogurt—”

“Get another roommate,” Juhyun suggested.

Tiffany didn’t reply, electing instead to consider it before, it looked, dismissing it

outright. Except suddenly, she brightened, turning a stunning, dizzying smile on Taeyeon.

“Hey—” she began.

“No,” Taeyeon said.

Tiffany hit her. “Why not?”

“Because you keep hitting me and no, I don’t want to live with you.”

Eyes narrowed. “Yes, you do.”

Yes, she did.

“No, I don’t.”

“Come on, we’ve lived together before. I’m a very considerate roommate. Ask Jessica.”

Jessica shook her head slowly, looking at Taeyeon with wide eyes.

“No,” Taeyeon said.

“Taeyeon...”

Tiffany just looked at her, eyes round as full moons. Taeyeon’s stomach fell. There was
a heavy feeling of dread working its way through her bloodstream. She was never getting out
alive—she knew it. The more she tried to pull away, the harder she was yanked back. Saying
no to Tiffany had never been something Taeyeon had done very well and no one knew that
better than Tiffany herself.

She sighed.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, but Tiffany smiled.

She knew what I’ll think about it meant.

 CHAPTER 11
Present: 2016

Many people were lucky if they had one good friend in their lifetime, yet Taeyeon had
been blessed with eight, even if sometimes she felt more burdened than blessed. They had
ways of working themselves into every crack and crevice of her existence. She hadn’t known
this when she was a kid, but apparently friendship was being a pest, ingratiating yourself
into every aspect of a person’s life, hovering over them when they wanted to be alone the
most. It was a thing to complain openly about and secretly cherish. Taeyeon’s best friends
were like this more than anything else. There was no slipping into yourself, shutting out the
world; they were always there.

Unless, of course, she needed someone to help her move, in which case they were all
mysteriously absent.

“You’re unnie’s favorite, do you know that,” she told Yoona, the only member that had
bothered to show up. She held the elevator door open as Yoona carried past her two heavy
boxes stacked on top of one another.

“I did know,” Yoona said deftly, “but it’s nice to hear.”

“Can’t believe even Juhyun betrayed me,” Taeyeon grumbled, scratching her head. “You
expect betrayal from Choi Sooyoung, but my little Juhyun...”

“She’s working, unnie. They're all working. It’s not betrayal. Why didn’t you call one of
the managers, they might have helped?”

“I did, I called Kibum oppa. He laughed and hung up on me.”

“Oh.”

She understood that moving was tiring to help people do because she was still sore
from helping Jessica move into her girlfriend’s apartment last week. But Kwon Yuri started
every morning with two hundred one-handed push-ups, clearly she was in much better
shape than Taeyeon! And Jessica—well, Jessica was generally pretty useless, but since
Taeyeon had helped her move, the least she could have done was show up and provide eye
candy.
 “Anyway, thanks,” she said, sighing. She punched Yoona on the shoulder playfully. “You
could’ve bailed too, but you didn’t.”

Yoona shrugged and looked at the floor. “I didn’t want you to do this alone, unnie.” Her
voice was even. The elevator doors opened.

“Thanks,” Taeyeon said, light, ignoring the hidden meaning she expected Yoona was
attempting to inject. “You’re the best. If Tiffany didn’t live here, she probably would have
bailed too.”

“I don’t think Tiffany unnie would ever bail on you.”

Taeyeon frowned, lifting a box with an inelegant grunt. She kicked at the propped open
door of Tiffany’s apartment and dropped it on the floor with an exhausted exhale, moving
aside quickly to let Yoona walk in. She strode past effortlessly with her two boxes.

Barely breaking a sweat, Yoona tossed her hair out of her eyes, shifting the boxes in her
arms. “Where do you want me to—”

“Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry!” Tiffany squealed, running across the living
room in only a towel. Her hair was wet.

“Really!” Taeyeon cried in exasperation as Tiffany shut the door to her bedroom
quickly. “You just got out of the shower? Yoona and I are halfway done already, you’re
supposed to be helping.”

“I’m sorry!” Tiffany cried through the door. “It took forever to wash my hair! I’m cutting
it all off as we speak, I’ll never keep you waiting again!”

Taeyeon sighed.

"Why did unnie shower anyway," Yoona muttered, "when she's just going to get sweaty
and need to shower again later..."

"Because she's a moron," Taeyeon suggested helpfully.

"I heard that!"

"That's because I said it loud."

Tiffany’s door opened hesitantly. Her head poked out. “Uh, Taeyeon?”

“Yes.”

“I left my clothes in the bathroom, could you—”

 Taeyeon accidentally dropped the box she was holding. “Are you naked in there?”

“What kind of a question is th—”

Yoona set her own boxes down. “I’ll get them.”

“Thanks, Yoona.”

Taeyeon put her head in her hands and attempted to look away as Yoona handed
Tiffany a folded stack of clothes through the door crack and Tiffany’s clean, bare shoulder
eased out from behind the door. It shut quickly. Taeyeon released a breath she didn’t even
know she was holding.

Yoona gestured helplessly toward the closed door. “You have to live with that everyday
now, you know.”

Taeyeon laughed, shaking her head. “I’ve done it before, I guess I can handle it.”

“When the three of us moved in together, Sooyoung unnie and I made Yuri unnie sign a
contract saying she wouldn’t walk around naked, it’s worked pretty well so far.”

“I’ll consider that,” Taeyeon said dryly, but wondered who in their right mind would
think Yuri walking around naked would be a bad thing.

Tiffany managed to help them get a few more boxes up before she wandered away to
buy ice cream to reward their hard work. Taeyeon felt that the best reward for hard work
would be less hard work, which could certainly be accomplished by Tiffany helping them for
more than ten minutes, but she had really never been the sort of person who could turn down
ice cream.

She and Yoona rested on the back of the van for a little while. The moving had attracted
a small crowd earlier when bystanders had realized who the people carrying boxes in and
out of the building were, but the crowd had dispersed awhile back. Taeyeon had no doubt
that devoted fans had made the connection of where she was moving and with whom she
was moving in with, and made a note to stay even further away from the internet than usual
for the next few days. Histrionic, excitable articles about Girls’ Generation’s Taeyeon and
Tiffany moving in together was really more than she needed right now.

The only fans left were the girls who followed her around regularly. Taeyeon had heard
them talking earlier about having to adjust their schedules so that they could continue to
follow her with her new address in mind. She wondered what they thought about her
crawling back to Tiffany like a dumb spineless moron, and then felt oddly disgusted with
herself for caring about what they thought.

You are spineless, though, she told herself, and then snickered.
 Yoona nudged her. “What are you laughing at.”

“Nothing. Hey, thanks for showing up.”

“You’ve said that like, a thousand times now, I get it, unnie. I’m just less employed than
everyone else, I guess.” Yoona grinned at her. “Honestly, I’m a little happy that no one else
showed up, it’s been awhile since it was just the two of us.”

“Can’t it be just the two of us in a situation less taxing for my muscles.”

“Come on, I carried four times what you carried.”

Taeyeon made a pitiful whining noise anyway.

Yoona stretched her legs out and leaned back on her elbows. “Unnie, can I ask you
something?”

Taeyeon mirrored her. She nodded.

“Do you think you’re doing the right thing? Moving in with Tiffany unnie?”

She had been expecting this. She smiled a little. She forgot sometimes, because Yoona
was so mature and pretty, that she really was like a little sister.

She tried to look cheerful. “I don’t know if it’s the right thing. I definitely don’t think it’s
the wrong thing, if that’s what you mean.”

“I just mean...” Yoona frowned. “I worry about you.”

“I know.”

“I know you can take care of yourself, but I can’t help but worry,” Yoona admitted.
Yoona had always been bad with serious discussions. For as long as Taeyeon had known her,
she had carefully dodged the grave and somber moments in favor of lightheartedness. It was
a thing she had always liked about Yoona. Yoona didn’t need to be taken care of, and in a way
she was just as reticent about opening up as Taeyeon was; consequently, Taeyeon had never
felt burdened around her, pressured into being more open with emotions. Yoona was the
laid-back person Taeyeon wished she could be.

It was weird to look up to someone younger than you, but there it was.

“It’s okay,” was all Taeyeon would say, but she meant it. It would be a good challenge.
It wasn’t really in her nature to be hopefully optimistic, but she would give it a try. It was the
exact opposite, maybe, of what she was hoping to do—extricate herself from Tiffany’s life a
bit, and vice versa—but maybe the physical proximity would make her stronger for it.
 More and more the futility of basing her entire notion of contentment around a stupid
feeling she’d had since she was fifteen years old was becoming ridiculous. It wasn’t fair to
anyone. She kept telling herself that. It wasn’t fair to herself, it wasn’t fair to Tiffany. It wasn’t
fair to anyone.

“Can I tell you someth—”

“Stop asking me for permission,” Taeyeon said softly. “I’m not that fragile. You can say
anything you want.”

Yoona looked at her, long and measured. “I really look up to you, unnie.”

Taeyeon frowned. “Anything except that.”

“I know you hate hearing stuff like that, but I really do. I wouldn’t be able to handle
everything you handle.”

“I think it’s arguable whether I’m handling it or not,” Taeyeon admitted.

“You are.”

A shadow fell over them. Taeyeon looked up to see Tiffany standing over them, backed
by the sun.

“I rushed because I figured you guys were hard at work,” she said with a frown. She
handed them ice creams. “Little did I know you were slacking on the job.”

“Look who’s talking,” Taeyeon commented, unwrapping her ice cream.

“I’ll do the rest all by myself,” Tiffany declared, squeezing in between them.

“That would be entertaining to watch.” She sat up a little to check her phone. Hyoyeon
had sent a mass-text: HOUSE-WARMING PARTY @ TIFFANY AND TAEYEON’S 10PM B.Y.O.
ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE AND/OR WEIRD DISGUSTING HEALTH DRINK THING IF YOU’RE
MAGNAE

“How do I block Kim Hyoyeon’s number,” she asked idly, typing out a sarcastic reply,
“and how does she think she can just invite everyone to a party at our place without asking
permission?”

“It was my idea,” Tiffany said, leaning her chin on Taeyeon’s shoulder to peek at the
reply she was typing out. “It’s just going to be the nine of us so I—whoa, did you hit ‘reply
all’, magnae’s going to scold you for using that word.”
 “Oh yeah.” She deleted the insult and tried to think of a more polite way of telling
Hyoyeon she was the worst person alive. She hit send. “So they’re too busy to help me move
but not too busy to come over and get drunk, is that it.”

“Well, are you ever too busy to get drunk?”

“Good point.” She checked the rest of her messages. Her thumb hovered for a moment
over a text she’d received last night without noticing. She glanced toward Tiffany, now
leaning on Taeyeon’s arm and reading over her shoulder, out of the side of her eyes.

“Do you mind?”

Tiffany grinned. “Why, are you hiding something?”

“Uh, no, I just—”

“You want to read that text from Kang Hyejin, don’t you?”

“I would like to read all my texts without an audience.”

“Does she send you dirty texts, is that why, is it going to be like ‘Taengoo, what are you
wearing?’ Is that—hey—”

Yoona had yanked her by the arm and pulled her away. Taeyeon shot her a grateful
look.

“Are you still seeing her, unnie?” Yoona asked, putting Tiffany in a headlock.

“Uh, not really,” Taeyeon said vaguely, too distracted to point out that they hadn’t been
seeing each other in the first place. She looked quietly at her phone. Hyejin had gone to Japan
with Red Velvet for a concert; it was her first time in Tokyo. She had sent a selca, with Tokyo
Tower in the background and a short message: Like you said, it looks pretty at night!

She saved the picture because it was cute. Her phone background had been the same
picture of her and Tiffany for almost a year. She didn’t really have the heart to change it, but
thought if she ever did, Kang Hyejin at Tokyo Tower might be an okay replacement. She typed
a reply.

“We’re just friends, I guess,” she finally told Yoona.

“Friends who sleep together?” Tiffany joked, trying to wrestle out of Yoona’s grasp. She
caught Taeyeon’s eye and her expression was serious, tensely curious despite the flippancy
in her tone.
 Taeyeon shrugged. On the one hand, Tiffany’s interest was disconcerting; on the other
hand, she guessed it was a normal thing for friends to talk about. She had no idea what the
correct path was toward trying to normalize their friendship.

“I don’t know.”

“She’s really pretty,” Yoona commented. To Tiffany, she asked, “Have you seen her,
unnie?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

They lapsed into an awkward silence. Taeyeon suddenly wished she had never looked
at her text messages.

She stretched. Her arms felt sore already; she couldn’t imagine how they’d feel
tomorrow. She was more than a little out of shape. Maybe they could promote a ballad, she
thought ruefully.

It took a few hours, but they managed to get the last of Taeyeon’s things upstairs. True
to her word, Tiffany had done most of the work—mostly, Taeyeon suspected, because she
felt guilty about leaving her and Yoona to do so much of it themselves and it was just in her
nature, but she also felt distinctly as though she had sent Tiffany into a poor mood and her
new roommate was hoping to avoid her.

It really didn’t bode well for the future, Taeyeon thought, that they were already victims
of one another’s moodiness after living together for mere hours, but she tried to think
positively anyway. She walked Yoona to the door so the younger girl could go home and
shower before returning later for the party.

“Thanks again for coming.”

“You’re welcome again. Are you going to be okay? I’ll be back in,” she checked her watch,
“three hours.”

Taeyeon shrugged, amused. “I’m going to be living here now, so if I can’t survive three
hours alone with her, that would be pretty bad, wouldn’t it? I’ll be fine. I promise not to jump
out any windows, okay.”

Yoona just looked at her with big, sad eyes. A part of Taeyeon was touched at her
concern, but it made her skin crawl somehow. The last thing she needed now was everyone
around her feeling even more sorry for her.

“I’m serious,” she said softly. “Everything’s fine.”

 Yoona took her hand, lacing their fingers together. She didn’t say anything, only looked
pensively at the floor as she swung their joined hands distractedly. Taeyeon could tell she
wanted to say something, but they weren’t that different. The words refused to come out; it
was a familiar feeling to Taeyeon.

She squeezed Yoona’s hand. “Get out of here. See you later.”

Yoona nodded, smiled. “Okay, unnie.”

The apartment was deathly silent once Yoona had left. She could hear Tiffany, helpfully
unpacking Taeyeon’s things into her bedroom, but the air was restless with silence. She
wasn’t sure why the idea of being alone with Tiffany was suddenly so terrifying to her—they
were alone together often enough already. Yet it was like being walled in now. If she needed
to get away, if she needed air, where would she go?

Tiffany looked up when Taeyeon came in. She was setting up her computer. “Sorry
about the party thing,” she said, her eyes apologetic. “I didn’t think it would bother you.”

“It doesn’t, I was just kidding around." Taeyeon smiled. “It’s good, I have something to
tell everyone anyway.”

She tasted metal in her mouth. Tiffany looked at her, frowning.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just some stuff we need to talk about.”

“You know what’s best,” Tiffany said reflexively. Taeyeon bit her tongue, willing herself
not to respond. She began unpacking her clothes first.

“TaeTae.”

She didn’t turn. “Hmm.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea, us living together?”

“No,” Taeyeon said calmly. “I think it’s a terrible idea.”

“Do you think I manipulated you into agreeing?”

“Yes,” she replied honestly. She began hanging up clothes. “But I could have said no.”

“Are you angry?”

“No.” She turned and caught Tiffany’s eye. “I just wish you’d stop feeling like you need
to tie me down. I’m not going anywhere.”
 Tiffany looked at the floor, ghosting the edge of a box corner with her foot. “After what
you did,” she began delicately, “don’t you think I have the right to worry about you leaving
me?”

Taeyeon winced. She hadn't expected Tiffany to ever bring it up again. “You’re the one
who left, not me.” She tried to mask the harshness of her words in a pleasant tone, but
Tiffany’s sad smile was evidence enough that she’d caught Taeyeon’s meaning.

“That’s true,” she said. Taeyeon had expected her to try and argue the point; the lack of
fight in her tone made her feel worse. She felt as if their roles had suddenly reversed. Tiffany
was usually the aggressive one who said things she didn’t mean while Taeyeon passively
allowed it. She wondered how they had ever gotten to this point, how they had ever managed
to become so close to one another when their personalities were so antagonistic.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. She looked at the floor, too. “Come here.”

Tiffany did. She hugged her, tight. She felt Tiffany’s arms circle around her shoulders,
felt her pressing close. She breathed her in for a moment. She wanted to say, then, that she
wished they would stop trying to hurt each other, and that she remembered the promise they
made, once, and that was why it was so hard—that she didn’t know what to do, because it
was going to be painful either way, wasn’t it—with her, without her—and she didn’t know
what to do—she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to say it, but couldn’t.

Instead, she hugged her, because loving Tiffany was a difficult thing, but it was also the
easiest thing.

•••

Jessica and Tiffany’s apartment had always been their default place for gathering, partly
because it was one of the biggest ones, and mostly because out of the nine of them, Tiffany
was easily the best and most considerate host. The one time they’d gathered at Yuri,
Sooyoung and Yoona’s apartment had been like being left to fend for themselves in the wild.
Because she had spent the past two years of her life living alone, Taeyeon hadn’t really
considered that living with Tiffany would disrupt her very dedicated lifestyle of being alone;
the rest of the group was one thing, but Tiffany was an exceptionally social person.

Although, she thought, watching Tiffany from across the apartment, she hadn’t been
very social since coming back to Seoul. She wondered if it was just because she was so busy
getting back into the swing of working, or if she’d cleared her head that much while in Los
Angeles.

Maybe it made sense. They were twenty-seven years old. They had crested the mid-
twenties; they were closer to thirty than twenty, which was a sobering thought. At a certain
age, she guessed, you became less interested in casual socializing and more interested in
family. For Tiffany, the eight of them were her family.
 And hadn’t she chosen them, Taeyeon thought.

She sighed and checked the clock. It was getting toward midnight. Some members had
early schedules tomorrow and as much as Taeyeon wanted to put this off, it was probably a
good idea to drop the news while everyone was still lucid enough to understand. She had
been nursing one drink all night, feeling far too anxious about what she knew she had to tell
them to even think about getting drunk—which was something she needed to stop doing so
much of anyway.

“Hey kids,” she called into the kitchen. “Can you turn down the music a little, I have to
tell you guys something.”

“You look serious, unnie,” Yoona said, frowning. They turned the music down and
gathered in the living room.

“Seriously, last time you looked this serious you tried to step down as leader,” Sooyoung
joked, sitting down on the floor next to the couch.

Taeyeon smiled wryly. It was hard to look at them like this. She was reminded,
irrepressibly, of the five-minute talks they used to have regularly before they’d moved out of
the dorm. It had been difficult, then, too—their expectant stares, silent attention. She felt put
on the spot, even if she had instigated it.

“What’s up Taengoo?”

“So, um.” Taeyeon laced her fingers together and set them formally in her lap. She
glanced at Sunkyu, who gave her a slight smile. “I was thinking this week, we should probably
set out a timeline for finishing this album. Since we want to use all original material, instead
of previously-recorded stuff, it’s going to take awhile, but since it’s the first album we’ve ever
attempted to produce, I think it’s fine if we take our time.”

The other girls murmured in agreement. She steeled herself.

“Um, the other thing is something Sunkyu brought to my attention the other day, after
she met with her uncle.” She paused for a moment and considered, very briefly, coaxing
Sunkyu into breaking the news but she knew she had to. It had to be her.

“So—so sunsaengnim mentioned that this would probably—be our last album
together. You know, as a group.”

Silence.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected their reactions to be, but the hushed, stunned
silence wasn’t nearly as unnerving as the way they continued looking at her—still, expectant,
waiting.
 “So—”

Hyoyeon shook her head. “Wait—what?”

They all began talking at once. Taeyeon’s head ached.

“What about our contracts, though?”

“I don’t understand why—we’re still at the top, that seems so stupid—”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Taengoo, what do you think we should do?”

“Um,” she said softly. Her instinct, when cornered, was to look at Tiffany, but Tiffany
was staring quietly at her lap and wouldn’t meet her eyes. She looked at Sunkyu instead, but
despite being the one to break the news to her, Sunkyu’s expression was just as expectant as
the rest of them, waiting for Taeyeon to tell them what to do.

Taeyeon didn’t know what to do. She had never known what to do.

She cleared her throat, more out of habit than anything, but it did the trick of quieting
them. “Look— we have time to think about this. I mean, sunsaengnim said they would allow
us to finish this album, right?” She glanced at Sunkyu, who nodded. “I guess their intention
was to blindside us with this, but we have a heads up, and we can—you know. Figure out...
what we want to do...” She trailed off. What did they want to do? Could anyone say?

She explained the rest of the situation—about the possibility of separate contracts, the
intention to promote them as soloists, her personal opinion that the unwillingness to
officially disband them would probably be the best way of making sure they actually did
disband. Her voice became smaller with each word; she remembered being eighteen years
old and burdened with her designation, terrified to talk to them.

“Unnie, what do you think we should do?” Juhyun asked and they all looked at her. They
kept looking. She had never felt so many eyes on her before. She had performed in gigantic
arenas, surrounded by thousands of wide-eyed, watching fans, but this was much more. At
least on stage, she knew what to do.

“It’s—this is a nine-membered group,” Taeyeon said, vaguely, uncomfortably. “What I

think—it should be what all of us think, not what I think,” she rambled. Quiet.

“Yeah, but,” Tiffany spoke for the first time, looking at Taeyeon pointedly, “of the nine
of us, who do you think could have the most successful solo career? I think your decision
makes a big difference.”
 Taeyeon looked at her, confused. “There’s no way of knowing who. That’s not the point.
We need to come to an agreement that we’re all happy with.”

She was met with only silence—a suspenseful, guarded silence, waiting for her to say
something. Always looking to her for the right answer.

But she had no idea—she didn’t want to think about it. No one would want to be the
first to say let’s do what we can to make sure we stay together because what if not everyone
felt that way? Just as no one could be the first to say maybe disbanding is the right thing
because what if no one else was on the same page? Coming up with a solution was like picking
a side, and Taeyeon had no idea what side she should want.

“We have time to talk about it,” she kept saying to the members as she walked them to
the door, making sure they all had arrangements of getting home safe. She said it to each of
them and felt she had to because they kept looking at her, waiting for her to say something.
It was making her sick. For every we can talk about it were ten more what should we do
Taeyeon what should we do unnie what should we do.

Once they were gone, she found Tiffany in the kitchen, cleaning up. Her face was drawn
tight. Taeyeon felt winded. Maybe, she thought, she should have told Tiffany first, alone.
Maybe it was favoritism, she thought with hollow amusement, the old guilt rearing its ugly
head, but maybe Tiffany had deserved that much—she had chosen them. She had chosen
Korea, the group, the nine of them.

“Miyoungie,” she said softly, affectionately. “Are you okay?”

Tiffany nodded. She piled glasses in the sink. She was not okay. Taeyeon touched her
elbow, hesitantly, and tried to pull her close but she stayed rooted to her spot.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she pressed, but Tiffany shook her head. She looked up,
finally, meeting Taeyeon’s eyes.

“What do you think we should do—”

“Please don’t ask me that,” Taeyeon whispered.

Tiffany looked at her for a long moment. “Are you going to fight for this group,
Taeyeon?”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“You aren’t, are you?”

She wet her lips. “I—I don’t know.”

Tiffany’s eyelashes fell along her cheekbones. She looked down, exhaled quietly.
 She took Taeyeon’s hand briefly, and squeezed it. “Good night,” she said, and walked
past her. The air went out of the room.

Taeyeon’s first night in her new apartment was sleepless.

 CHAPTER 12
Past: 2008

Taeyeon’s nights are sleepless.

If she closes her eyes, this room has just four bare walls, floor and ceiling, empty; she is
lying on the floor, in clean air.

If she opens her eyes, there are three beds and she is in the one closest to the wall; there
is a window with the shade clumsily drawn, hanging crooked against the windowsill; a closet
stuffed with clothes; a minefield of a floor with things to trip over every few feet.

She takes a breath, breathes in the same air she breathes in every night as she lies here
and cannot sleep.

There is movement at the door, but Taeyeon keeps her gaze on the ceiling, breathes in
and out evenly. Yoona is filming late into the night. It could be Sooyoung, coming in to sleep.
It could be any one of the girls coming in to talk, unload their worries on her ever-patient
ears. She hopes it is, and hopes it isn’t.

The bed dips; her stomach clenches. Tiffany’s face comes into view, looming over her,
hair falling like a crashing wave.

“Hey,” Tiffany says. The room is dark. “I didn’t know you came home.”

“Just a little while ago.”

“Did I wake you?”

Taeyeon laughs, lightly. She hasn’t slept properly in weeks. She would love to be woken
up abruptly from sleep, because it’ll mean she has managed to drift off properly for once.

“No.”

“How was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Taeyeon grunts. She closes her eyes as Tiffany combs long fingers
through her hair, neatening up the messy bangs on her forehead.
 “Since this is like, the tenth ‘not-a-date’ you’ve gone on with her, isn’t it time you admit
it’s a date?”

Taeyeon smiles a little. She feels Tiffany drag a finger between her eyebrows, gently,
then down her nose. “Okay, I guess we’re dating.”

Tiffany shoves her shoulder. When she opens her eyes, her best friend is grinning down
at her.

“What are you so happy about,” she wonders, stretching.

“Nothing. I’m happy for you. She’s pretty. And she’s always really nice to us backstage
at music shows.”

Taeyeon lifts a shoulder casually. “Yeah, she’s pretty.”

Tiffany hits her, again. “Stop trying to be cool.”

“I’m not trying, I just happen to be really cool,” Taeyeon laughs. She rests her hand on
her stomach and feels Tiffany take it, lace their fingers together. They look at each other a
long time. It’s moments like this, really, when Taeyeon is unable to think, and can only get
lost in the depths of Tiffany’s eyes, wonder if anyone has ever looked this deeply into them.
She wonders if anyone has ever looked at her the way Tiffany does, and she wonders if
Tiffany looks at anyone else the way she looks at her. It’s an agonizing thought, but it gives
her hope, sometimes.

Hope is dangerous, though, hope is self-conscious.

“TaeTae?”

It’s been a while since she’s heard the nickname. She slides her fingers through
Tiffany’s, locking them tighter together.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t you think you should tell the other girls?” Tiffany says quietly. “I mean, especially
now. If you’re dating.”

Taeyeon shifts uncomfortably.

“I mean,” Tiffany goes on. “They tell you when they’re dating, and—”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I ask.”

 “I just, I mean, it’s up to you, of course. I just don’t understand why you don’t want to
be honest with them. I mean, like, obviously no one is going to have a problem with it, you
know.”

She doesn’t know how to answer. She doesn’t know how to tell Tiffany how desperate
she is to make sure no one gets too close, how she, Tiffany, is the only person she’s let get
this close and sometimes she worries it’s a mistake, that it’s unnatural to love someone this
much—not just romantic love, not just the way she feels when Tiffany comes out of the
shower and she wonders what the wet skin at the hollow of her throat tastes like—but the
way she feels, sometimes violently, desperately, that Tiffany is the best thing to ever happen
to her; she is the best friend Taeyeon will never deserve.

“I’m sorry,” she says simply, “I don’t think I can.”

They hear the front door open and close. Taeyeon checks the clock.

“That must be Yoona,” she says, groaning as she tries to sit up. “Let’s have a five-minute
talk.”

The five-minute talk had been her idea. As she sits in a disorderly circle with her eight
group members, a throbbing pain in her head from days of no sleep, she is fully aware of the
irony of convincing them of a good idea to make them closer to each other, when it’s the last
thing she wants. She is unable to make her professional and emotional selves reconcile, but
convinces herself it’s in the interest of better teamwork, and not because they mean more to
her than she wants to admit.

It’s your career, she tells herself day after day. The only thing that matters. The reason
you came here. You didn’t come here for companionship, you came here to sing.

She wants to believe it more than she can make herself believe it. She takes steps to
ensure longevity, to make sure they can last as a group; she tells herself they’re steps to make
sure she can do this work for as long as she needs to. When she says I’d like to be in Girls’
Generation forever she tells herself it has nothing to do with them as people, it’s a need to
cling to the work and the sweat and the addiction to success. She gets lost in their words and
touched by their sincerity toward her, their earnest emotion, but she will not love them.

It has been a tiring hiatus filled with false starts and numerous stops and the frustration
builds in her like a storm. She thinks back to their debut and what they could have done
better, more efficiently, less controversially, so they wouldn’t have to be in this position of
potential worry that the label will decide there isn’t much use to them.

She is not a leader; she’s selfish. She wants their teamwork to be perfect because the
group’s improvement benefits her, solidifies her future, ensures her that she will reach the
top and be happy.
 The talk draws to a close. She feels the need to wrap up, because tomorrow they go into
the studio again to record a song that will hopefully be released—finally, something, after
months of waiting, of feeling like they were set to debut again—and they can try again,
maybe, group together and be a stronger group. She’s desperate for it.

“I just want to make one thing clear,” she says, and they all quiet. Maybe just to hear
her, because her voice is soft, or maybe because she speaks so scarcely that when she does,
they’re stunned into submission.

“We debuted over a year ago, and—I think we can all agree there were a lot of problems,
and hiccups along the way. But.” She clasps her fingers together and looks at her lap; their
eyes make her nervous. “I would like to do this, this job with you guys, for the rest of my life.”

She is anxious to meet their eyes, but they look at her warmly and she feels it build in
her stomach, like a pleasurable sense of dread.

“I know it sounds stupid,” she says softly. “But I mean that. So I think—if we work hard
now, and do things bit by bit, then we can—we can be a strong group that will last a very
long time.”

They agree. That night, she cannot sleep at first, as she usually cannot sleep. But
beneath the anxiety and worry and fear is an unfamiliar sense of security, safety, and it lulls
her to sleep like a boat rocking gently on a lake.

•••

Present: 2016

Taeyeon thought, broodingly, that attempting to erect a wall around herself had
somehow had the opposite effect than anticipated. As time wore on, she thought—pressing
Hyejin to the wall and meeting her lips—she became more and more vulnerable, impossibly
vulnerable. Experience should have taught her that the more she attempted to distance
herself from something or someone, the more attached she would grow, and yet she had
somehow allowed this to happen.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, and her mouth found the pulse at Hyejin’s throat.

“Sorry for what?” The air dropped around them. Taeyeon clung to her, put her mouth
next to inviting lips. She wanted her mouth to be everywhere at once. She felt Hyejin’s arms
tighten around her neck and block out the memories.

She wasn’t sure for what or why—what memories. She kissed her. Hyejin had barely
made it two steps into the apartment, halfway out of her shoes, halfway out of her coat. It
had been awhile since Taeyeon had seen her, she admitted, but she had not expected to feel
this eager when she saw her.

“Hey,” she greeted finally, kissing her one last time. “Welcome back to Korea.”

“Good to be back.” Her flight had come in the night before, and Taeyeon had invited her
over for breakfast. “Sorry I’m a little early, I gave myself extra time in case I couldn’t find the
place, but it was really easy to find.” She looked around, finally getting her other shoe off. The
rest of her coat followed. “It’s really nice.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” Taeyeon said. She couldn’t stop looking at her.

“It’s bigger.”

“Yes.”

“You’re still in your pajamas. I’m sorry, I’m early.”

Taeyeon looked down at herself in distraction. “No, it’s okay. I was just going to take a
shower while I waited for you—do you mind waiting?”

“Not at all.”

“Or,” she teased, “you could join me.”

“I could, but I’d prefer breakfast.”

Taeyeon laughed. “My poor pride.”

“What pride... You have company?”

“Company?”

She turned, following Hyejin’s gaze over her shoulder. Tiffany had come out of her
bedroom, eyes bleary with sleep. She blinked at the two of them in the entrance; Taeyeon
waved half-heartedly. In a drowsy daze, Tiffany shuffled over to meet them.

“Not company, that—that’s Tiffany, you know Tiffany.”

It was at this point, when Hyejin and Tiffany looked at each other with equal
measurements of confusion, that Taeyeon began to feel awkward—she wasn’t entirely sure
why, though. It was the first time they had met, but she had no idea why that should matter.
Certainly there were more than a few girls Taeyeon had slept with that had never met
Tiffany—most, she would surmise. Or hope. It was possibly, she reasoned, the weird feeling
of standing between the person you loved most in the world and someone you very much
wanted to take to bed at that very moment—or it was that they were both looking at her
with the same emotional concoction of uncertainty and the barest hint of betrayal, as though
she should understand. She introduced them, uncomfortably, feeling strangely admonished
by both.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tiffany said, polite. She seemed suddenly self-conscious,
adjusting her pajamas in a gesture so singularly endearing Taeyeon had to bite her lip.

“Good things, I hope,” Hyejin said vaguely, and seemed to not know how to react. “So
you—did you sleep over, or—”

Taeyeon looked at her, surprised. “Wh—no. This is Tiffany’s apartment. Our. We’re—
roommates.”

“Oh.”

A heavy silence fell over them. Tiffany ran an anxious hand through her hair and
excused herself to use the bathroom. Taeyeon fidgeted from foot to foot.

“You didn’t mention you were moving in with her.”

She looked up quickly. “Didn’t I? I thought I did.”

“I can review my text messages—”

“All right, let me talk to a lawyer before you start presenting evidence,” Taeyeon
muttered. “Sorry, I thought I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“Okay, sorry?” The hair on her arms stood up. She couldn’t help but feel defensive. “I
can’t live with my best friend?”

“Of course you can, I just don’t understand why you didn’t mention it.”

“Well,” Taeyeon said, frowning. “You’re not my girlfriend, are you. You said it yourself.
I don’t need to tell you anything.”

As soon as she’d said it, an apology leapt to her lips, but Hyejin didn’t look upset. She
smiled in understanding, concession. This didn’t make Taeyeon feel any less admonished—
in fact, it was worse. It was exasperating to want to lash out and be only met with a
condescending sort of sympathy. The whole thing left her with a bitterness that was hard to
erase, and her initial elation at seeing Hyejin again was giving away to frustration, defeat.

“That’s true,” Hyejin said simply.

“I’m sorry, I mean—”

 “I know what you mean. I didn’t think it would upset you this much. Does it feel like I
rejected you?”

Now she wished she had never opened the door. She looked down, adjusted her gaze
somewhere near Hyejin’s collarbone, anything to avoid looking her in the eyes.

“A little bit.”

Hyejin laughed. “Don’t feel that way.” She took Taeyeon’s hand. “I’d love to date you,
Taeyeon. It’s just that you don’t want to date me.”

Taeyeon stiffened. “I asked you, didn’t I?”

“You did, but it’s not what you want. I know it’s not what you want.”

That almost made her laugh. Imagine someone who had known her for less than a year
knowing what she wanted when she herself had no idea. She nodded, slowly.

“So that’s it? That’s—the last word? We’re just, what, friends with benefits?”

“We could be friends without the benefits,” Hyejin joked.

“No thank you,” Taeyeon said delicately. She knew, objectively, that Hyejin was right,
that she didn’t want a relationship, but knowing what she didn’t want didn’t make it any
easier to figure out what she did want. She sighed. When she finally raised her head again to
meet Hyejin’s eyes, she could only hope that she didn’t look as vulnerable as she felt.

She tried to smile, ease the tension, but it was difficult. It was difficult to want someone
this badly and not know why, and difficult to feel this open and exposed, and difficult, maybe,
to pick apart the millions strings of different types of love that coursed through her like wind.

Hyejin looked at her for a long time before kissing her. “Taeyeon,” she sighed. “I wish I
knew what you were thinking.”

Taeyeon let her eyes fall to the floor. Her eyelashes felt wet. “I wish I knew, too.”

•••

Of the in-house composers at the label, he was not necessarily her favorite, but he was
easy to work with and readily available; when she had asked him to meet with her at the
studio, he had been willing to do it the next day, and he had even brought coffee.

“How’s the album coming along?” he asked, sitting and stretching his legs out on the
coffee table in front of them.
 “Not bad.” Because they were doing so much of the work themselves, Taeyeon found
she had become strangely reticent about discussing their progress. They were feeling their
way as they went along and it felt stressful to have the eyes of executives and artists who
knew better. No matter what happened, Taeyeon thought, this would be their project and no
one else’s.

“I heard you’re still tracking.”

“Mostly, and song selection,” she explained. “I think we want to write most of the
material on our own but we’re collecting a lot of demos in case we need backup, or can’t
come up with a title song.”

“We?” he repeated. “Oh, I was talking about your album, but it’s good to hear the group
album is going well.”

“Oh.” Taeyeon’s ears felt warm. “That. I’ve kind of shelved that indefinitely, I’m really
just focusing on the group album for now.”

“Well, there’s no reason you can’t work on both.”

“I guess,” she said uncomfortably. “But I’m not very motivated. I had a few months and
I only managed to finish one song.”

“But it’s a great song, one of the best I’ve heard all year. I mean, I heard it before it was
mastered, but—” His smile was so friendly, so effortless. Inwardly, Taeyeon tensed. She sat
up straighter.

“Thank you,” she said hurriedly. “That’s the song, actually, that I wanted to talk to you
about. Since I’m not going to use it for my album, I wanted you to help me work on a new
arrangement for it so I can give it to the group.”

He paused, blinking at her over his coffee cup. “You want to put that song on the group
album?”

“Yeah.”

“But why? It’s a great song. If you released it, it would top the charts for sure. It won’t
work for the group, it couldn’t possibly be promoted as a group—”

“I know, I think it would make good filler, though.”

“Filler? Taeyeon, come on.” His tone was scolding. “What are you even thinking? Don’t
you think about the future at all?”

“Of course I... do,” she said. He sighed impatiently. Taeyeon felt again admonished, for
what must have been the millionth time that day.
 “Look. It’s your decision, of course. But that song could catapult your solo career. Why
waste it on a group album when you could be kickstarting the next phase of your career? If
you ask me, that’s what you need to focus on at this point.”

Taeyeon looked at him carefully. He was nothing but a songwriter employed by the
company. He wasn’t a high-ranking executive. She wondered if there was any way he could
know about the label’s plans to dissolve the group after this album—her instinct told her
“no,” that it was a decision made and kept among the highest echelon of board members.

That was it, though. He was just a random songwriter with no real stake in her career,
or the group’s career, and yet even he felt that there was a next phase to move onto.

She exhaled briefly. “I get what you’re saying,” she said, straining to be polite, “but my
solo album isn’t something I can focus on right now.”

“It’s entirely your decision, of course,” he explained carefully. His tone had become
softer, gentler, as though he sensed her defensiveness. “It’s your life, Taeyeon. It’s your
career. I just—it’s something to think about, you know? The other girls are, aren’t they?”

Taeyeon laced her fingers together, set them tensely in her lap. “Are they?”

“Aren’t they? Juhyunnie released hers already, I heard Jessica’s working on one, I know
Yuri started production a couple months ago before she became too busy, and Tiffany, too—
”

“Still,” Taeyeon interrupted. “We want to release this group album next year, so—still—
that’s what we’re focusing on.”

He seemed like he could tell he had hit a nerve. “Okay,” he said softly, smiling. “I’ll help
you with the arrangement, if that’s what you want. Just—remember what I said.”

“Yeah,” said Taeyeon.

She thought it would be near impossible to forget.

•••

“Do you think it’s going to snow?”

The air stood still. Taeyeon breathed on the window, then watched her breath vanish
on the glass.

“Weather report said maybe. It feels cold enough to.”

“I think all of December will be cold. What are you doing for Christmas?”
 She turned and was startled by how close Tiffany was standing to her. The cold crept in
from the window and they had huddled together unconsciously. Taeyeon took a small step
back, trying to put a little space between them.

“Nothing.”

“Are you going home?”

“I can’t. I have a regular radio schedule, so it would be too much trouble to make the
trip home. What about you, are you going to visit your dad?”

Tiffany pursed her lips together. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Why? You don’t have any regular schedule, you could go.”

Tiffany looked at her, at the space between them. “Do you want hot cocoa?”

When she turned around to head into the kitchen, Taeyeon shivered. It was cold.

“Okay,” she said, following her once she had picked up a blanket from the couch. She
leaned against the doorframe and watched Tiffany put the water on to boil. She bit back a
joke about Tiffany’s ability to heat water being the extent of her culinary capability mostly
because her best friend seemed so suddenly preoccupied.

“Is there something wrong?” she pressed. “You don’t want to go home for the holiday?”

“I told you,” Tiffany said distractedly, looking for mugs. “This is home.”

“Okay, but still, your dad—”

“Since you’ll be in Seoul, I’ll be in Seoul.” The decisiveness in her tone gave Taeyeon
pause. She distracted herself by wrapping the blanket around her shivering shoulders. Was
it really that simple for her?

“You don’t have to,” she said at last, and when she looked up she found Tiffany in her
space again, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders.

She met her eyes. “I know. I want to.”

Taeyeon smiled. “Okay. You and me for Christmas.”

“Like old times.”

“Yeah.”
 “Unless—” Tiffany fiddled with the edges of her blanket. When she looked down her
eyelashes seemed so long, it was hard not to study them. “Unless you have, you know, plans.
Here. Don’t cancel them on my account.”

Taeyeon shrugged. “I don’t have plans.”

“Not with Hyejin?”

Taeyeon took a small step backwards. “I don’t think we would—I’m sure she has other
plans.”

“But are you two...” Tiffany trailed off, pressed her lips together tightly; Taeyeon
recognized it as the face she made when she couldn’t bring herself to say something.

She laughed lightly. Was that what all this was leading to? What was the point of beating
around the bush like that? “Why don’t you just ask? We’re not dating.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I don’t know how many times I need to say it.” She couldn’t read Tiffany’s
expression, so she continued. “And before you lecture me—I was open to it. I asked her. She
said no.”

“She said no?”

“Yes.” Taeyeon swallowed, smiled bitterly. “Why are you so surprised—I’ve been
rejected before.” She looked at Tiffany meaningfully, but Tiffany had gone back to the stove
and was studying the water in the pot, bubbles dotting the surface lazily.

“So you two are just—”

“Friends. Like I said, friends.”

“Friends who—I mean, she spent the night?”

“Huh? No. No, I invited her for breakfast.”

“Oh.”

“You thought she spent the night?”

“Well, I assumed, I mean...” She waved her hands around erratically, unable to explain,
and then turned to finish making the hot cocoa. Taeyeon watched her and tried to figure out
what conversation Tiffany wanted to have, and which one they were having. She waited.
Tiffany wasn’t like her. Tiffany couldn’t keep things inside for very long.
 “I think we should like, have rules. And stuff,” she said finally. She shook her hair out of
her eyes and carried both mugs of cocoa past Taeyeon and into the living room. “Like about
dating and, um, like, people staying over. And stuff.” She set the mugs on the table and sat
down on the couch.

Taeyeon joined her. “Well, what were yours and Jessica’s rules?”

“We didn’t have any.”

“Then, why do we need—” She flailed helplessly, attempting to extricate one arm from
the blanket cocoon she had wrapped herself in.

“Well, to be fair, Jessica’s been with the same person for like, a million years, and you
haven’t been with the same person for more than like, a week, so—oh my god, you big baby,”
she sighed impatiently, yanking Taeyeon’s arm out from the tangled blanket and shoving the
mug of hot cocoa into her now free hand, “what would you do without me?”

“I have no idea. What kind of rules? Don’t bring anyone home?”

“Well, or, you know, ask first—okay, maybe not ask, just give a heads up, or...”

Taeyeon shifted uncomfortably. She could think of about ten million other topics she
would rather discuss with Tiffany. “That’s okay, I don’t bring anyone home if I can avoid it
anyway—uh... what about you?”

“What about me? I’m not seeing anyone.”

“You’re the one who was all ‘TaeTae, I’m open to a relationship’ and all—”

“Yeah, but I’m not in one. I’m focusing on work right now.”

“What about that guy back in L.A.?”

“What guy back in L.A.?”

Taeyeon frowned deeply. “You said there was some guy back in Califor—”

“Oh, that. We—I mean—we live in different countries, so it’s not really...”

“But was it serious?” she pressed, holding her mug so tightly it began to shake in her
hand.

Tiffany shrugged. “Not really?”

“Are you still in touch?”

 “What’s with the interrogation? Yeah, we talk sometimes.”

Taeyeon set her cup down before she dropped it. She put her arms back into the blanket
and brought her knees up to her chest. The idea of Tiffany dating had, frankly, not occurred
to her. All she had thought about when moving in had been the difficulty of Tiffany’s constant
proximity—she hadn’t even considered the emotional stress of dealing with Tiffany dating
someone while they lived together. It had been bad enough years ago, when they dormed
together, but at least then there was a strict rule of no boys allowed in the dorm, so it had
never become a physical problem.

This was entirely different. Maybe it would be a good thing. Maybe if she saw Tiffany
with someone, it would help. Alternately, it could kill her. She hoped for the former. She
tightened an arm around her knees.

“Let’s just try not to bring anyone home. At all.” She hadn’t meant for her voice to sound
so weak, but it did.

Tiffany nodded. “That’s fine with me.”

That was that. She turned on the TV while Tiffany took the cups into the kitchen to
wash. She could feel a weight lifting but couldn’t place why. When Tiffany came back and
nudged in close to her, she wrapped the blanket around them both and turned off the lamp.
The light from the TV made a slideshow on the glass coffee table.

Tiffany held Taeyeon tight around the waist. Taeyeon wanted to turn the TV off and go
work on some music, but Tiffany’s breathing was even, relaxed.

She rested her head on Taeyeon’s shoulder. “Yoona was right.”

“She usually is,” Taeyeon replied sleepily, eyes glazed as she watched TV. “About what?”

“Hyejin. She’s really pretty.”

Taeyeon was not sure how to reply, so she murmured an agreement.

“Like, really pretty.”

“Yes.”

“And I think you really like her.”

She felt Tiffany shift, slide closer to her.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I do.”

“And I think she really cares about you.”

 “I think you really think too much,” she said with a hint of reproach, and drew an arm
around Tiffany’s shoulders, hoping to quiet her. For her part, Tiffany seemed to get the hint.

She thought she must have drifted off to sleep, because the next time she looked at the
clock, an hour had passed and there was mindless late night television on the screen. She
looked down, expecting Tiffany to be asleep, but she was watching the TV attentively, her
head against Taeyeon’s shoulder. Taeyeon stirred, trying to stretch.

“Should go to bed,” she mumbled, but her head was too filled with sleep to be sure she
had said it at all.

Tiffany’s voice was close; Taeyeon could feel her breath against her neck.

“Taeyeon.”

“Hmm.”

“You talk in your sleep.”

“That’s really not new information. Sorry. What did I say?”

Tiffany didn’t reply. Taeyeon thought it might be very bad for her back, but if Tiffany
wasn’t going to get up, she would fall asleep here. She tried to get comfortable, at least, sliding
down onto her back and bringing Tiffany with her.

“Taeyeon.”

“Hmm.”

“You asked me a question.”

“Did I?”

“You asked me if I think about the future.”

She opened her eyes. Tiffany was looking at her. Taeyeon’s mind was drowsy; in the
half-light of the moon-bathed room, the television flickering like lights along her features,
Tiffany was beautiful, but she was more than that. She was thoughtful. She was sad.

Taeyeon wet her lips. “Do you?”

“I don’t think I do,” Tiffany admitted. “Any more. Does that make sense?”

“Maybe.” Her mind was clouding.

 “I used to, all the time. When we debuted, I thought about the future a lot. You know?
Like, I could vividly imagine where we’d be in ten years. But.” She paused. Her voice was a
low whisper, hardly audible over the low hum of the TV.

“But what.”

“I don’t know. The future’s the present now, I guess. I mean next year will be ten years
since we debuted. And now I can’t think any further than—you know, next week, next month.
Maybe next year. That’s as far as I get. I don’t know what happens next. Does that make
sense?”

Taeyeon swallowed. She wondered if Tiffany could feel how fast her heart was beating.
She wondered if that was her heart at all, if it wasn’t Tiffany’s instead. She tightened her arm
around Tiffany’s shoulders.

“It makes sense. It’s the same for me.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“I just think—it used to be really easy to imagine what was going to happen next. And
now, like— what’s next? What’s the next phase? I try not to think about it, because I don’t
know.”

Taeyeon closed her eyes. The next phase. He was right, she guessed. It was something
they had to think about.

She had believed, once, with her whole heart, that this was something she could do for
the rest of her life. It had been so clear, then. She had expected age and time to bring only
more clarity, but instead it had become muddled. She wasn’t sure if she still believed that.
She really didn’t know what she believed.

Tiffany’s breathing was even. Taeyeon stretched her hand out toward the coffee table,
trying not to disturb her, her fingers groping blindly for the remote control to turn the TV
off. The room swallowed itself in darkness. She held her breath, wrapped the blanket around
them securely, tried to get comfortable, safe. There was only Tiffany’s breathing, the ticking
of the clock, the rustle of their clothes as Tiffany tightened her arms around Taeyeon’s waist,
pressed her nose to the collar of Taeyeon’s shirt, her cheek against Taeyeon’s shoulder.

“Taeyeon.” Her voice was thick with sleep.

“Hmm.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 She laughed; it was soft but it echoed in the quiet room. “Go to sleep.”

“I mean it,” she murmured, her words slurred. “When I try to think about the future... I
just see you.”

Taeyeon was silent. Tiffany yawned, mumbled.

“Like we promised, right?”

Taeyeon closed her eyes. She shivered; the cold had slipped in through the blanket.

“Right.”
 CHAPTER 13
Present: 2016

There was very little Taeyeon disliked more than third-rate equipment, and she found
that this was more true with the greater control she had over what she used. A lack of caffeine
and a few weeks of relentless doubt and unease seemingly exacerbated this fact. The
headphones scraped across the table as she picked them up and put them on again, re-
listening to the sample she had just recorded.

“I don’t like it,” she said to Juhyun for the tenth time that morning. “There’s something
about the bass, like the low-end frequencies are cut, but if I keep boosting them, then—”

“Unnie, I think it sounds fine now,” Juhyun said.

“Not with the headphones on, there’s no tone. I’m going to record it again, but I think
it’s this synthesizer, I think this synthesizer was created by the devil.”

“Maybe it’s just those headphones,” Yuri suggested from the couch in the corner, where
she had flopped down in exhaustion the minute Taeyeon had started complaining.

“Maybe, but if it sounds flat on all headphones, then what?” Working on bass was really
the last thing she needed to be doing with this headache. She rubbed her forehead, opening
up a new playlist on her laptop. “Okay, let’s put this one aside for now.”

Juhyun glanced up as the door opened and Taeyeon turned, nodding to Jessica and
Sooyoung as they came in.

“Hey, did you bring coffee?” she demanded.

Sooyoung rolled her eyes. “Yes, I got all thirty-seven of your texts.”

“I needed coffee,” she explained weakly, taking the cup Sooyoung handed her.

“I know, the seven-hundred and forty combined exclamation points made that pretty
clear.”

“Wow, you’re so good at math.”

 “Unnie’s a little grouchy,” Juhyun explained sadly, and as though Taeyeon could not
hear.

She felt Jessica put her hands on her shoulders and massage the back of her neck.
“What’s the matter, old lady.”

“Well, it’s Taengoo,” Sooyoung pointed out, also as if Taeyeon was deaf, “so it’s either
faulty equipment or Tiffany.”

“Or she hasn’t gotten laid.”

“Maybe it’s all three,” Yuri chipped in. “Taeyeon, is it all three?”

Taeyeon glowered. “I don’t like any of you.”

“It must be all three then.”

Jessica stroked her hair. “Where is Tiffany by the way?”

“She’s filming something, she’ll be here later,” Taeyeon mumbled around the rim of her
coffee. She fiddled uncomfortably with the headphones in her lap. “She’s been a little weird
lately.”

“How so?” Sooyoung asked.

“I don’t know. She’s been avoiding me for the past few weeks? I mean, we see each other
everyday, but she doesn’t seem to want to talk.”

“What a weird thing to complain about considering you never want to talk.”

“Sometimes I want to talk,” Taeyeon said defensively. “Anyway, it’s not that, it’s just—
her behavior is so hot and cold. One minute we’re really close, and then she’s pushing me
away.” She took a breath. A few years ago there was no way she would’ve shared her feelings
with them like this. It was difficult, though, feeling like you didn’t understand your best friend
in the world. The other members, at least, knew Tiffany as well as she did, so it couldn’t hurt
to talk to them about it.

Sooyoung paused for a long, thoughtful moment. “I actually think Fany has been really
weird ever since she came back from L.A.”

Taeyeon practically sighed in relief. “She has been, right? She’s been weird.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to talk about unnie when she’s not here,” Juhyun said somewhat
disapprovingly.
 “Get real, Juhyun, when are we going to talk about her, then—when she is here?”
Sooyoung said. “She’s been a little—different. I’m worried about her.”

“Well.” Jessica’s hands stilled against the back of Taeyeon’s neck before settling
comfortably on her shoulders. “I think the news about the group probably shook her up a
lot.”

“I think it shook us all up?” Sooyoung pointed out.

“Yeah, but Fany—I mean, her whole life is in this group.”

Taeyeon bit her tongue.

“Where do you think my whole life is?” Sooyoung shot back.

“Oh my god, you’re just picking fights all day,” Yuri complained, getting up to strangle
her.

“It’s not a competition,” Taeyeon murmured in reprimand. “I think we know that we all
love this group.”

“I think,” Jessica began delicately, “that since Tiffany came back, she’s been a little
clingy. And I thought about it, and it’s really the longest she’s been away from any of us. I
tried to put myself in her place, and figure out how I’d be if I spent three months away from
you guys.”

“You’re always clingy,” Yuri pointed out.

“I am, because you’re so cute.”

“I didn’t think she’d come back,” Taeyeon said suddenly, staring off into space. They
stopped and looked at her. “The longer she stayed there, the less likely I thought it was she’d
come back. After a month I thought, that’s it, she’s not coming back.”

“Maybe she thought she wouldn’t, either,” Juhyun said. Taeyeon was caught off-guard.

“Maybe.”

She thought about it. It was baffling. It wasn’t just that she was utterly, wholly, earth-
shatteringly in love with Tiffany, but Tiffany had also been her best friend for ten years. She
sometimes liked to pretend she knew Tiffany better than anyone else—wasn’t that the
privilege of the best friend title, after all. Yet, really, she found Tiffany’s mind nearly
impenetrable most of the time. So much of her was on the surface that anything underneath
became impossible to fathom.
 When she thought about it, really, she thought that maybe once upon a time a teenaged
girl had left her family behind to move to a different country, all on her own, and that it was
a risk, and would always be a risk. The rest of them had a safety net. Even she, Taeyeon, could
go home to Jeonju if the end came. Tiffany’s life was here, or it wasn’t. The group was her
safety net; she had built her entire life here.

Taeyeon closed her eyes. Jessica scratched gently at the base of her scalp.

No wonder Tiffany was so determined to hold onto her. How could she deny her? What
sort of best friend would she be if she didn’t protect her from that? She forgot, sometimes,
because Tiffany was stupidly strong and independent and smart—and maybe she was a little
biased—that Tiffany could need protection too.

She sighed. The girls were looking at her.

“We’ll have to figure out what to do.”

She studied them. She still had no idea where they stood, and she was terrified to ask.
She knew where Tiffany stood—Tiffany wanted the group to stay together, at all costs.
Tiffany had been the only one of them to come to her and explicitly say so. Taeyeon wasn’t
sure what to make of the apparent silence of the rest of the members. Did some of them think
the dissolution of the group was somehow for the best? Or were they like her, only silent
because it was too difficult to wrap her mind around, too complicated in scope to really know
what she wanted?

Because the truth was, there was a part of her that needed to be with them so badly she
didn’t know what she would do otherwise—that was the loudest part. But behind that, small
and soft with whispering hesitance, was a feeling she could only label relief. Maybe it would
be painful, but maybe letting go would mean freedom from the stress and the constant
headache and the burden of loving people too much. Maybe that would be the best thing.

She frowned and cleared her throat, effectively ending the conversation. She put the
headphones back on and replayed the bassline—despite her earlier assertion, she knew she
wouldn’t put it aside until she got it correct, got it perfect.

•••

“Sorry for making you come to Apgujeong on Christmas,” Jooyoung laughed as he held
the door open for her. “It’ll be quick, I hope the traffic isn’t too bad.”

“It’s no problem,” she assured him, “I can actually walk to my new apartment from
here.”

“Oh, that’s right, you moved in with Fany,” he said. “How’s that working out?”

“It’s... working.”
 “All right, I won’t pry. I’m just glad you’re living in an apartment with better security
now, I was so worried for you in your old place. Are those kids still following you around?”

“Yeah, of course. They don’t take a day off for Christmas.” She smiled wryly. “What’s
up?”

“Straight to business, right? Okay, well, I’m just the messenger, Taeyeon, remember
that. They thought it would make more sense coming from a manager you know and trust
than someone in the legal department who you’ve never met, right?”

Taeyeon’s stomach dropped. “W—what?”

She must have looked stunned because Jooyoung touched her shoulder gently, eyes
widening.

“Whoa, take it easy, Taeyeon. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made it sound so dramatic.
Come on, let’s sit down.”

Taeyeon’s mind raced as she took a seat. Being caught off-guard was up there on the
same list as third-rate equipment—there wasn’t much she hated more. Once again she had
to wonder who was aware of their current situation. She often thought of their managers as
trusted older brothers, some even close to father figures, and much on the same emotional
plane as she and the girls. The idea of any of them knowing, but keeping it from her, from
them, made her sick. It was business, sure, and they weren't saints; they had families to feed
and take care of and this was a job, plain and simple, to make money. Still, she didn't like to
think about it.

Jooyoung had fetched a bottle of water for her from his mini-fridge. He handed it over
wordlessly, looking contrite as he sat beside her on the couch. Taeyeon took a halfhearted
sip but capped the bottle almost immediately; anything in her stomach at this very moment
would make her sick.

“Sorry, that was dumb,” Jooyoung said at last, soft. He smiled. “I should’ve figured out a
better way to say it. Don’t worry. Take it easy.”

“Oppa—”

“It’s not anything big, Taeyeon, it’s just about that song you wrote.”

She rolled the water bottle anxiously between her palms. “All right?”

“Well, a lot of people—when I say people, I mean board members—think you should
keep that song for yourself. For your solo album.”

Board members? It was just a stupid pop song, she thought, her heart constricting.
“Oppa, I don’t want to release a solo album anytime soon.”
 “Taeyeon, I know you don’t. But—you know, that if they wanted you to, you’d be
contractually obligated to. I’m not saying anyone would make you do that, but you know that,
right?”

“Of course I know that.”

“So, while they could make you save that song for your solo album and then in turn they
could make you release one, they’re saying the choice is up to you. If you want to put it on
the group album, you can.”

“Then, if the choice is up to me, I don’t really understand the point of this conversation.
No offense.”

“None taken,” he laughed. Another smile. Open, friendly. “Again, I’m just the messenger,
Taeyeon. Their point is that the terms of your contract right now state that the song is
intellectual property of the label, and not you. So technically, they could do whatever they
wanted with that song, even though you’re the one who composed and wrote it. They could
give it to another group, if they wanted, or they could sell it. You know that, right?”

“Of course.” This wasn’t new information. She was more than well aware that all of the
songs she’d written over the past few years were owned 100% by the label. It hadn’t
bothered her too much in the past, really, because they had made her jump through so many
hoops just to get her material produced that every song felt like a victory. She had written
them under the tacit agreement that although the label did officially own them, they would
never have any reason to do anything with the songs without her permission. She knew
logically that this sort of agreement was far from legally binding, but she had never had to
worry about it in the past.

“Let me make sure I understand what you’re talking about here.” She kept her eyes on
her lap and hoped her voice didn’t shake. The thoughts made sense in her head, but it was
nerve-wracking to talk about something this serious, even with someone she trusted and
liked. “This is just, what, a simple reminder that they own everything I’ve ever had creative
input in and they’re not going to make me do anything—they’re just reminding me that they
could, if they wanted to?”

“Uh,” Jooyoung began but Taeyeon cut him off.

“That’s a little manipulative, don’t you think?”

“I told them you were too sharp,” Jooyoung said, grinning. “I said you don’t know
Taeyeon like I know Taeyeon, you don’t have a wool thick enough to pull over her eyes.”

“Thank you, I guess.”

“But that’s not really everything. It’s not really just a reminder, it’s an offer.”
 “An—offer?”

“Yes. They want to offer a contract revision that would give you ownership of the songs
you’ve written. Obviously something would be worked out with royalties, but the terms
would stipulate full ownership of your own songs.”

Taeyeon frowned. “And?”

“And? What do you mean?”

“Oppa, you know I have a low tolerance for duplicity.”

“You’re in the wrong business, Taeyeon.”

“So I’ve been told. They’re telling me they’re not going to make me do anything and
they’re just innocently offering a contract revision that gives me even more power? And the
rest of the girls?”

“What about the rest of the girls?”

“I’m not the only one who’s written songs over the years. Are they being offered the
same contract revision?”

“I have no idea. They only asked me to talk to you.”

Taeyeon closed her eyes, briefly. That meant “no”; she knew it. She had anticipated this,
somewhat—legal games. She hadn’t known it would start this early, though. She wasn’t sure
what to say.

“Taeyeon.” She opened her eyes. Jooyoung was looking at her gently. He bit his lip,
worrying it for a moment or two as though he was trying to decide whether to say something.
“I’m telling you everything I know. Oppa’s just the messenger, okay? You’ll get the contract
revision in the mail, I assume, and the smartest thing to do would be to have a lawyer look at
it, right? But can I offer my opinion?”

“Of course.”

“I think,” he bit his lip again and then released it along with a beleaguered exhale, “they
probably think of you as a very safe investment. I think they’re probably willing to grant a lot
of concessions in exchange for your loyalty.”

“But what about everyone else?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, and then: “But remember, you’re an individual,
Taeyeon. You’re allowed to think of yourself.”
 “Right.” She felt dizzy. The inside of her head buzzed.

“Well.” Jooyoung checked his watch. “I’m going to go home. You should do the same.
Okay?” They stood. He put an awkward arm around her shoulders. “Merry Christmas,
Taengoo.”

“Thanks, oppa.”

•••

It seemed later than it really was when she emerged from the building; clouds had
covered the sky and were threatening rain, maybe snow. It felt cold enough for the latter,
Taeyeon thought, tightening her coat. She pulled her hat down, too. The streets were
crowded. The people usually chained to desks at midday found the cold and open air bright
and clear, even with the threatening clouds overhead.

She knew they were following her. They weren’t directly behind her, or anything, not
on her heels like sometimes. But she could feel eyes on the back of her neck, the practiced
precision of low-profile watching. She could feel, rather than hear, the click of cell phone
cameras. Their hushed mumbling did not reach her ears but it buzzed around her like a
swarm of insects, as indistinct as it was damning.

They stopped when she stopped, followed her into the coffee shop, stood behind her on
line as she ordered. Some of them ordered, too. She checked her phone. Tiffany had left
church. She texted “On my way home” and then pocketed her phone, turning.

“You should be wearing a scarf,” she said critically. “It’s cold out.”

“I will, next time, unnie.”

She felt oddly safe, surrounded by people brushing past them for their coffee orders,
jostling them slightly with bags or elbows. It was a weird sort of security that made her brave;
on most days, she hated them, they were nuisances. Today, she felt sorry for them.

She stepped toward the warmth of the counter, tapping her fingers on its edge. “It’s a
holiday. You kids should be with your families.”

“It’s okay,” one of them said, “since it’s a day like any other.”

“It’s not,” Taeyeon disagreed. “Even if you don’t celebrate it, isn’t it a day off? If I didn’t
have to work, I’d be with my family.”

“But you’ll be with Tiffany unnie,” the same girl pointed out. “Isn’t that almost the
same?”
 “That,” Taeyeon began, and then could think of no way to finish. She fell into a frustrated
silence, not sure if she was more angry that they knew who she was spending her Christmas
with, or that they felt entitled to anticipate her feelings toward it. Now it felt like they were
closing in. She shouldn’t have spoken to them, or validated them, or acknowledged them. She
should have told the barista she was a Girls’ Generation member; maybe they would hurry
up her order.

“Look—you—” She frowned deeply, bitterly. “Do you know you’re following around a
dead-end?”

They shook their heads. They protested.

“You are. In five years, I won’t even be relevant anymore. Maybe even a year from now.
Do you ever think about that? One day I’ll be all washed-up, and you’ll have wasted your time.
What will you even have to show for it?”

She wasn’t sure why she was talking to them. They were crazy. Anyone who would talk
to them, willingly talk to them, was crazy too.

“I think unnie will always be relevant.”

“No, I won’t,” she shot back, soft, dangerous. “In ten years, I’ll be worthless. No one will
even remember my name.”

“Except me,” the girl returned, and they all agreed. “Except us. We’ll remember. And in
ten years, we’ll remember the time you spoke to us in a coffee shop.”

Her coffee order was rattled off, then, and the cup dropped by her fingers on the
counter. She picked it up and looked down at the floor, willing her feet to move off and
disengage.

“Then you’ll be worthless, too,” she told them on her way out.

•••

She had spent countless Christmases with Tiffany, to the point where it was difficult for
her to remember how she had celebrated it before. Tiffany was excitable about Christmas,
the way she was excitable about most things. There were a lot of weird western customs
Taeyeon didn’t completely understand but felt must have been important, because Tiffany
was so adamant about them. A lot of this had to do with western food that never really did
very well in Taeyeon’s stomach, so they had made a lot of compromises over the years.

One was that in exchange for allowing Taeyeon to eat Korean food, Tiffany was allowed
to decorate her stupid Christmas tree as stupidly as she wanted, which was exactly what she
was doing when Taeyeon came home.
 “Merry Christmas,” Tiffany said, not looking up from the tree she was diligently draping
in ribbon.

“It’s going to rain,” Taeyeon replied.

“Merry Christmas, I guess,” Tiffany said again, wryly, and Taeyeon laughed.

The japchae she had made wasn’t nearly as good as her mother’s, but she thought it was
okay, and even Tiffany, who was quiet during most of dinner, gave it a thumbs up. Taeyeon
thought about calling her mother, briefly, and then tried to think of the last time she’d seen
her, and when she’d see her again. She wondered, too, if she would have even gone back to
Jeonju if her schedule had permitted it. Maybe not. Maybe it would be too hard to come back.

She had heard Tiffany, earlier, on the phone with her father, and her tone had been too
low for Taeyeon to decipher any words, even if she had wanted to. Still, it had made her pause
in her dishwashing, shut the water off for a moment so she could hear the dull, comfortable
hum. The way Tiffany called home had always been different from the way she, Taeyeon,
called home. She had felt that way since she was a teenager. Their closeness, she thought,
had come from their shared experience of being so far away from home and having no one
else to rely on, but they had never approached it in the same way. When she called home,
Taeyeon always thought she sounded desperate, longing—a tepid attempt at sounding
reserved, maybe, in an effort to not upset her mother, but still—her voice would shake and
words would hang in the air.

Tiffany always sounded resolute when she called home, like she had practiced the
words in her head beforehand, and she rattled them off like a monologue. Tiffany had a way
of forcing cheerfulness so convincingly that maybe even she didn’t realize it was forced. They
both faked it, Taeyeon thought, but she faked it to convince her mother she was okay, and
Tiffany faked it to convince herself she was okay.

She glanced at Tiffany, next to her on the couch. They were watching a Christmas movie.
It was difficult to follow the plot, partly because it was dubbed in Korean and the mismatch
of lips and words always distracted her, mostly because she was sitting next to Tiffany and
the air felt thick and heavy with unease.

“Fany.”

Tiffany had been watching the movie with a serious frown as though it were a legal
proceeding, but she flicked her eyes briefly toward Taeyeon before glancing back at the TV.

“What’s up.”

She looked at her carefully. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands
and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Are we okay?”
 Tiffany turned to her and smiled. Her eyes disappeared. That was a cool trick, Taeyeon
thought; it hid how sad her eyes looked sometimes.

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“You tell me.”

Tiffany spent a long time looking at her. She smiled again, briefly.

“We’ll always be okay, you and me.”

Her hand found Taeyeon’s, pulled it out of her lap, and she hooked their pinkies
together. Tiffany turned back to the movie, and their hands fell between them, linked.
Taeyeon looked at the space between them, her smallest finger curled under Tiffany’s. Her
grip slackened; Tiffany’s tightened. The skin turned white from pressure. The rain picked up,
beat against the windows so loudly it drowned out the TV.

Taeyeon wet her lips. Tiffany reached for the remote to turn the volume up.

“I’m scared,” Taeyeon told her.

Tiffany didn’t reply; her gaze remained focused on the TV, but Taeyeon watched her
draw her lower lip between her teeth, lower her eyes. Her thumb hesitated above the volume
button. For some reason, Taeyeon held her breath, as though this was the first time she was
seeing Tiffany since she came back to Seoul. She had looked at her a million times, by now,
at least. Had to be. She had never noticed how much her hair had grown out, though, how it
fell heavy and brooding over her forehead, swept behind her ear. There was a new helix
piercing in her right ear. Her shoulders looked narrower, tenser. They were little things, but
she wasn’t sure how she could not have noticed. She spent so much time looking at Tiffany,
running her image over in her mind, memorizing every inch of her.

Maybe that was it. She had memorized Tiffany so expertly she didn’t need to look at her
to see her. How old was the image of Tiffany in her mind’s eye?

The volume lowered. Tiffany set the remote aside and turned, smiling at Taeyeon.
“Scared of what?” she asked lightly. “Of the rain?” Her tone was teasing but her smile was
painted on.

“No,” Taeyeon said simply. She felt Tiffany’s hand slip away from hers and she grabbed
it tightly, pinning it to the couch. “Of letting you down.”

“Me?”

“Of—all of you,” she said. She averted her eyes.

 If she had been expecting Tiffany to subdue her worries, she would have been left
disappointed, but as it was, she wasn’t sure what she had expected. She didn’t want false
reassurances or wide-eyed confidence in her abilities. She just wanted her to know.

Tiffany nodded, looking at her lap. “Aren’t there nine people in this group?” she asked.

“Yes.” She pressed Tiffany’s hand to the couch cushion, curled her fingers around it.
“But—everybody’s looking at me. Everybody—everybody wants something from me. You
guys can say we’re in this together, but you keep looking at me.” She pressed her palm tight
against the top of Tiffany’s hand, locked their fingers together. “You want me to be a hero. I
can’t be that.”

Tiffany’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. She shook her head. “No. No, I just want
you to be Taeyeon.”

“And who’s that,” Taeyeon asked flatly.

“My best friend,” Tiffany shot back. “A little stupid and a little selfish and stubbornly
obsessed with doing the right thing. No one is asking you to save the group, Taeyeon, we’re
just asking you to care.”

“I care,” Taeyeon said. “You have no idea how much I care.”

Tiffany shrugged. “Then,” she said, “you won’t let us down.”

With an exhale, Taeyeon released Tiffany’s hand. It didn’t make her feel any better; in
fact, Tiffany’s faith in her only left her more scared.

Like most Christmases, they spent it together, quiet and reflective, and Taeyeon fell
asleep early, curled on the couch. When she awoke later, the room was dark except for the
tree lights. Tiffany had covered her with a blanket. Like most Christmases, she woke up alone
and felt like she had missed something.
 CHAPTER 14
Past: 2008

In the dark, Taeyeon invents.

There’s a small sliver of light stealing out from underneath the curtains and Taeyeon
follows it. There’s a streetlamp right outside the window and it’s searingly bright; whenever
Taeyeon stays over, it creates spots behind her eyes, even when the curtains are drawn. She
sits near it now, beneath the window, and slides the curtain aside to look out.

It’s three in the morning. The streets are still wet. She thinks about leaving, because the
rain has stopped, but the first thought she conjures up of the dorm makes her insides tense,
cold. She looks for her clothes anyway.

In the bed, Unnie stirs.

Taeyeon is looking for her clothes. It’s too dark to see properly.

“Are you leaving,” Unnie mumbles from the bed and Taeyeon pauses. Maybe not.

“Maybe not,” she says.

“Come stay. Do you have any schedules in the morning?”

“No.”

“Me either. Come back to bed.”

She doesn’t need to be convinced; she only needs to be asked. Her eyes adjust to the
dark. She presses against Unnie’s back, puts her lips to the spot between her shoulder blades.
Every time she sees her, she falls more in love. Or, it could be love—she thinks it could be
love, although it’s different, so maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s that her unnie is an idol, too, and
understands the fear and the burden, or maybe it’s just the flimsy euphoria of dating
someone smart and pretty, but she feels sick in love, sometimes so passionately that she can’t
help herself. It always feels like love, usually, until she goes back to the dorm and thinks
otherwise, puts the two feelings together side-by-side and realizes one cannot compare to
the other.
 It feels a little dishonest, sometimes, to make love to one person and think about
another. It isn’t that she’s pretending Unnie is someone else, or thinking about her purposely,
or anything, really, it’s just that she is hard to remove from Taeyeon’s mind. She tends to
linger there, behind her eyes, like the spots from the bright lights. Sometimes the name
comes to her lips, Tiffany, but she doesn’t ever say it aloud, only silently, and the wet mouth
open beneath hers swallows it without knowing.

Unnie has said it, I love you, a lot of times, actually. She signs all her texts with it and
ends all phone calls with it and mumbles it breathless at the touch of Taeyeon’s hand and she
doesn’t seem bothered by Taeyeon’s inability to say it back. Taeyeon is a physical person,
she says, not a verbal person, and actions speak louder than words. What that means,
Taeyeon doesn’t know; she is sometimes wracked with ardor beyond words, the need to be
close, feel another heart race besides her own. That’s just how she is. She craves physical
contact as much as it makes her uncomfortable.

“Unnie,” she murmurs into her shoulder, trying to hold her tighter even though it’s
physically impossible. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think it’ll get tiring eventually?”

“What will?”

Taeyeon yawns and kisses the nape of her neck. “I don’t know.” She’s not sure why she
brought it up. “This whole thing. This job, I guess, maybe.”

“By the time it gets tiring, it’ll probably be over,” Unnie says. “This isn’t a job many
people do forever.”

“That’s true.”

“I won’t do this when I’m forty.”

“What’ll you do then?”

Unnie is quiet. When Taeyeon runs a hand down her arm, she feels goosebumps rising
against the pads of her fingers.

“Move to the country and die,” she says finally. “Just live there until I die.”

“With me?” Taeyeon asks sleepily. She receives a laugh in response.

“Sure. Would you like to come with me?”

 “Yeah.” They have been dating for just over five months. At five months, there are no
delusions of longevity or ten years from now, or even ten months. Still, she feels obliged.

“Okay. We’ll both retire and move to the country.”

“That’d be nice. Maybe we could be ourselves.”

Unnie laughs again. “Maybe we’ll know who we are, by then.”

Taeyeon thinks that maybe that’s true, that you really can’t know who you are until
you’re finished being an idol. There’s no use trying to figure yourself out at this stage, because
you can only be one thing when you’re an idol, she thinks. A fraud, she thinks. Maybe it was
like that for real people, too, for non-idols.

Maybe first you figured out who you were, then you became that person.

Taeyeon slips out of bed when dawn first starts to break on the horizon; she feels it
before she sees it, poking its head up through the hastily-drawn curtains. She dresses and
kisses the sleeping mouth goodbye.

In the air, Taeyeon breathes.

When her feet hit the pavement, it’s still dark, and the sunlight is only rousing itself
lazily. She can see well but feels covered in shadow. When she ducks into a convenience store
and buys hobbang from a sleepy-looking cashier, she catches the kids standing outside the
store and looking in.

They follow her home.

It makes the hair on her arms stand up in agitation and fear, but they’re harmless, she
thinks. There are more dangerous fans who show up at the dorms sometimes, fans who
approach them and try to get in sometimes, so in comparison, these kids are harmless. They
have seen her go back and forth between Unnie’s place and the dorm over and over, and
Taeyeon suspects they’ve connected the dots, but she’s only a little worried. Keeping her
secrets makes them feel closer to her, so maybe that’s okay.

It’s weird, sort of, for a group of fans who stalk her to know something about her that
most of her members don’t even know, but maybe it’s appropriate. They make her
uncomfortable, but she smiles tightly at them before slipping into the building; it’s a relief,
somehow, having people out there who know, but who won’t talk to her about it.

In the dorm, Taeyeon imagines.

She can picture and count the moments all of their heartbeats slow, their breathing
deepens, and they fall asleep. Sooyoung, half on Taeyeon’s bed and half on her own, head flat
on the mattress and her long body wrapped around a pillow, mumbles something, drifts in
and out of sleep. Her hand flexes outward as Taeyeon walks by, reaches for her; she takes
the hand for a second, sets it down.

Sunkyu has fallen asleep on her stomach, one hand stretched toward her laptop, which
has gone to screensaver. Taeyeon shuts it down and stores it under the bed. Yuri mumbles
something as she walks past.

Jessica has fallen asleep reading. Hyoyeon is sleeping on her side. Juhyun’s glasses are
placed on top of the neat stack of homework on the nightstand.

Miyoung, pretty Miyoung, has half her limbs on the bed, half off. An arm, a leg, both
hanging preciously off of the bed, the thin pink sheets tangled around the other half of her
body. She wears shorts to bed; the window is open and Taeyeon imagines the skin of her leg
is smooth and cold, warmer the higher up you went, sweet and hot between her thighs. She
imagines. She wants to tug the sheet over the rest of her, fix the loose t-shirt around the collar
where it’s gone askew, where the skin of her shoulder lies bare.

She thinks that if she goes over and touches a little, she will be unable to stop touching.

She thinks that if she climbs into bed with her, she won’t be able to sleep, but it won’t
matter—at least she’ll feel rested.

There’s a soft click in the front hall and she hurriedly closes the door to Tiffany and
Juhyun’s room, turning and padding toward the front door.

“Hello,” she greets, leaning against the wall.

“Unnie.” Yoona sounds more tired than she looks. Taeyeon wonders how she manages
that. “What are you doing up still?”

Taeyeon purses her lips quietly. She doesn’t want to tell Yoona she only just came home.
A wave of guilt settles around her shoulders as Yoona smiles at her, clear and youthful.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

“Hmm,” Taeyeon acknowledges. It isn’t a lie. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Yoona says brightly, pulling off her shoes. As she drops them on the floor, she
smiles, sheepish, as though the compulsion to be honest has made her feel guilty. “I’ve had a
headache, all day, really,” she admits.

Taeyeon frowns. “Did you eat?”

“I told you I ate, unnie.”

“Have you been drinking water?” she demands.

 “Yeah. Have you?”

Taeyeon pauses, chuckles. Then, “No. Not really.”

Yoona’s gaze sweeps over her and she releases a long sigh. Disappointed, maybe. Maybe
it’s frustrating to have an unnie who demands you take care of yourself, but refuses to do the
same. She bites her lip. “I’m going to shower,” she says, soft, with a hint of reproach.

After, Taeyeon sits next to her on the bed and rubs her temples for her; she watches her
fall asleep, her eyes flutter closed, and makes sure her alarm is set for a few hours later. Come
home at dawn and leave home at dawn, Taeyeon thinks, and feels guilty all over again. Not
just to Yoona, but to all of them. She feels so sorry she could cry.

•••

They date for eight months, and Unnie cheats on her, Taeyeon suspects, for just as long.
By the time she figures it out, she assumes it was probably going on the entire time, but she
is too drained to care. It’s exhausting—her job, keeping her relationship secret, and mostly,
the burden of constantly stressing over whether she’s doing the right thing.

She has been physically faithful but emotionally unfaithful for eight months. It’s hard to
be too angry.

It still hurts, though, and it’s hardly the best thing for her ego. The other girls give her a
wide berth; they don’t know why she’s upset, just that it’s best to steer clear of her when
she’s moody.

No one has ever given Tiffany this memo, though, or Tiffany just feels it doesn’t apply
to her because she’s clingy, overbearing, hovering over Taeyeon backstage in the waiting
room, wringing her hands and making simpering, pitiful Taeyeonnie are you okay sort of
noises.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she keeps asking, but Taeyeon just wants to work, get
this stupid album finished so that they can be onstage again. The feeling of limbo is worse
than anything, and looking at Tiffany, thinking about Tiffany, everything about Tiffany just
makes it worse.

She is hurt and a little angry, but mostly she feels guilty. She knows it isn’t her fault, and
that people who cheat are people who cheat no matter what, but when she closes her eyes
she sees the careful, hesitant way Unnie would look at her, sometimes, like she knew
something but didn’t want to know it. How sometimes she would ask about the members,
but she would ask about Tiffany separately, like she was waiting for a reaction, or a
confession. She thinks about it and feels guilty. Guilt is a powerful force, lately; she feels like
she’s running on it.
 When they’re home, Tiffany pulls Taeyeon into her arms and squeezes her. It’s the first
real hug she’s had in a long time, the first hug where she doesn’t attempt to put a foot of
physical or emotional distance between herself and another warm body. She clings to Tiffany
and cries without meaning to, just like she had two, three years ago, and she feels even
stupider because she’s older now and she knew what she was getting into, and she feels even
worse because she knows there’s nothing to cry over, that she hadn’t loved her anyway, that
it had been eight months of attempting to transfer her feelings to someone else and being
unable to.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffs, knowing she’s soaked the shoulder of Tiffany’s t-shirt, and she
tries to let go but she can’t. I need her, she thinks, and it’s comforting and alienating all at
once.

“Don’t be sorry,” Tiffany says softly.

“I’m fine,” Taeyeon mumbles, clutching her. “Really, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’re crying.” Tiffany’s voice is low, soft against her ear. “It’s okay.
You can cry in front of me.”

It builds heavily in her chest, this feeling, this guilty feeling, this guilty and inescapable
feeling. She thinks that no matter how hard she tries to get away from it, it catches up to her
every time, slams hard against her and leaves her breathless, that maybe it was a stupid
crush once, and maybe it should have never happened, but she is painfully and powerfully in
love with Tiffany and no amount of running will let her escape.

She tries to pull away, but she’s locked into position.

She hiccups and rubs her eye and feels stupid, like a dumb kid. When she looks at
Tiffany, she’s heartbreakingly pretty—she’s gentle and understanding and her eyes are a
place Taeyeon feels safe. The room is swathed in darkness but she can make out Tiffany’s
features; she’s memorized them. She knows the place between her nose and upper lip by
heart, she could sketch the fullness of her lower lip from memory and she runs her thumb
over it, reverently, feels Tiffany’s cheek lean into her palm.

In the dark of the room, Taeyeon comes apart. She shakes, she closes her eyes, she
kisses Tiffany.

She kisses her with her mouth, with her sadness and guilt; she sucks in their shared
breath and her mouth trembles as it covers Tiffany’s, as her lips ghost hesitantly along her
lips before pressing harder. She presses against her, needy, and prods Tiffany’s lips open
with her tongue and Tiffany leans in, presses back—she kisses her back.

Taeyeon will remember it for years, she will turn it over in her mind over and over until
it turns her inside out—that Tiffany kisses her back.
 She pulls away. Tiffany’s lips are wet, glistening, and she opens her eyes drowsily,
smiles, apprehensive, lethargic. Her expression terrifies Taeyeon because she isn’t surprised.
She’s concerned.

“What was that for?” Tiffany asks, softly.

She swallows around a painful lump in her throat, almost chokes on it.

“Tiffany,” she breathes. “I love you.”

Tiffany’s eyes dart away anxiously before they meet hers once again and she smiles
again, with a charming sort of hesitance that makes Taeyeon feel like she could die.

“I love you too,” Tiffany says off-handedly, and moves a hand to brush Taeyeon’s hair
out of her eyes but Taeyeon grasps it in her own, holds it to her. She feels as though she’s
moved outside of her own body, like she’s dreaming while knowing it’s a dream, testing the
limits of her imagination.

“No—I—”

Taeyeon wets her lips.

“No. I mean, I’m in love with you, Tiffany. Miyoung. Tiffany. I lo—”

Tiffany’s smile falters. “Taeyeon,” she says gently, but it’s like a reprimand. Like she’s
said something obscene and she’s being politely admonished. She shakes her head. “Taeyeon,
no.”

“I’m sorry,” Taeyeon says weakly. “I’ve tried not to. I really have. Miyoung—”

“You’re confused,” Tiffany says softly. She squeezes her hand. Her eyes are filled with
something that Taeyeon cannot place but makes her sick. “You’re—you’re my best friend,
TaeTae.”

“I’m not confused,” she says, hoarse. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever been sure of. I...” She
feels like crying again. Tiffany looks sad, guilty. She’s ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, looking down.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Tiffany says, carefully, like she might break. “But I
can’t—I mean I don’t... feel that way. Taeyeon.”

She’s not sure what she looks like at that moment when her heart breaks, but maybe
it’s terrible, it must be awful, because Tiffany suddenly looks at her with so much pity and
contriteness it knocks the air out of her lungs. She takes her hand away, lets it fall to her lap.
She hides her face. Tiffany is the only person she has let see her cry in years, and suddenly
she feels she can’t let her see it.

“Taeyeon, I’m sorry,” Tiffany begins, but Taeyeon waves her off.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says, lifeless, and walks out of the room.

•••

Present: 2017

Her arm was asleep and her head was aching. The ear-splitting strains of a little-known
‘80s synthpop song forced her eyes open and it was nearly a full minute before she
recognized it as her ringtone. She twisted her upper body off of the bed and her lower body
tumbled right after, landing in a heap of limbs on the floor. Hurriedly, she found her jeans,
although any hope of making a quiet unseen exit was trashed to hell at this point.

Taeyeon bit her lip at the name on the display screen and answered reflexively.

“Hello?” she whispered. Out of the corner of her eye, a head lifted from the bed and
blinked blearily at her. She smiled in apology.

“Hey!” Tiffany yelled. “Where are you?”

“Uh.” Taeyeon kept her voice low. “Out?”

A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand confirmed that it was just after nine in the
morning.

“Where? I was so worried when you didn’t come home last night. Didn’t you get my
texts?”

Taeyeon paused. “I was busy.”

“Oh. Why are you whispering?”

“Um.” She looked awkwardly at the girl, now fully awake, and smiled, embarrassed.

Tiffany was silent for a moment. “Oh, are you with someone?”

“Yes.”
 “Oh.” Her tone instinctively dropped lower, too, although she wasn’t in the room.
“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, uh, did you need something?”

“No, I just wanted to know if you were okay, and if you wanted to get breakfast with
me. But I guess you’re... busy.” Her tone was stiff and hard to read, but Taeyeon imagined she
was embarrassed.

“Yeah, a little.”

“Sorry to bother you,” Tiffany said in that same stiff tone, and then, more cheerfully:
“See you later, okay?” She hung up before Taeyeon could reply.

Taeyeon looked down at her phone and then smiled weakly at whoever that was in bed.
She assumed they had a name. “Sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay,” the girl mumbled sleepily. She closed her eyes. “Aren’t you cold? Come back
to bed.”

It was tempting, but there was really no going back to bed when Tiffany’s voice was
ringing in her ears like that, to sleep or otherwise. She sighed. “Sorry, I have to get going.”

The girl laughed, burying her face in the pillow. “I forgot, you’re a super cool important
idol,” she said, as if that wasn’t the entire reason she had found Taeyeon interesting enough
to bring home. It was a little mocking, but affectionate.

“I guess so,” Taeyeon said, getting dressed.

One eye opened to look at her. “You’re prettier in real life, you know,” she yawned.

Taeyeon laughed. “Thank you.”

“You probably get that a lot.”

“I guess.”

“Prettier, but sadder.”

Taeyeon paused. She pulled on her shirt. “Yeah?”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I bet you get a lot of girls with that whole—” She
yawned—“tortured, suffering artist stuff—right?”

“No comment.”
 “I used to like your group when I was in high school,” she murmured into her pillow. “I
thought you seemed melancholy back then but it’s more intense in person.”

Taeyeon knelt by the bed, put her chin on the mattress, and blinked at her. The girl
stroked her hair.

“It’s cute, though.”

She snorted. “Thanks.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Taeyeon blinked slowly at her. So many people who wanted permission to ask her
questions.

“No, I haven’t had plastic surgery,” she joked lightly.

The girl smiled and ran her finger down the line of Taeyeon’s nose.

“Are you very sad? Or do you just look that way?”

Taeyeon smiled. “Maybe everyone’s a little sad and my face just doesn’t hide it
properly.”

“Maybe.”

“Was I your favorite?”

“Huh?”

“In high school.”

“Oh.” The girl closed her eyes, yawned. “Nope. I liked one of the tall ones.”

“Aww.”

“You’re my favorite now,” she replied with a sleepy, flirtatious grin. “Are you sure you
don’t want to come back to bed?”

“Can’t.” She stood. “Thanks. I had fun.”

There was a mirror above the dresser. Taeyeon peeked into it and ran her fingers
through her hair, attempting to comb it into something presentable. She took a moment to
look at herself a bit longer. She thought maybe she looked a little tired, but she had looked
that way for years.
 “Lock the door on your way out.”

“Sure.”

“It’s okay to be sad, unnie. It’s worse to pretend you aren’t.”

“Thanks,” Taeyeon said, and smiled, whether it could be seen or not.

•••

When she came home Tiffany was on the couch, working on her laptop. Her ears were
plugged and the music blared out from it like a muted, static rebuke. She didn’t look up when
Taeyeon came in, but Taeyeon could hear the music lower considerably.

“I brought you coffee.”

Tiffany didn’t lift her eyes from her laptop screen. “I had coffee already.”

“Okay. Did you have breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

She stood quietly, looking down at Tiffany’s face, feeling her stomach twist anxiously.

At last, Tiffany looked up, yanking the earphones out of her ears. “What do you want?”

Taeyeon frowned. “What am I in trouble for?” she asked softly.

Tiffany swallowed and looked away. She looked at her lap. “Nothing. I’m sorry I
interrupted your... whatever. I’m just a little—you know. It’s awkward, I didn’t expect you to
be—with someone, I guess—I mean, you didn’t answer my texts after you ditched me last
night, so—”

“Wait, hold on, I didn’t ditch you.” Taeyeon frowned. She knew there couldn’t have been
gaps in her memory; although they were at a club the previous night in a half-hearted
celebration of the solar New Year, she hadn’t had a drop to drink. “I specifically recall asking
if you minded me going home with—” She broke off feebly, not willing to admit that she
didn’t really know the name of the girl she’d gone home with. Tiffany rolled her eyes
knowingly.

“Fine. You’re right.”

 Inhale. Count to ten. Exhale. Taeyeon flexed her fingers at her sides. There was no
energy left in her body anymore; the fight was gone. She looked down at Tiffany, exhausted,
sad.

“I don’t get it,” she said softly. “I don’t know what you want from me. I did everything
right, didn’t I? I didn’t bring her home. I followed the rules. Why am I the bad guy here?”

Tiffany shrugged, sullen. “I just didn’t realize you’d be out the whole night. I mean,
Taeyeon, you don’t even know her name, but you went home with her, she could have been
some like, deranged stalker who wanted to chop you up into pieces, or like—”

“I’m going to be twenty-eight years old,” Taeyeon pointed out. She didn’t raise her voice.
It wasn’t an argument. She was too tired for this. “I can take care of myself. I’m—I mean, it’s
none of your business.”

Tiffany stood abruptly and tried to push past her. “Yeah, you’re right. Your life is none
of my business.”

“That’s not what I said,” Taeyeon protested softly. She grabbed Tiffany’s elbow, pulled
her back. She looked into her eyes. She loved her very much, but she was tired of being hurt.
It was exhausting.

“I’m sorry for being worried,” Tiffany said sourly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Tiffany.” Taeyeon closed her eyes. “What do you want from me,” she pleaded. “What
do you want? You don’t want me, right, because you’ve made that pretty clear, but you also
don’t seem to want me with anyone else. I mean, you say you do, and then the second you
don’t have my undivided, devoted attention, you can’t handle it. What do you want me to do?
I can’t go back and forth with you forever, I’m only human.”

Tiffany looked at her, stricken. Taeyeon knew her own anger was justified and yet,
seeing that look on Tiffany’s face broke her heart. She didn’t want to hurt her. She loosened
her grip and Tiffany retreated within herself, wrapping her arms tightly across her chest and
stepping backward. Taeyeon gazed at her.

They locked eyes for a brief moment and then Tiffany looked at the floor. She shrugged
stiffly.

“Don’t look at me like that, Taeyeon, I don’t know what you want from me either.”

“You do,” Taeyeon pressed, quiet. “You know what I want. What I’ve always wanted.
You know.”

Tiffany shook her head, refusing to meet her gaze.

 “You’re not my girlfriend,” Taeyeon told her evenly. “You can’t act like you own me
when you don’t even want me, when all I’ve wanted for the past ten years of my life is you,
and you don’t even—” Her throat closed up. “I can’t get over you unless you let me go, a little.”

Tiffany looked at her. Her eyes were like memories. Taeyeon felt fifteen years old every
time she looked into them and she didn’t want it anymore. It was an awful, sickening feeling,
like falling. Helpless as a teenager.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Tiffany said, so quietly Taeyeon wasn’t sure she hadn’t just
imagined breathing into words. Her stomach fell.

“You’re not going to lose me.” Tiffany shook her head but Taeyeon pressed on, seizing
her by the wrist. “Even if you push me away, there’s nowhere I can go.”

“That’s not what I mean. You don’t get it.”

She released Tiffany’s arm roughly and shook her head. “No, I don’t. You—you figure it
out, okay?” She ran a hand through her hair, combed through her bangs, felt her temple throb
beneath her fingertips. “You figure it out. I’ll be back when I can stand to see you again.”

She didn’t look back when she walked out the door. Endlessly, she hoped to be released,
but the further she walked away, the more she felt the rope tighten.
 CHAPTER 15
Present: 2017

The walls swam and the floor dodged her eyes. The palm of Taeyeon’s hand had gone
numb from the steady, rhythmic thumping she had treated the door to. On strike twenty-
three—she had counted—the door fell away and she leaned against the doorjamb unsteadily.

“Sica,” she said, hopefully articulate.

“Taengoo?” Jessica grabbed her arm and held her steady, pulling her into the apartment.
“Are you okay?”

“I am not,” Taeyeon admitted, stumbling in after her and tripping out of her shoes. “I
am fantastically, ridiculously drunk.”

“That’s pretty obvious,” Jessica said, holding her tightly. Taeyeon wished she could see
her properly but there had been a lot of wine and she had maybe lost a contact in the cab on
the way over. Or both contacts? Had she worn contacts? Had she lost her glasses—

“Taeyeon?”

“Hmm?” She felt Jessica hoist her up by the waist and pull her into the living room,
dragging her toward the couch. It really was a very nice apartment, all spacious and pretty
and no wonder Jessica would want to live here, because Tiffany was not here, and Tiffany
was terrible, she was awful, she was the worst. “Where’s your girlfriend,” she wondered
stupidly and felt Jessica taking off her coat.

“She’s working.”

“Oh. So late...”

“Don’t move, I’m going to get you some water.”

“You’re the best person,” Taeyeon cried, putting her head against the couch pillows. She
couldn’t even remember which bar she’d gotten drunk at, or how many hours had passed, or
how many meals she might have missed, or how she had ended up at Jessica’s. She knew
those girls, those clingy, shadowing girls, had helped her into a cab but had she asked for
Jessica’s apartment or had they suggested it? It seemed a weird choice, although she certainly
loved Jessica quite a lot. Sunkyu was generally the person who shouldered the burden of her
occasional wine-fueled stupidity. Anyone was okay, she guessed.
 She couldn’t go home, that was all she knew.

Jessica brought her a bottle of water and she drank gratefully; her mouth and nose felt
numb. Jessica sat down beside her and combed the messy hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry,” Taeyeon said, near tears. “Sorry to come here, sorry. Sorry, sorry.”

“No, I’m glad you came,” Jessica said softly, putting an arm around her. “I don’t want
you wandering around in this condition. Why didn’t you go home?” When Taeyeon neglected
to answer, she kissed her just above her temple, squeezed her shoulder. “Did something
happen with Tiffany?”

“Nothing happened, nothing ever happens,” Taeyeon said pitifully, holding the bottle of
water so tightly she was surprised she hadn’t squeezed it all over her lap. “I don’t know why
I even bother with her, she isn’t worth it.”

Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie, and Jessica knew that she knew because she
just held her tightly and sighed. “Because. She’s Tiffany. And you’re Taeyeon.”

Taeyeon snorted. She put a hand up to her eyes and rubbed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Taengoo.”

“No, I really can’t. I can’t. This is too hard for me. Am I supposed to do this for the rest
of my life? She knows how I feel about her and she still—”

She exhaled. She felt dizzy. Most of all, and most obviously, she regretted drinking this
much, because it didn’t help, it just brought all her emotions to the surface, painfully pricking
against her skin.

Jessica smoothed her hair again, sat quietly for a moment. “Baby, I know this is hard for
you,” she began, delicately. “But. Have you even thought about how hard it must be for
Tiffany, too? Have you looked at it from her point-of-view?”

Again.

Taeyeon inhaled shakily.

“How am I supposed to do that,” she said, trying to stamp down the frustration. “She’s
so inconsistent. She tells me to get over her and when I stray too far she yanks the leash and
I’m back to square one.”

“But look at it from her perspective.”

“I don’t know her perspective, Jessica.”

 “You don’t know what to do, but how is she supposed to know? Do you have any idea
how much she loves you? What did you expect to happen when you confessed to her?”

“I don’t know what I expected,” Taeyeon admitted. “But if I knew it was going to be eight
or nine years of being led on and sent mixed signals, I wouldn’t have done it at all.”

“You’re not some random person on the street, Taeyeon, you’re her best friend. She
can’t reject you and then act like you don’t exist. Even if you didn’t work together, you’d be
together.”

“Believe me, I know that.”

“So you dumped this burden of a confession in her lap and expected her to be able to
deal with it, when you know very well it would kill her to hurt you.”

Taeyeon blinked at her. “So I’m the bad guy? I didn’t ask to feel this way.”

“And neither did she. I know it’s hard for you. But imagine having to watch your best
friend in the world have her heart broken and you can’t even make it better because you’re
the one who did it. Do you think that feels nice?”

Taeyeon stood, angrily. “Then why can’t she make up her mind? If she doesn’t want me,
then just let me go, and if she does—”

“Let you go?” Jessica repeated, incredulous. “You’re her best friend, Taeyeon, how is she
supposed to do that?”

“So she needs to treat me like a friend. I can’t get over her if she keeps giving me hope
that we could be more—”

“But you already are more.” Jessica’s voice was soft, kind. “You know she’ll never just
be your friend. And she knows that, too. You’re not normal people, and you don’t have a
normal friendship, and it’s a little too late for you to fix that.”

Taeyeon’s shoulders sank. “What am I supposed to do, then.”

Jessica paused thoughtfully, and then took Taeyeon’s hand. She pulled her down to sit
next to her. Taeyeon’s head spun. She felt unraveled.

“Okay, um,” Jessica began, and then paused for another moment as though trying to
figure out how to say what she wanted. “The thing is, I liked unnie for a really long time
before I confessed to her. A few years, maybe? And it was really difficult, you know, not just
because I was dealing with the fact that I had feelings for another girl—which, you know, I
had always known, but to be hit with it like that was like... well, you probably know what I
mean.”
 Taeyeon nodded. It was weird, that they had known each other this long and had never
been able to talk to one another about it; ostensibly, it was something they had both gone
through, but Taeyeon supposed they were both the same kind of person. When faced with
the option of not talking about something or talking about it, both of them would invariably
choose the former.

“Mostly it was also difficult because, you know, we were really close and she took care
of me really well, and I didn’t want to mess that up? I mean, I thought, you know, I can live
with this, as long as I have her—being friends or whatever. But at a certain point, I realized
that I... I loved her,” she blushed, like this was some sort of deep, dark confession despite
Taeyeon having known they were together for going on nine years now, “and that I was
eighteen years old and beginning my career, and it was too much, I guess. I realized—unless
I told her how I felt, I couldn’t have her in my life anymore. I mean, just like that, I knew, you
know—either our relationship needs to become more, or it needs to end. So when I
confessed, I knew that our relationship was going to change, no matter what. Whether she
accepted me or rejected me, there was no way we could go back to what we were before.
Does that make sense?”

“It does, but—”

“So I confessed to her knowing that, and I made the decision to change our relationship.
I was lucky, and she felt the same way, and, you know, the rest is history more or less.” She
waved her hands around, embarrassed, casting a glance around the expansive apartment.
Taeyeon thought, suddenly, about how beautiful happiness looked on other people; happy
people didn’t need to be smiling or laughing for you to know they were happy. They just
were.

“Anyway, what I’m saying is, I think that’s what you want now. You want her to either
accept you, or your relationship needs to change, and you need to let go of each other. But
it’s too late for that. The time for that was years ago, when you told her how you felt. You
guys just tried to pick up your friendship where it left off, keep yourself in the same place,
even with all this hanging between you. You can’t ask her to let you go now. It’s too late.”

Taeyeon laughed painfully. “You’re telling me that’s it, it’s too late? There’s nothing I
can do, I just have to be miserable forever? Cool, that’s...”

“I’m saying maybe you need to look at yours and Tiffany’s relationship and ask yourself
why you were unable to let go of each other when you should have.”

Taeyeon frowned and tried to focus. “We’re teammates,” she pointed out. Jessica
squeezed her hand.

“You and I both know that lots of idol groups survive for many years with members
who aren’t even friends. It’s something else.”

Taeyeon looked at her, quietly, pensively. “I’m too drunk for this.”
 Jessica laughed. She ran her thumb over the top of Taeyeon’s hand. “What’s new.”

Taeyeon smiled, tight, apprehensive, and stood. She looked around, blinked at the dim
lights, the long stretch of the apartment—it looked like an ad or a photograph in an interior
design magazine, except lived-in, tangibly occupied by two people who were living a life
together. Taeyeon’s heart ached. She could tell herself over and over that she was a loner and
didn’t need anyone, but she knew, really, she wanted that. It was hard to be anyone with a
secret, and it was harder to be an idol with a secret, but Jessica had proven that it was
possible, that you could fall in love, build a career; you could have both and be happy. Jessica
was happy.

Taeyeon wanted that. She smiled down at Jessica, ruffled the top of her head, grinned
at the indignant whine her old friend let out as she tried to squirm away, and said, “Thank
you.”

“Of course,” Jessica said dismissively, fixing her hair. She grabbed Taeyeon’s hand
suddenly, as though sensing that she was ready to leave. “Hey, stay here, okay? I don’t want
you wandering around drunk like this. You can sleep on the couch; unnie won’t mind.”

Taeyeon squeezed her hand, gave her a lightheaded smile. She was unsteady on her
feet, but she’d be fine.

“No, it’s okay. I have some place to go.”

•••

“Hey.”

Hyejin blinked sleepily at her. In the dark of the hallway, she looked bright and golden
to Taeyeon, pretty and warm and familiar. “It’s three in the morning, Taeyeon.”

“Yeah.” Taeyeon traced the door’s frame with one finger. “Sorry—uh, were you
sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She sighed, putting her hands in her pockets. “Sorry. I’ll go.”

With a sigh, Hyejin grabbed her shirt, dragged her across the threshold. “Come in.”

“Sorry, I—” Taeyeon moved clumsily inside.

“You smell like you took a shower in wine.”

“It’s very good for the skin,” she joked, following Hyejin into her apartment.
 “You’re drunk.”

“Very.”

“I thought you said you quit drinking.”

“I did,” Taeyeon admitted, “but this is a special occasion. I’m celebrating.”

Hyejin’s hair was a mess from sleeping and she yawned, trying to smooth it out with
half-hearted movements. She was pretty. It was the same thing every time Taeyeon saw her,
whether she was drunk or dry—pretty, she was pretty, she looked pretty.

“Celebrating what?”

Eyebrows rose as Taeyeon stepped closer and breathed in. Her hands were graceless,
awkward as they attempted to smooth Hyejin’s hair down for her. She smiled.

“Uh, not sure, actually.”

“Oh, good,” Hyejin said dryly, but she smiled back.

“Sorry.”

“You can stop apologizing. What’s up?”

Taeyeon looked at the floor, studied it quietly. “I just wanted to see you.”

“At three in the morning, while you’re drunk.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“We are. I haven’t kicked you out.” She smiled. Taeyeon stepped closer. It was hard to
get any closer than she was.

“I just—I missed you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She meant it. She wasn’t sure in what way. There really wasn’t a feeling to
compare it to, just that she found herself standing in Hyejin’s personal space and aching,
yearning to be closer. Even now, when her vision was blurry and her entire body felt flimsy,
she felt at ease, looking at her, feeling her skin cool and soft against her own.

Hyejin only nodded, made a soft, satisfied sound that only made Taeyeon want her
more.
 “Did you miss me?” she pressed, earnest, quiet.

In place of an answer she received only a smile, a casual shrug. Taeyeon frowned sourly.
She didn't care if Hyejin was just teasing, the lack of confirmation made her feel powerless,
vulnerable. She tensed.

“Did you?” she asked again, soft. She swallowed hard. “Miss me?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Say it.” She wet her lips. “Please.”

Hyejin went to turn on a light but Taeyeon took her hand, pulled it to her.

“Leave it off.”

“Why?” Hyejin asked lightly. “Don’t want to see me with the lights on? Easier to pretend
I’m someone else?”

Taeyeon looked at her carefully. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Not tonight. You’re drunk. You don’t want me.”

“How do you know what I want?”

“How do you know what you want?”

“I want you,” she insisted, feeling a bit of control slip away.

“Just for right now, though,” Hyejin said gently. “I care about you a lot, Taeyeon. If I
thought you were capable of feeling the same, I’d let myself fall in love with you. I would.
That’s how much I like you. But you don’t want me. You want her.”

Taeyeon looked at her silently.

“You and I both know that. Look, I don’t mind, or—I didn’t mind. I know what this has
been for you, since the beginning. But don’t come here and make me feel like I’m being used,
Taeyeon. I’m not going to compete with her, because I know I won’t win.”

Taeyeon stepped closer. Just when she thought she couldn’t, there was more space to
move into. Her breath caught. Her mouth pressed against the corner of Hyejin’s lips and she
sighed, feeling the tension melt out of her body and her limbs weaken.

“Okay,” was all she could say.

 Hyejin touched her face, kissed her cheek. “Go home. Come back to me when you feel
better.”

When would that be, Taeyeon wondered. It was cold outside; it was Seoul in January. It
had been an endless season of cold, of loneliness. She put her hands in her pockets.

“We called a taxi for you.”

She looked, unhinged, at the fan talking to her, and then nodded, slow, empty.

“It’s so late,” she said. “Why are you still up?”

“Because you’re still up,” the fan returned simply.

“Why?”

“Because we want to take care of you. Because you need us. Because we love you.”

The taxi came. Taeyeon looked down at the ground.

“Love is very suffocating,” she said, and got in the taxi.

•••

She dropped her keys on the floor three times before she managed to get the door open.

The front hall was dark. Taeyeon took her shoes off, flipped her hair out of her eyes.
The living room was awash in moonlight, stretching, fatigued, across the carpeted floor,
spineless and whispering along the couch where Tiffany sat quietly, legs folded beneath her.

Their eyes locked. Taeyeon considered just walking past to her room and going to sleep,
but she thought maybe, in the muted light, that Tiffany’s eyes were red, maybe, and her heart
ached a little.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hi,” Tiffany returned.

“What are you doing up?”

“Waiting for you. Jessica called when you left her apartment, but that was an hour ago.”

Taeyeon sighed.

“Where were you?”

 “Out.”

“Are you drunk?”

“A little.” She shook her head, looked at the floor. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

Tiffany stood. “I don’t want to fight either.”

“Look, um.” Taeyeon raked a hand through her hair. She had felt like she’d sobered up
on the taxi ride home, but now, standing in Tiffany’s presence, breathing her in, she was
unsteady on her feet once again. She was undone. She was fifteen years old, painfully in love,
drowning in want, suffocating in love. She shook, little by little.

“I think... you know, we thought this would work out, this whole living together thing,
and—I don’t think it is. So—let’s not fight about it, okay? I’ll look for a new place. Maybe I
can still get my old place. I don’t know. I just—”

“Taeyeon,” Tiffany said softly. She stepped closer. She smelled like clean air, and her
skin was white porcelain in the moonlight. “That’s not what I want.”

“It’s just not going to work.”

Tiffany looked at her, sadly. Taeyeon gazed into her eyes, willed herself to look away,
and thought, maybe this is impossible, maybe no matter what you do you’ll just be pulled
tighter and tighter to her until it gets so tight that you choke. She swallowed hard.

“What do you want from me?” she asked weakly, her voice breaking.

Tiffany’s eyes were questions without answers and she smoothed her hand along
Taeyeon’s shoulder, clutched her collar, kissed her forcefully on the mouth.

Taeyeon could not move. She had been on the receiving end of what felt like a dozen
lips, dozens of kisses in desperation and need and intoxication and yet her mouth could only
ever recall the first one, the hard and wet fullness of Stephanie Hwang against her waiting
mouth, the solid heat of her, the hot breath and the slippery place where their lips met and
she sighed, groaned with longing. Tiffany’s hand, fisting her collar, shook and trembled and
she slid her hand along Taeyeon’s neck, tangling her fingers in her hair, pressing her thumb
against her throat like she could choke her; her lips made captive slaves of Taeyeon’s, held
her to her by the curve of her lips and swallowed her breath, swallowed her whole.

“Fany,” Taeyeon breathed, and her teeth scraped Tiffany’s lower lip, feeling Tiffany’s
entire body press against her and shake with warmth and want and Taeyeon realized this
was all she had yearned for, this was the warmth and darkness she couldn’t replace. She
pressed closer, wishing she could climb inside Tiffany’s clothes, climb inside her and share
her breath. Her hands grasped Tiffany’s hips and she pushed her backwards, nudged her
onto the couch and fell against her and thought she would die if she stopped touching her for
a second.

Tiffany murmured against her lips, quiet and desperate, “Please,” and Taeyeon could
only swallow each and every word, breathe her in like oxygen, drag her lips down the curve
of her jaw and hear, feel Tiffany’s breath hitch and her blood rush and her body respond and
she could have died like this, in the moonlight, in Tiffany’s arms, in that resting place between
wonder and fantasy.
 CHAPTER 16
Past: 2009

It is shaping up to be the most exhausting and bleak year of Taeyeon’s life, but the
history books won’t paint it that way. The industry is dishonest and she is dishonest; it cheats
and she cheats. She doesn’t remember what her voice is meant to sound like, but there isn’t
a part of her that doesn’t feel split apart and bloody with open wounds.

She terrifies herself. The further they get to the top, the longer the fall to the bottom,
and she starts to yearn for it. She has the power, she knows, to allow the group to go up in
flames. In fact, the lifespan of an idol is unpredictable, their status precarious; she can
pretend she has no control, but in fact, if she wanted to ruin everything, she could.

This is a consistent thought, sometimes, when she is tired and she has another two
hours to go, repeated recordings of a song she can’t stand, watching, from yards away, the
way Tiffany’s mouth moves when she talks. She is angry. She doesn’t know why—it courses
through her veins, and it makes her taste desire like blood in the back of her throat. She could
pin Tiffany to the wall and tear her apart, put her mouth to every part of her, and maybe it
would make her love her, and maybe the thousands of eyes watching would understand that
they created a false idol, that she’s not someone to be worshiped or respected or even looked
at. She is a person with a dark shadow ready to swallow her; she has made an entire country
love her, and she cannot make one person love her.

Her head throbs. They are filming late into the night. Every time she puts her head down
to rest, there is another person at her elbow who says Taeyeon are you okay.

“I’m okay,” she says several times and when she catches Tiffany’s eye across the studio,
she looks away.

Tiffany tries at least once a week, to fix things. Taeyeon knows she’s trying to fix things.
She comes to her, eyes sad and wet like morning, mouth fixed into a frown, hands tense. She
says, “Can we talk?”

Taeyeon says, “We don’t have anything to talk about,” usually, but sometimes she says,
“Sure, let’s talk,” but then Tiffany wants to talk about that and when Taeyeon meets her eyes
honestly, Tiffany can’t think of anything to say, so Taeyeon thinks—that’s it—she can’t even
talk about it—that’s how shameful it is, she wants to talk about it, and she can’t.
 Lately, she can feel eyes on her at all times. It’s not really unusual—it’s rare that eyes
aren’t locked on her, scrutinizing her every move, whether they’re fans or staff or the
unflinching public—but lately it’s the members, mostly, who look at her warily, confused and
worried. She knows they sense the rift between she and Tiffany—it’s hard to miss—but they
don’t handle Tiffany with kid gloves suddenly. It’s just her.

It is tiring, being a person that is looked at. They say it’s because they care about her,
that she’s their friend, but occasionally she feels the crushing weight of an arbitrary title they
saddled her with. Leader. It eats away at her, keeps the wall up indefinitely. That’s where the
eyes are the most intense, when it comes down to decisions and questions and answers, their
eyes shift to her.

They don’t know you, she thinks sometimes, morosely, because if they did, they’d stop
looking.

“You can talk to us, you know,” they say. “It’s clear something’s bothering you, but we’re
always here. We’re a team, Taeyeon. Talk to us.”

She smiles, tight and false, through her exhaustion and anger and incongruity. That’s
what it is. She feels out-of-place. There are eight girls, excited and exhilarated with the way
their careers are taking off, and then there’s her, clinging to anything bolted to the ground;
the higher they go, the more desperate she is to stay grounded. She is two years into the game
and already hates herself, the falseness she’s painted herself with, the duplicitous nature of
the business. She looks at the eight of them and can no longer convince herself that she
doesn’t love them, but wonders who they are, because they must be fake, too.

She sees Tiffany’s eyes and thinks they’re not like Stephanie’s eyes. They’re haunted
and sad and lonely. She feels her best friend slipping away from her and knows it’s her fault,
but she pins the blame on everything else. They’re surrounded by dishonest people in a
dishonest world; how can they possibly be honest with each other?

“You can talk to us, Taeyeon. We want you to open up to us. We want you to talk to us.
We want to know you, Taeyeon, because we care about you.”

It is a five minute talk, nominally, but it hasn’t been five minutes since the first night
she proposed it; sometimes it stretches for close to an hour. Taeyeon is exhausted but
sometimes just listening to them talk makes her feel better. She can rarely say much, but if
she could, she might tell them that their voices and thoughts are dizzyingly beautiful; she
loves them that much. She has tried not to, but she loves them very much. When they tell her
they wish she would talk, she thinks they’re lucky she doesn’t, because if she opened her
mouth they would be embarrassed by all the love and devotion she has stored up.

If she were to talk to them as much as she thinks about them, she would lose her voice.

•••
 “So there’s that,” she says. They’re winding down. “Since it’s a full-scale concert, we
should be prepared to have enough energy for it. I know that’ll be hard, because we have a
lot of schedules, and not enough time to rest, but since it’s a solo concert—just remember
that, keep your energy up.”

They nod. Their eyes all have the same restless exhaustion in them. She smiles tightly,
wanting to go to bed. She feels like she’s done all the talking and she wonders if it’s
intentional; sometimes they stay silent just to force her to talk more, but she wonders what
they get out of it.

“So, uh, I guess that’s it. Does anybody else have anything to say?”

Tiffany looks into her eyes so long and hard she feels a little bruised from it. She blinks
at her, startled, and addresses her directly for the first time in awhile.

“Tiffany? Did you have something to say?”

Tiffany continues to look at her, wounded but firm. The moment stretches for so long
that the other members start to shift uncomfortably, looking between them.

Finally Taeyeon averts her eyes uneasily and Tiffany sighs, looking into her lap.

“I guess not.”

“Okay, then.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Sooyoung says, frowning. “What the hell is going on with you
two? Seriously, I’ve been quiet about this for too long.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Taeyeon replies quickly.

“No? You guys are joined at the hip for as long as I can remember and then for the past
year it’s like you can hardly stand to be in one another’s presence? You don’t know what I’m
talking about?”

Yoona grabs her arm, glancing between both Tiffany and Taeyeon with concern. “Unnie,
maybe it’s none of our business—”

“You said you agreed with me,” Sooyoung says.

“I do, I just think—”

“What’s this, you guys are talking about us behind our backs?” Tiffany asks.

“Well, someone has to talk about it,” Sooyoung argues. “I don’t get you guys. What’s the
deal?”
 Taeyeon frowns deeply. “It’s nothing and you should mind your own business.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Yuri speaks up. “We’re a team, Taengoo, and Sooyoung’s not the
only one who’s worried about you guys.”

Now they’ve all been emboldened into speaking up. Taeyeon feels her hands tense in
her lap, a vein in her temple throb.

“If there’s problems between two members, that affects the group,” Jessica points out.

“Well, there’s no problem,” Taeyeon insists, shaking her head. “I don’t know where you
guys are getting that idea—”

“If there’s no problem then why won’t you talk to me?” Tiffany’s voice is hollow and
quiet, but it shoves the room into silence. Taeyeon looks at her, surprised; Tiffany’s eyes are
trained on her lap. Taeyeon can only look at her for a brief moment, because the eyes of the
rest of the girls are disquieting.

“I—” she begins and then can say nothing else. She rubs her forehead tiredly. “Do we
have to talk about—”

“Well, how long did you think we were going to go on like this, Taeyeon?” She looks up
at last, meeting Taeyeon’s gaze with an apprehensive, anxious look. “I mean, if the rest of the
group is noticing —”

“There’s nothing going on,” Taeyeon says, stressing the words. “I’ve been tired, we’ve
all been tired, this has been a long year, and—”

“That’s not it and you know it.”

“—and I also think,” she said, raising her voice a little, “there’s no reason for us to talk
about this in front of...”

She trails off because they’re all looking at her. Being looked at. She can’t stand it.

“In front of us?” Sunkyu asks, stunned. “So all that ‘we’re a team, we should share each
other’s happiness and sadness,’ all that stuff, you just said that for effect, huh?”

“No,” Taeyeon protests. She feels ganged up on, and embarrassingly, tears start to come
to her eyes. She tenses, trying to force herself to stay calm. She has spent the better part of
an entire year trying to keep her emotions at bay and even a fuse as long as hers will burn
up if it keeps being lit. “I... this is a private thing, between me and Tiffany, and it’s not...”

“But you won’t talk to me about it,” Tiffany says in disapproval.

“Because there’s nothing to talk about.”

 “Taeyeon, you—”

“It was a mistake, okay?”

Tiffany’s eyes widen; she pushes on.

“It was a misunderstanding and it’s my fault, okay, and I think we should both get over
it. I was confused.”

“Now I’m confused,” Hyoyeon says.

Tiffany shakes her head. “You say that like it was an accident.”

“Maybe it was.”

“But if that’s all it was, why won’t you speak to me? Do you have any idea how hurtful—
”

“How hurtful?” Taeyeon explodes. “How hurtful, really? For you? For you? You’re hurt?”

“Well, how did you expect me to react—”

“I don’t know.” She feels her blood racing. “Just forget about it, okay.”

Tiffany looks at her, full of pity, and suddenly Taeyeon hates her, violently hates
everything about her sad, sorry face. She’s sick of it.

“But Taeyeon you’re—”

“In love with you,” she finishes, losing her temper at last. “That’s my problem, it’s not
yours.”

She hadn’t meant to say it, and yet once she has, she feels better. It hangs in the air
awkwardly, but she has held it in for too long, and even the defeated slump of Tiffany’s
shoulders is a good enough response.

“I’m sorry, okay,” she breathes. “I shouldn’t have kissed you, but you shouldn’t have
kissed me back. You shouldn’t have... I’m so confused,” she admits softly and the way Tiffany
looks at her, so sad and sorry, like Taeyeon is a child throwing a tantrum, makes something
inside of her break.

The room is silent. She isn’t sure for how long.

Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, it’s Juhyun who breaks the silence, and she
addresses Taeyeon.
 “Unnie, this is what we mean,” she says softly. “All these things are going on, and yet
you don’t tell us anything. You never talk to us, you keep secrets, you refuse to open up, and
then you’re the first one to say ‘we’re a team, we’re a family, we should all share with each
other’. That’s not fair.”

Taeyeon squeezes her eyes shut. She can tell they’re all stunned and she doesn’t want
to look at them. This is your leader, she thinks, she is a mess, she is one screw-up after another.

“Taengoo.”

It’s Sunkyu, beside her, taking her hand. She keeps her eyes closed.

“Taengoo, come on. When are you going to realize how much we care about you? You
have to open up to us, otherwise the group will fall apart.”

She wrenches her hand out of Sunkyu’s grasp and stands, rushing off to her bedroom
with her head bowed. She can hear their cries behind her but can’t look back; she’s afraid to
look at them, to see them, to see Tiffany, mostly, to look at her sad face and her pretty eyes.

She doesn’t realize Sooyoung is hot on her heels until she tries to slam the door closed
behind her and it sticks as Sooyoung pushes herself in bodily. Taeyeon looks down, fighting
back tears. The door closes quietly and she feels Sooyoung step into her personal space, take
her arm, pull her close; she isn’t sure what’s happening until Sooyoung’s arms are tight
around her.

She does not return the hug but unconsciously sinks into it, sighing. Her body feels
fatigued, weak, like she’s been running a marathon for years.

“Hey, Taeyeon, you have to go back out there and talk to them.”

She shakes her head. There’s no way Sooyoung will understand.

“Yes, you do. You’re our leader.”

Her words only make Taeyeon feel worse. She is so far from a leader it’s almost a joke.
She hasn’t been a leader to these girls for even five seconds, and she knows it; all she’s done
is hold the group back, worry them, push them away. She shakes her head again.

“Yes,” Sooyoung insists. “You jackass. You idiot. What is it going to take for you to get
how much we love you? You—Taeyeon—you...”

She loosens the grip she has Taeyeon in, sliding her arms around her shoulders and
looking down at Taeyeon’s teary, confused face. This is the worst way to be looked at,
Taeyeon thinks.

“That... you and Tiffany... was that for real?” Sooyoung asks. Whispers.
 Taeyeon looks down. “There is no me and Tiffany.”

“But you wanted there to be. You want there to be.”

She nods, too drained to pretend otherwise. Sooyoung releases a breath and squeezes
her tighter.

“You jerk. Why didn’t you tell me? Tell us?”

“Because it’s none of your business.”

She doesn’t mean it harshly but Sooyoung is taken aback. She lets go of Taeyeon,
stepping backward and putting her hands in her pockets. She looks hurt. Maybe that’s an
understatement. Taeyeon purses her lips, digging her feet into the floor to keep herself
upright.

“Why not?” Sooyoung asks softly. She shakes her head. “I try so hard, Taeyeon, to get
close to you, and you keep pushing me away. I don’t get it.” Taeyeon remains silent, and she
continues. “Why would you carry all this by yourself? Did you think we wouldn’t
understand?”

“You don’t. You can’t.”

“What, that you like girls? Big deal, moron, did it bother us when Jessica told us? What
kind of people do you think we are? We love you.”

Taeyeon shakes her head again. She cannot stop shaking it, cannot stop shaking all over.

“I’m in love with her,” she tells Sooyoung, her voice hoarse.

Sooyoung nods, looking at her sorrowfully. It makes Taeyeon feel bad.

“For how long?”

“I’ve always loved her.”

It feels strangely refreshing to say it. Confessing to Tiffany a year ago was the only time
she had admitted it, and yet, it still feels freeing to have the words out there. She feels like
she can breathe.

Sooyoung looks at her as though she doesn’t know what to say, as though she’s sorry
for her. She hugs her again. Taeyeon sniffles, pulling herself together.

“You need to go out there,” Sooyoung says. “You need to talk to them. And... you need
to... you and Tiffany have to figure something out, because you can’t go on the way you have.”
 The guilt makes Taeyeon’s head hurt. There is a loud chorus of voices telling them at
every turn that they’re the best idol group the industry has seen in years, and here she is,
holding them back.

When she drags herself back out to the living room, the girls haven’t even moved.
They’re still seated in the same positions, and even their expressions, mannerisms are like
before. Tiffany’s head is bowed, her eyes fixed on her lap, like she’s frozen.

Taeyeon clears her throat, and they—most of them—look up at her. She fidgets under
their stares.

“Sorry about before,” she says softly.

They look at her, wide-eyed, expectant, like they need more. Always more. She has
nothing left to give.

She exhales. Then, mustering up the courage, she says, “Look, guys. I think... I think we
should do away with the whole leader position. Since, you know—I think maybe it would be
better if we just didn’t have a leader. It’s not working, so maybe we would be better off
without it.”

Shock registers on their faces but she only glimpses it briefly before she feels the need
to look away. There is a long, silent beat before Sunkyu speaks up.

“Of course,” she says, cheerfully. “I think it was always like that, wasn’t it?”

There is an awkward pause before the rest of the girls chime in.

“Yeah,” Hyoyeon adds, “I always thought we didn’t really have a leader, so that’s fine.”

The sense of relief Taeyeon is hoping for doesn’t come. Instead she feels empty, lost.
She nods absently. What did she expect? Strangled cries of objection, protest? Clearly they
felt as she did, that she had let them down. She can’t bear to think too long about how they
must view her now—not just a failure, but a quitter, too, and somehow they expected it. A
liar. Maybe her feelings for Tiffany are no one’s business but her own, but she hadn’t missed
their looks of betrayal.

The talk ends, then, abrupt and anticlimactic, and as they file off to bed she keeps her
head down, tidies up the living room. It is a few minutes before she realizes that Tiffany has
stayed behind, that they are alone in the dark of the living room. Her head is bowed, but when
Taeyeon notices her, she lifts her eyes up to her. They're red.

“Will you please talk to me?” she asks softly.

Taeyeon sighs. She is so exhausted. She twists a pillow in her hands anxiously before
setting it down on the floor.
 “There’s nothing really to talk about, is there?”

“Taeyeon.”

“I’m sorry. I messed everything up. I should have never...”

“You didn’t mess everything up.”

“But you looked so—and I can’t help but—look... we should forget about it because, you
know, I was confused that night and, um, I don’t think I was in the right frame of mind, and...”

“We can’t forget about it. I don’t want you to think that I—I’m not angry, and I’m not
upset with you. Please understand that. I care about you so much.”

Taeyeon looks at her carefully. “You knew how I felt about you, didn’t you?”

Tiffany’s eyes widen, as though caught and she looks down, nodding. Her cheeks flush.
Taeyeon sighs.

“How long have you known?”

“I don’t know,” Tiffany says, hesitant. “Awhile, I guess?”

“How long,” Taeyeon presses, feeling her heart beat fast.

“I guess I suspected... uh, pretty much as long as we’ve known each other...”

Taeyeon exhales in a short burst of surprise. “That—that long? You...”

“I mean, Taeyeon, I didn’t know for sure, I just kind of... suspected for a long time. I kept
thinking, you know, it’s probably just a crush, she’ll probably get over it...”

Taeyeon wets her lips. “So all this time, all these years, you knew how I felt, and you
didn’t...” She trails off. Didn’t what? What did she expect?

“What was I supposed to do? Or say? I didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Taeyeon looks at the floor, frustrated. That was it, then. If Tiffany had known for that
long, then she clearly didn’t feel the same—there was no chance of it. If she had, she would’ve
come to her about it. Wouldn’t she? Suddenly she burns with shame and sadness, thinking
back. How long Tiffany must have known. How long she must have pitied her, felt bad for
her. Stayed friends with her, maybe, out of some misguided sympathy. I must have looked so
pathetic, thinks Taeyeon, I must look really pathetic to her.
 “Taeyeon.” She feels Tiffany take her hand; it’s strangely cold, and their fingers lace
together instinctively. “I’m sorry. I wish I could—I mean, the last thing I would ever want to
do is hurt you. I love you, it’s just not...”

“The same,” Taeyeon finishes for her. She shrugs. “I guess that’s it, then.”

Tiffany frowns. “But what about us? You’re my best friend. I mean, we... I don’t want us
to grow apart, Taeyeon.”

Taeyeon keeps her head bowed. All she wants, really, is to stay here, with their hands
locked, standing in Tiffany’s radiating warmth. She had wished for a reset button so many
times over the past year and longs for it now more than ever, to have never told her, or maybe
to reset years back and have never fallen for her. She wants, more than anything, a best friend
who is just a best friend, who doesn’t make her heart beat so fast she worries it will stop.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “It’s too hard for me.”

Before she leaves, Tiffany calls out to her.

“Even if you try to push us away, you’ll always be our leader,” she says. Her eyes are
bright. “And even if you try to push me away, you’ll always be my best friend.”

She can feel Tiffany’s eyes on her even as she turns to leave, even as she slumps down
the hall toward her room; even when the door is closed, she thinks she can feel Tiffany’s eyes
on her. It’s terrifying, exhausting, painfully self-conscious, being a person who is looked at.

•••

Present: 2017
January had closed in. Somehow, even without opening her eyes, Taeyeon knew that it
had snowed the night before. The light coming from the window was impossibly bright
behind her eyelids and she could sense it before she saw it, the full expanse of white like a
sheet draped over her. She could feel, on the outside, as though surrounding her, how cold it
was, but she felt only warmth.

There was a reason for that and the reason forced her eyes open, startled her unhurried
rousing into waking with a start. Her head throbbed and her mouth felt dry and she was
pinned to the couch, Stephanie Hwang draped over her. It was not, she admitted with some
sheepishness, the first time she had woken up with a hangover after spending the night with
a girl, but it was, to the best of her recollection, one of very few times she had woken up with
her clothes still on, which she supposed was a small victory.

The presence of clothes was the second thing she noticed—after the snow—and if she
hadn’t been so very hungover and dumbfounded with terror she might have thought to
congratulate herself for her willpower. As it was, the part of her brain that hadn’t devoted
itself to viciously hating the painful hammering in her skull was preoccupied with a blank,
dawning sort of dread that intensified like a supernova the longer she let it sit in her head.
Tiffany stirred; her arms clutched Taeyeon tighter around the waist, her nose brushed
against Taeyeon’s collarbone, and Taeyeon could only hold her breath and hope, sort of
dimly and stupidly, that she would never wake up. Or that, more realistically, she, Taeyeon,
could figure out a way to extricate herself from the couch without waking Tiffany; if she
escaped, maybe Tiffany would awake and assume it had all been a dream.

Because truthfully, if it wasn't for the insanely uncomfortable position she had woken
up in and the numb, oddly bruised feeling of her lips, she would assume it was a dream. It
was certainly a common enough dream, and waking up from it was easier the more she did
it, but she hadn’t been so drunk last night that she couldn’t remember what had happened.
She prayed that she wasn’t remembering it wrong, that it hadn’t been one more in a string of
confusing attempts to look for something that wasn’t there. She hadn’t initiated it. She
pressed her memory so hard it made her head ache more. She hadn’t. She hadn’t. Tiffany had.
Tiffany had kissed her.

The breath left her lungs, then, in a strange and ecstatic rush. She had to get away. This
was too much to think about, and it would be impossible enough if the pounding headache
was all she had to worry about, but she had Tiffany’s warmth and the softness of her skin
and the scent of her hair to strangle her thoughts.

She slid, experimentally, out from underneath Tiffany the barest of inches. It would be
difficult, but she could do this, and it wasn’t the first time she had made an exit without being
noticed and Tiffany was a fairly heavy sleeper and if she could just be slightly less terrified
and stop trembling she knew it would be a million times easier—she nudged herself out a
bit further—

“Good morning.”

She froze.

Tiffany blinked sleepily at her and then yawned, lifting her head. Taeyeon stared at her,
terrified.

“Good morning,” she attempted, but her voice broke halfway through. She cleared her
throat.

“Going somewhere?” Tiffany asked through a yawn, dropping her head back down on
Taeyeon’s shoulder.

Taeyeon’s mind raced. She suddenly felt very aware of her hands, which were weird
things to suddenly be aware of, but where in the world was she supposed to put them? She
felt Tiffany huddle closer, tighten her arms around Taeyeon’s waist, and Taeyeon, very
uselessly and stupidly, wondered about where she should put her hands.
 “Oh, um,” she said vaguely, her mind circling around the question. “My head hurts. I was
going to get medicine.”

“You’re hungover,” Tiffany mumbled.

“It’s true,” Taeyeon agreed. She pressed her hands tight against her sides.

“You were drunk,” Tiffany added.

“Also true.”

“You said you quit drinking.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Taeyeon admitted. “Tiffany—”

“Cold.”

“It snowed,” she explained. Her muscles felt tense. “This was a bad place to fall asleep.
Tiffany—”

Tiffany laughed a little and then lifted her head, again. Her eyes were bleary with sleep
but they were eyes you could look into forever, until you were blind. She smiled a little.
Maybe it was the hangover, maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the dizzying feeling
of constant confusion, or maybe it was just because it was Tiffany and Tiffany was smiling,
but the sight of it stunned Taeyeon into submission.

Tiffany kissed her. Taeyeon clutched her forearm tightly, feeling the world turn. This
was something she was going to have to wake up from, and in a way, she hoped she would
and hoped she wouldn’t. This was too confusing. Tiffany’s lips were soft, deliberate, dragging
down her jawline, pressing underneath her chin.

“Tiffany,” she said, hesitant, and her voice sounded hollow in the room.

“Hmm.”

“What are—what are—what is this?”

She didn’t want to stop her, really, for anything in the world, but she had to know. She
was about to drive herself crazy. Thoughts were suddenly incapable of staying with her for
very long. Her mind did not deal with the unknown very well. She felt herself grip Tiffany’s
forearm tighter.

Tiffany paused, her lips still, and then resumed, now pressing a kiss behind Taeyeon’s
ear.

“Isn’t this what you want,” she breathed.

 “Is it what you want?”

Tiffany lifted her head. Her eyes were dark. “Would I be doing this if it wasn’t what I
wanted?”

“You tell me.”

Tiffany looked at her for a long time. She smiled. “You’re hurting me,” she said gently.

Taeyeon blinked at her. “What?”

“My arm.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t realized how tightly, desperately, she had been clutching Tiffany’s arm.
She let go. “Sorry, I—”

“Taeyeon.” Tiffany laced their fingers together. Her hands were cold, but the action
wasn’t. “You mean so much to me.”

She felt warm beneath her skin. “That... That’s not an answer.”

Tiffany shook her head. Her smile didn’t waver. “You think too much.”

“So I’ve been told. But still—”

“Taeyeon,” Tiffany pressed her into the couch. “Stop talking.”

That was easy, sort of, even if she had reservations, because when the girl you’ve been
in love with since you were fifteen years old wants you to shut up and kiss her, that’s pretty
much the only thing you do. Even if her head hurt so much she thought she would go blind
and her back ached from the uncomfortable position on the couch, she felt suddenly numb
with warmth, humming and buzzing like maybe she was drunk again, like Tiffany pressed
against her with her skin and her mouth and the scent of her hair had made her drunk.

Maybe she was still asleep and maybe she would never wake up.

“I’m vibrating,” Tiffany mumbled against her lips.

“Oh,” Taeyeon replied, “that’s, um, a weird feature.”

“It’s my phone, hold on.” She used her arm to lift herself up and fished her phone out of
her sweatshirt pocket.

“Hello?”
 She sat up, suddenly backlit. The window behind her, the blinding white snow, and her
hair mussed with sleep, her lips red and swollen—Taeyeon swallowed hard. Had to wake up.

Tiffany cursed under her breath, holding her phone to her ear. “I forgot, I’m sorry. Can
we reschedule?” The absence of her warmth made Taeyeon shiver as she watched Tiffany
frown, run a hand through her hair.

“I’m really sorry, but it was so short notice anyway,” she told whoever was on the
phone. “Any time, like, later today—no, not now, I’m—I’m busy.” She locked eyes with
Taeyeon briefly and Taeyeon felt her body flush, there in the cold, still air. “Okay. Okay. Sorry,
oppa. Yes, bye.”

She dropped her phone carelessly on the floor and within seconds she was back in
Taeyeon’s space, filling her arms and smelling like sleep and heat; “Sorry about that,” she
murmured dismissively, and covered Taeyeon’s mouth with her own once again. Taeyeon
stiffened, feeling Tiffany’s hand cupping her face, her lips warm.

“Tiffany,” she tried to say in the space between their lips, “can we—Tiffany—can we
talk?”

Her fingers were cold as they brushed her neck and then collarbone. She kissed the
shell of Taeyeon’s ear. “About?”

“Um, what...” She had to break away, attempting to put a little distance between them;
otherwise, she would never get this out. Tiffany sighed, impatiently, but shifted to move off
of her anyway. The distance helped Taeyeon to think better almost immediately. She stood,
feeling dizzy; it made the blood rush to her head immediately, but at least that meant her
blood was moving.

“Taeyeon.”

Tiffany was looking up at her expectantly from the couch.

“You said you wanted to talk.”

“Right,” Taeyeon said, dazed, and wondering why she was trying so hard to be level-
headed and responsible when Tiffany was there, five feet away, and Tiffany was willing, and
Tiffany's mouth was willing, and she had only wanted this for as long as she could remember.
“What, um... what are—hey, who was that on the phone?”

“Jooyoung oppa.”

“Oh. Did you have a schedule this morning?”

“I was supposed to go to a meeting?” Tiffany said absently. “But I forgot to set my alarm
last night. I was distracted.”
 “Ah,” Taeyeon said, embarrassed. “Meeting? What for?”

Tiffany shrugged. “He just said be ready, and I forgot. Someone in product development,
I think?”

“Oh.” Taeyeon wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the cold. “Choi Junghee?”

“I think that’s who it was,” Tiffany agreed, standing. She was back in Taeyeon’s space,
Taeyeon noted with trepidation, and the ability to think would disappear in no time, she was
sure of it. She put her arms around Taeyeon’s shoulders, lowered her head. “Cold?”

“Yes. He’s the head of that department. We’ve never had to work with him individually
so you probably haven’t met him.”

“Do you know him?” Tiffany asked, not seeming overly interested. She was too close,
but at least Taeyeon felt warmer.

“I met him a few months ago,” she replied. She had met with Choi Junghee when she
had first been encouraged to begin production on a solo album. He was in charge of artist
development and the meeting had mostly been about how Taeyeon could differentiate
herself as a solo artist, marketing-wise. “They want you to release a solo album.”

“That’s news to me,” Tiffany said, raising her eyebrows. She clasped her hands behind
Taeyeon’s neck. They were cold, cold, the only part of her that was cold.

Taeyeon felt strangely unsettled, but wasn’t sure why. It made sense for Tiffany to
release a solo album. Juhyun had. It was smart. It didn’t change anything. “It’s a good idea,”
she told Tiffany. “Good luck.”

Tiffany nodded, as though she had stopped listening. Her eyes were so dark. Taeyeon
had never seen them that dark, although she supposed it was possible she had just never
seen them this close. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as Tiffany’s head dipped down
and her eyes closed and her lips were firm and they took their time. Each time, she felt
undone, stupid, like she had never kissed anyone before; each time, her mind became fuzzy
and her hands shook.

“Tiffany,” she tried again, with great difficulty. The part of her brain that was fifteen
years old asked her why she kept stopping. “Tiffany.”

“Yes.”

“What, um, what—what is this—I mean—what are we—”

“Well, I’m Tiffany,” she replied languidly, brushing her lips against Taeyeon’s jaw. “And
you’re Taeyeon.”
 “Right.”

“And ‘this’ is kissing.”

“But—” Tiffany had pulled back far enough to look into her eyes and Taeyeon caught
them searchingly. It didn't make sense. She had spent so long looking at Tiffany, being looked
at by Tiffany felt somehow wrong. “Why? Suddenly—I just—I don’t—do you even...” The
patience in Tiffany's expression surprised her, and the surprise made her blunt: “Please don’t
play with my feelings.”

Tiffany looked at her for a long moment. Her eyes had become very sad. “I wouldn’t do
that.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Because, I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought that if I didn’t, I would miss my chance.”

Taeyeon narrowed her eyes. “Your... your chance.”

“Look.” Tiffany looked at the floor. “This isn’t easy for me, okay.”

“Yeah, it’s totally simple for me,” Taeyeon shot back sarcastically.

“I mean, I know that—I just—I could spend the rest of my life trying to understand how
I feel about you, and by the time I figure it out, it could be too late.” Taeyeon could hear how
hard she swallowed. “And it’s not fair to you.”

“And how do you feel?”

Tiffany wouldn’t meet her eyes. She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t... know. I just want
to be with you, all the time. I don’t want other people to have you because I want you to
belong to me. I want to make you happy. I don’t think I can, but it’s what I want for you.”

Taeyeon only looked at her silently, trying to understand. Her brain felt blocked off
from her heart suddenly, like it didn’t want to believe what it was feeling. Tiffany squirmed
under her gaze.

“You make me happy, Taeyeon,” she admitted quietly. “You make me feel—a lot of
things. It’s confusing.”

“Confusing?” Taeyeon repeated.

 “When I think of you with other people, I get angry. Not angry—sad. Or—frustrated. I
know I keep telling you to get over me, and I know you’re going to say it’s selfish of me, but—
but you’re supposed to belong to me.” She met Taeyeon’s eyes. “Even if I can’t ever be good
enough, you’re supposed to be mine.”

Taeyeon’s tongue felt heavy. “Yours? Your—your what? Your best friend? Your—”

“Just mine,” Tiffany said quietly. She rested her forehead against Taeyeon’s and closed
her eyes. Her eyelashes, even without makeup, were long and graceful against her skin.
Taeyeon’s breath caught. “Mine,” Tiffany murmured again.

At long last her eyes fluttered open and Taeyeon nearly shut her own in response
because looking into them this close up was like looking into the eye of the storm. She
watched with careful, hesitant fascination as Tiffany wet her lips. They were shaking.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a better explanation for you,” Tiffany said softly, and the words
whispered along Taeyeon’s lips. “I’ve lain awake in bed at night trying to figure it out. Maybe
it would be easier for me if I let you go, but I can’t do that. You belong to me.”

Taeyeon’s heart beat quickly. She felt Tiffany’s lips and nose brush against hers like
warm air and her eyes closed again, she inhaled raggedly.

It wasn’t anything she didn’t know already, she reminded herself. She had belonged to
Tiffany, heart and soul, since the moment she had met her. She had tried, tirelessly, to give
herself to others, but it was impossible. Every part of her belonged to Tiffany, would always
belong to Tiffany.

Did Tiffany belong to her, though, was the question she was afraid to ask.

“Okay,” she said, simply. She felt off-balance, as though leaping into something very
dangerous, and her mind protested reflexively. Still, her body angled inward, could not keep
itself away from Tiffany, and every part of her ached to be closer. Her mind blanked and the
hair on her arms stood up. “Okay,” she said again, more in an effort to occupy her mouth.

But Tiffany had other thoughts in mind and pressed her lips against Taeyeon’s sweetly,
warm but restrained. “Okay,” she agreed. “But—slow, Taeyeon. Okay?”

“Okay,” Taeyeon repeated robotically, her mouth feeling numb. “Slow. Right.”

“I have to go,” Tiffany said apologetically. She held the back of Taeyeon’s neck with one
hand and held her close, kept their foreheads pressed together. At last, she released her,
stepping backward with a heavy sigh. “Sorry. This meeting.”

“Right,” Taeyeon said, trying to pull herself together. She had never felt this out of
control before. To want someone as badly as she had wanted Tiffany for what felt like her
entire life, and then to have her within arm’s reach—it was maddening. She was surprised
her head hadn’t exploded, even as the throbbing intensified against her skull. “Right. We’re
scheduled for studio time at 2:00, though, don’t forget.”

She straightened and tried to climb clumsily back into her professional skin. Idol group
leader, perfectionist lead singer, responsible teammate—anything that wasn’t a teenager
aching with desire. She swallowed hard. “Don’t forget,” she repeated.

Tiffany smiled, all straight white teeth and glowing skin and stupid, pretty eyelashes. “I
won’t.” Her face fell suddenly as she looked Taeyeon over. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

“Huh? Yes. No. Yes, I’m fine, it’s cold, you should go—you should go now—and I will
take a cold shower and—see you in a few hours—so please go—please—”

Tiffany laughed, taking another step backward. It was amazing how one full step back
was enough to allow Taeyeon to think straight again.

She watched Tiffany disappear into her bedroom to get dressed and then wandered
into the kitchen, dazed. She took medicine for her headache and washed it down with water.
Once she started drinking, she couldn’t stop. She refilled her glass over and over, drinking
each one down until she ran out of breath, then gulping in enough air before drinking more.
She felt painfully weak, but reasoned that she hadn’t eaten in quite awhile. She put her head
against the cool surface of the refrigerator; freezing as she was, her head felt warm, feverish.
She stood for several moments, dragging her mind through it second by second.

By the time she had recovered and came out of the kitchen, Tiffany had already left, her
bag and coat gone from the front hall. She had brought in the mail as well. Taeyeon’s hands
went to the large pocket envelope instinctively, because she knew what it was.

Her hands still felt numb, and her fingers felt cold as she tore the envelope open and
held the contract in her hands. The throbbing in her head was suddenly so painful she felt as
though she could hear it, could feel it in her entire body.
 CHAPTER 17
Present: 2017

Of the many dance routines she had perfected over the years, Taeyeon found this one
the most difficult.

When she was eighteen years old, broadcast network headquarters were like mazes—
what seemed like hundreds of interlocking corridors stuffed with people, all of whom you
had to greet lest you develop a reputation. It had taken her forever to find her way around
any of them without a manager or another member present, but now she could maneuver
most of them with her eyes closed, just as most of the choreography she had memorized was
instinctual now, her muscles mechanical. She didn’t need to think; she just did.

Instinct didn’t solve puzzles, though, and it was a maze of puzzles; in place of loops and
traps were young juniors who had debuted after her, all of whom wanted to show the proper
respect by showering her with attention. She remembered being newly debuted, when
everyone was her senior, and she remembered the enthusiasm well. Now, on any given day,
she was one of the most senior idols in the backstage corridors, and this was a responsibility
and burden all by itself. This was difficult choreography as well, juggling the business of
getting where you wanted without being noticed and the business of not being noticed
without looking like that was what you wanted. It was easy to develop a reputation of being
unfriendly, and sometimes the pressure of being a good senior was one of the most
burdensome aspects of the job.

Singing was easy. Performing was easy. Concerts were lifeblood. But the industry was
a social community all its own, with its own societal expectations, and that had maybe been
the most difficult thing all along.

She had hoped that wearing no make-up and pulling her cap low over her face would
at least ensure that few people recognized her, and it seemed to work. As she piloted the
corridors quickly, she could feel eyes on her, a series of quick second glances—was it her—
it can’t be her, she’s not promoting anything—why would she be here without a manager—
why would she be here at all—but the itchy feeling of eyes on her was a feeling more familiar
to Taeyeon than breathing in and out.

She stopped at the door she had been looking for, double-checking the name printed on
the sheet. The last time she had been this unfamiliar with rookie idol groups had been
because they’d spent most of the year in Japan. She really had no such excuse this time—she
was a radio DJ, in all fairness—except that she was still trying to shake off the apathy that
Tiffany’s three-month long absence had wrapped her in. The name was only vaguely familiar
and she had made Yeri repeat it several times to make sure she wouldn’t get it wrong.

She knocked twice and then stepped in; it took the occupants a moment to recognize
her and then three teenage girls flung themselves into ninety-degree bows. She responded,
uncomfortably, having hoped they would have gone onstage by now. The average age among
them was probably sixteen. When they had straightened she realized that she did, in fact,
recognize one of them, as her picture had come alongside Taeyeon’s own in a recent news
article—The Next Taeyeon, the headline had said. Well, okay, then—young talent was
something that had always interested Taeyeon, but the article had left a sour taste in her
mouth, somehow. It had straddled the line between flattering and presumptuous, maybe; the
idea of being a standard to be held to was nice, the idea of becoming obsolete and needing a
replacement was less nice.

It wasn’t ego, or maybe it was. It just wasn’t something she had thought herself capable
of. Whatever it was, it hadn’t made her want to hear their song, at the time.

Luckily, the group seemed so nervous about their upcoming performance that their
initial excitement over seeing her had worn off quickly. The three of them stood out like
glittering diamonds among rocks, their flashy stage costumes a startling contrast to the
swarm of staff milling around the waiting room. She felt sorry, for her presence seemed to
have distracted them all, and the girls had made their backs straight like sharp rods, as
though she would scold them for bad posture or something. At any rate, she had not come to
visit them, and they certainly knew that, so she tried to be polite without being approachable.

The prettiest one had sat back down to get her hair done and Taeyeon’s stomach felt
strange as she approached.

“Hello,” she said.

Hyejin didn’t look up from the work she was doing with a curling iron. “What’s up,” she
asked around a mouth full of hairpins. Taeyeon twisted her hands awkwardly, watching her
work. She could see the shaking of the teenage girl’s shoulders beneath the spill of her glossy
hair. Her presence was a burden, Taeyeon realized.

“Nothing. Just stopping by.”

She watched Hyejin work. She was reminded, all at once, of the first time they had met,
and how weird, how singularly expectant she had felt then. She put her hands in her pockets,
finding nothing else to do.

Hyejin finally glanced up at her, making brief eye contact. “You’ll have to give me a
minute.”

“Yeah, no problem. Sorry.”

 “How did you know I was here?”

“Oh. I texted Yeri, she said you picked up some extra work, so I asked her where you’d
be. I didn’t know they filmed a music show this early,” she said vaguely, trailing off.

“All that for me?” Hyejin asked wryly. “You could’ve just texted me and asked where I
was.”

“Yeah, but I—” Taeyeon shrugged. She had thought Hyejin might not want to see her
after she had been so stupid the night before. But the hair Hyejin was combing was attached
to a head (obviously), and the head had ears and a mouth. Rookies talked, maybe more than
anyone. No one needed to hear about it. “I had to stop by the building anyway,” she lied.

Hyejin shrugged and nodded. She picked up a bottle of hairspray. “Close your eyes.”

Taeyeon obeyed, her spine feeling rigid in anticipation.

“Not you.” A laugh. “Taeyeon.”

Her eyes shot open. A cloud of hairspray came up between them. She blushed.

“Oh. Right. I’ll let you work.”

She stood aside. She thought maybe these girls had debuted only a few weeks ago. They
kept eyeing her. She wondered what she would have thought if a senior singer had hung
around her dressing room conspicuously back during the first few weeks of her career. She
wondered what a group of young girls thought about her, about all nine of them, at all. Did
they think they were all washed up? Too old to be idols, still? Beyond idols? It had been many
years and they were arguably still on top; did this garner respect? Fear? Weariness? Did they
think they were overstaying their welcome? Was it that middling feeling, that feeling of
undeniable respect mixed with impatience, when will they just give up and just let the whole
thing go.

Oddly, that was what she worried about the most, not waning popularity. They were no
longer at their peak, really, but their peak had been so high that she knew, somehow, it would
never dip very low. She didn’t worry very much about their popularity declining so much as
she worried about their image if they stayed in one place too long. To still be an idol group
at their age was silly, but it was a self- conscious, tongue-in-cheek sort of silly, at least. What
she really worried, though, was that maybe the public wanted them to move on. Maybe it
was what they expected. Maybe they would release this album in a few months and the
reaction would be Ah... still, huh? Well, I’ll buy it, but this is verging on excessive.

She liked the energy in the room. It was electric, charged. She remembered that well. It
wasn’t just the first few weeks. It was the first few months, years. Less as time went on, but
she could remember it, even up to four years into the business, standing in waiting rooms
and feeling alive, the blood rushing. They called it adrenaline but it was more than that, it
was like waking up from a deep sleep to find yourself right where you belonged. Even when
you were exhausted, it was like being awake for the first time.

When Hyejin was finished she beckoned Taeyeon over. They were silent for some time.
The rookies chattered in flush excitement. Taeyeon sat down and spun in the chair idly. The
girls were rushed out of the room and a decent amount of staff followed; the exit settled like
a damp silence. She felt Hyejin removing her cap and then her fingers were in Taeyeon’s hair,
running down the length of it. Her comb pressed gently against her scalp and she slid it all
the way down, examined the ends.

“You need to use more conditioner,” she said, idly, seriously. “What are you using?”

“The stuff I advertise.”

“But that stuff’s terrible. You don’t have to, it’s not like people will know you don’t really
use it.”

“Yeah, but I got like, ten bottles for free,” Taeyeon said, frowning. Hyejin had searched
the table for a bottle of something; she put some in her hands and was working it into
Taeyeon’s hair. They were silent for awhile. The room wasn’t empty, but they were as good
as alone here in the corner, the music show loudly blaring through the closed-circuit
television. Taeyeon watched Hyejin’s hands through the mirror. She realized how good she
had become at staring into mirrors without really looking at herself. There was a whole
world in there and she was just one forgettable person.

Hyejin cleared her throat after some time. It almost made Taeyeon laugh; the action
was so similar to her own.

“You seem like you want to break up with me,” Hyejin said casually, combing her fingers
through Taeyeon’s hair. “Which is weird, because I’m not your girlfriend.”

Taeyeon tried to relax. “What?”

“Your whole vibe,” Hyejin explained. “It’s like you came all the way here to tell me
something important. Either that or you found the lack of volume in your hair depressing
and knew only one person could help you.”

“It’s—no, it’s—neither—I—I have volume in my hair...”

“If you say so,” Hyejin replied with a note of disbelief. She ruffled the top of her head
and then worked more product in.

“I just, uh, wanted to apologize for the other night.”

Hyejin made eye contact with her in the mirror. “Apologize?”

 “Yeah.”

“Why?” Her voice was calm. “It’s not the first time you came over drunk, or looking for
sex, or both.”

Taeyeon flushed. She cleared her throat. “Either way, sorry.”

“Let me trim off your split ends and I’ll accept your apology.”

“Okay.”

Hyejin looked for scissors. Taeyeon clasped her hands in her lap and watched her. Why
had she come here? Maybe an apology through text was too impersonal, but she knew that
wasn’t it. She had wanted to see her. She wasn’t sure why. This morning with Tiffany had left
her disoriented—which was understating it a bit. It felt weird to look at people when her
heart felt this strangely light and heavy, her mind this strangely clear and clouded. Even her
father’s voice had sounded strange to her when she’d called him and asked for his regular
lawyer’s phone number. Brand new eyes, brand new ears, brand new skin; the back of her
neck felt sensitive where Hyejin’s fingers brushed as she combed her hair. She remembered
Tiffany’s hands, her fingers so cold and soft, the scratch of her nails.

“You seem different,” Hyejin said. She combed Taeyeon’s hair out thoroughly. Her tone
was restrained, cautious.

Taeyeon held her breath. “Different—how?”

Hyejin shrugged. She put a towel around Taeyeon’s shoulders. “You tell me.”

She bit her lip. She wasn’t sure how to say it. What was there to say? It wasn’t like she
could even understand what was going on. She sighed. More and more this morning was
feeling like a lengthy dream, the kind you had while lying in bed in the glare of morning’s
sunlight, drifting in and out of sleep, knowing it was just a dream but trying to hold onto the
scraps of it. Just like a dream, the more she thought about it, the more the specifics fell apart.
The more she tried to recall the roughness of Tiffany’s voice or the glittering strands of her
hair, the more they became indistinct.

When you tried too hard to commit something to memory, you distorted it, she thought.
If you held on too tight, you lost it.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

“We’re not actually dating, so you can’t be breaking up with me,” Hyejin murmured idly,
as though discussing the weather. She focused on Taeyeon’s hair. “But it feels that way to
you, too, doesn’t it? Right?”
 “I...” She glanced at Hyejin’s reflection in the mirror. She was too focused on her work
to meet her gaze and so Taeyeon just studied her for a long moment. She wished, regretfully,
that she had never gotten involved with Hyejin. She got too attached to people. It was always
going to be a weakness and it wasn’t going to get better. If she had taught herself early on to
not get attached to people, things would be easier.

“I think I get it,” Hyejin said softly. She had begun trimming. Her hands were steady as
the scissors slid cleanly through the ends of Taeyeon’s hair. “Well, like I said. We’re friends.
If you’re in a relationship with someone else, I don’t mind.”

“It’s not—I’m not really in a relationship,” Taeyeon tried to explain, but Hyejin smiled,
laughed gently.

“It’s okay.” She took Taeyeon’s earlobe between her thumb and forefinger and pulled
gently, stroking it. Her hands were warm. “I get it.”

“I just wanted to apologize,” Taeyeon said. She tried to remind herself why she had
come here. There had been a lot of girls over the years, and maybe she owed all of them
something, but Hyejin, she knew—Hyejin, she really owed Hyejin.

“For the other night,” she went on. Embarrassed. “Really. I know you said I don’t have
to but—I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel like—I wasn’t using you. I wouldn’t use you.” She
tried to inject her words with as much sincerity as she felt. She had never meant anything as
genuinely as she meant that. Maybe that was what it was, maybe that was why she owed
Hyejin more than anything. She had used a lot of people, she thought. Over and over again,
different people, in an attempt to dull the ache—but they had used her, too, she knew. That
was being an idol. An ideal. Something for people to project their hopes and wants on; they
could say they had spent the night with Kim Taeyeon, but they didn’t know Kim Taeyeon.
They knew what they wanted Kim Taeyeon to be. So they used her just as she used them.

Hyejin combed through the ends of her hair. I don’t think she used me, Taeyeon thought
suddenly, and felt very sad.

“All done,” Hyejin said. She took the towel off Taeyeon’s shoulders and inspected her
hair once more. “Much better. Should be even.”

She wondered if Hyejin had heard her. “I just want you to know,” she repeated. “I would
never use you.”

“I know.”

“Why are you so understanding?” Taeyeon blurted. She couldn’t stand to look at herself
in the mirror, not even to examine her hair. She looked down at her lap. “I mean, why do
you... I’m such a mess, and no matter what I do, you’re fine with it.”
 “You’re not a mess.” Taeyeon snorted in disbelief. “All right, you’re a little bit of a mess,
but you’re a cute mess.”

An attempt at levity. Taeyeon couldn’t understand why she now felt so sad. She had to
wake up from this. She looked at her hands clasped tensely in her lap, and felt Hyejin’s fingers
run through her hair.

“Come on,” Taeyeon said at last, softly, looking up in the mirror to meet Hyejin’s eyes.

Hyejin smiled. It was a sad smile. For the first time, Taeyeon noticed how guarded she
was, like she was fighting to remain casual. Hyejin looked around the waiting room and made
sure they were alone, and then she wrapped her arms around Taeyeon’s shoulders from
behind, kissed her temple.

“I think you ask too much of yourself,” she murmured into Taeyeon’s hair. “And you
think the rest of the world is asking the same. They’re not. It’s all in your head. I want you to
realize that. I would never ask you for anything, Taeyeon.”

“You could,” Taeyeon said earnestly, looking at her in the mirror. “If you needed
something, you could ask me.”

“I know I could,” Hyejin replied. “So I won’t. I care about you too much.”

Taeyeon looked at her and then laughed shortly. Hyejin straightened, let go. The sudden
lack of warmth was painful.

“I just...” Taeyeon exhaled. “I do want to stay friends. But I don’t want you to feel
obligated. You know? If you don’t want to... I mean, I’d understand if you don’t want to be
friends. Don’t pretend just because you feel obligated, you know?”

Hyejin shook her head and smiled. She had a pretty smile, when it was genuine.
“Taeyeon,” she sighed, soaked in reproof. She ran her fingers through Taeyeon’s hair again.
“Don’t be an idiot. Love isn’t an obligation.”

Taeyeon frowned, not sure what to make of her statement.

“People do a lot of things out of obligation, but this isn’t one of them. It’s a stupidly
honest emotion. The way people feel about other people. Okay? Remember that, okay?”

Taeyeon thought maybe that was true, maybe partly. It wasn’t something you could
control. She knew that better than anyone. But wasn’t love a form of obligation, anyway, she
thought. Wasn’t it a responsibility to bear, a burden you couldn’t lift?

That’s what she thought, but she didn’t say so. It made you weak. Carrying something
so heavy, for so long—eventually it would make you weak.
 •••

Bad moods were contagious.

She supposed this was true with most people, but it was especially true of the group of
people she had spent the better part of her adult life with. Good teamwork had a price, she
guessed, and the synergy that made it easy for them to work together also meant they
subsumed each other’s worst emotions along with the best ones.

Maybe it was the snow, which made travel in the congested city difficult, or the fact that
the studio time had been scheduled last minute and some members had needed to cancel
other engagements to make it. She suspected it was more of the latter, since they all seemed
to be indirectly pushing their ire onto her, the one who had scheduled the studio time. It
wasn’t necessarily her fault; the studio engineer they wanted to work with was busy and her
schedule was tight. At notice that she had a free afternoon, Taeyeon had jumped on it.

Whatever the reason, the atmosphere of the studio was gloomy.

“Where’s Miyoung,” Hyoyeon muttered impatiently, checking the clock for the tenth
time.

Taeyeon checked her phone to see if Tiffany had sent another text. “She has a meeting,”
she explained, “and she’s running late.”

“Wonderful.”

“It’s fine,” the studio engineer said. One of the reasons they had wanted to work with
Jihae at all was that she was laid-back and easy to work with, besides being one of the best.
“She’ll miss a little, but I don’t need you to start laying down vocal parts until later.”

“Glad to see you’re alive,” Jessica remarked, glancing up from her phone to give Taeyeon
a disapproving glare.

“Taengoo can’t be killed,” Sunkyu said gravely, putting an arm around Taeyeon’s
shoulders.

“It’s true,” Taeyeon agreed. “You’ll never understand the burden of being immortal.”

“Do you have any idea how worried I was when you left my apartment last night,”
Jessica snapped, pouting dramatically.

“I’m sorry,” Taeyeon said honestly. “From now on I’ll text you every hour, on the hour,
‘Still alive, for now.’”

“Okay, joke about my sincerity and concern,” Jessica whined.

 “I will.”

“You’re in a good mood,” Sunkyu commented, wrapping her other arm around Taeyeon
and looking at her curiously.

“Everything okay?” Jessica asked meaningfully. A look passed between them. She could
trust Jessica to not tell everyone. It wasn’t a secret—surely Taeyeon’s ability to be a gigantic
mess was no secret, she thought—but it was a kindness all the same.

Taeyeon smiled briefly. “Yeah, actually.”

“Did you and Tiffany kiss and make-up?”

Taeyeon looked at her, wide-eyed.

Jessica frowned at her look. “What? Are you still fighting?”

“No,” Taeyeon said. She scratched the back of her neck. “We’re not fighting.”

“Good,” Jessica said with a sigh of relief. “Everyone else is already so grumpy, I don’t
think I could stand having you two give each other the cold shoulder all day, too.”

“No, we’re—fine. Excuse me.” Jihae had beckoned her over and she was grateful for the
reprieve, especially to talk about the album. Music was the only thing capable of clearing her
head. When she had started writing her own songs, she had been surprised at the
expressiveness she was capable of, somehow, because she did not consider herself an
inordinately expressive person. She supposed it made sense, and it was why she had always
been so drawn to singing, because it allowed her expression in a way she couldn’t achieve
normally. Songwriting was the same, but intensified. At the same time, the business of it was
remarkable; being able to divorce her feelings about her work from the business of the work
was a surprisingly easy feat. To be able to talk about a song she had poured her entire heart
and soul into as though it was a product, a commodity, was a surprising ability.

“I’m surprised you’re not saving that song you wrote for yourself,” Jihae commented
once they had paused their discussion of the recording process.

Taeyeon worried her lip. “Yeah, you and everybody else, apparently.”

“Do you want my opinion?”

“Always, unnie.”

“Don’t treat everyone’s opinion of that song as empty praise. You remember what it
was like when you first started writing songs, right? If it’s not good, no one here will hold
back telling you that.”
 “True,” Taeyeon remarked dully, still remembering the sting of rejection of her first few
compositions.

“And even when a song’s good, you’re still going to have a difficult time of getting this
much praise over it. The fact that everyone is this favorable toward it should tell you
something. I’m sure people have told you that it could really boost your solo career, but
they’re wrong. It would do more than boost it. I mean, between you and me,” she lowered
her voice, checking over her shoulder to make sure none of the other girls were listening,
“you could be more successful than the group itself if you kept it for your own.”

Taeyeon must have looked as troubled and surprised as she felt because Jihae touched
her shoulder, gently, apologetically.

“Hey, I’m just saying—it’s not like it would be betraying the group or anything. I know
you girls. I’ve worked with a lot of idol groups. A friendship like the one you girls share
doesn’t come along that often. They’d understand. I’m just saying—I’m just saying it’s a good
song.”

“All the more reason for me to give it to the group,” Taeyeon said, although the praise
felt warm inside her. It wasn’t that she was tempted, really, but the meaning of releasing this
song as a solo song finally occurred to her. It wouldn’t just be a successful song—it would be
a successful song that she had written. Having a solo career was one thing, and it wasn’t
something she gave much thought to beyond the tired inevitability of it. What she really
wanted, what she had always wanted, was to be seen as a legitimate artist, and all the
songwriting she had done for the group had yet to do anything to get her there.

Jihae chuckled. “There’s no shame in keeping it for yourself,” she pointed out.
“Sometimes you’re too selfless, I think.”

Taeyeon laughed. “No, you don’t get it. There’s nothing selfless about it, unnie. It’s one
of the most selfish things I’ve ever done.”

“Yeah, but—”

The door opened then and the loudest person in the entire universe yelled a greeting.
Taeyeon’s heart skipped a beat. She would never get used to it. Stephanie Hwang, like a sonic
boom casually strolling into a room.

“Unnie, you’re late,” Juhyun said severely.

“Juhyun, you’re scary,” Tiffany returned playfully, but her expression was a little glum.
It was easy to miss, since Tiffany was better at faking emotion than anyone, but Taeyeon was
staring so hard at her she was surprised Tiffany hadn’t spontaneously combusted from the
intensity, so she noticed.
 Tiffany touched her wrist, gently, briefly, as she came to sit with her. Taeyeon could not
stop looking at her. It was just like when she had come back from L.A., only this time she
hadn’t seen her for a mere three hours instead of three months.

“How’d the meeting go?” she asked in a low tone.

“It was... okay, I guess,” Tiffany said vaguely. She frowned. “Really good, actually. It went
well. It was good. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Taeyeon studied her. “You have a lot to think about, I guess.”

“Basically. Sorry, I just—” She waved her hands around in vexation. “Kind of sudden.”

“Yeah.”

“I should probably tell the other girls, right?”

“If you want,” Taeyeon replied diplomatically, thinking she was barely in a position to
give any advice considering her silence regarding the contract revision she’d been offered.
She drew her lip between her teeth. The studio hummed with activity and the air was hot
and thick; it seemed like the heat had been kicked up to unbearable levels, but it made
Taeyeon breathe in and out shallowly, watching the flutter of Tiffany’s eyelashes as she
examined her hands in her lap like they were the most fascinating things in the room. It
wasn’t the first time she’d noticed the utter sadness that Tiffany seemed locked in so often,
but it still surprised her, left her dazed.

She wondered what Tiffany was thinking, because she wondered about what Tiffany
thought a lot. Nearly constantly. She wondered what Tiffany had expected when she had
moved to Korea. They had talked about it before, about how a nine-membered girl group was
really the last thing they had ever expected as their future. Even when they had grown used
to it, even when they had fallen in love with it, it still felt like a prelude, the opening act to an
eventual solo career. She wondered. To suddenly be handed something when your hand
wasn’t reaching out for it—well, she just wondered—she wondered, a little—wouldn’t it
drop, she wondered, right out of your hand.

She wondered if that was what Tiffany was thinking. Her head was bowed thoughtfully
for a long time. Taeyeon watched her, watched the little down-curve of her mouth, and her
brow furrowed beneath the long sweep of her hair, and the way her hands twisted
uncomfortably in her lap.

She waited, because she had always waited.

Tiffany finally raised her head to meet Taeyeon’s eyes and smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi.”
 “Your hair looks different.”

Taeyeon laughed, embarrassed.

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

“I,” Tiffany began to say and then thought better of it because there were people, maybe,
or because she had become shy, maybe, and Taeyeon hung on every unsaid word. But she
did smile, and it was a real smile, because Taeyeon knew the fake ones, and kept track of
them. It reached her eyes, forced them closed, and Taeyeon thought unsteadily that even if
the future was a little confusing, maybe it didn’t really matter too much. Maybe they had
made a promise, once, and maybe they’d keep it.

When they finally got started, the studio was loud with chatter and she felt Tiffany grip
the inside of her elbow, drag her close and hold her there for a moment before releasing her.
It stayed beneath her skin for a long time, not just where her fingernails had dug in and made
anxious little marks, but all over, tingling right beneath her skin.

•••

Working with Jihae unnie was a lot easier than working with sunsaengnim, and
Taeyeon had found today’s session a lot more relaxed than their previous pre-production
sessions with Sunkyu’s uncle. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoyable to work with, because he
was, and the level of creative control he was allowing them with this album was unbelievable
compared to their last album, but he was still the chairman of a board that wanted to dissolve
a group that meant more to her than air, and it was weird to joke and laugh with him in that
context. There was an unspoken conflict, or perhaps, more accurately, an unspoken utter
lack of conflict. He knew, and he knew that they knew, and they knew that he knew that
they—well, the point was, it was awkward.

Jihae was different. Taeyeon realized that she had begun compartmentalizing people
again, organizing them into lists—people you could trust, people you couldn’t. People who
were innocent, people who were against you. Realistically, she knew there wasn’t anyone
who was against them, really, and it was just money, wasn’t it—there was no malicious
intent. But somehow, that was worse. Somehow, a benevolent fight was a more difficult fight.
It was rational to protest when people wanted to hurt you, but when they were, for all intents
and purposes, trying to make your needs meet their needs, well—that—that was business,
wasn’t it?

At any rate, Jihae was close to their age, and she was female, and she had no invested
interest in whether they were a group or not, which meant she was okay. The fact that she
thought Taeyeon was a decent musician was really just a plus. It was a little after midnight
by the time they finished, with barely one song close to done, but she still felt good. It was a
much slower process than their last album recordings, with a shared meticulousness and
perfectionism, but she still felt good about every single take they’d had that day. That had
never happened before.

If this ended up being the last album they recorded together, Taeyeon thought—and
the thought was quiet, quick, as though she worried someone could read her mind—it would
definitely be their best.

It was a little after midnight when they finished up. Strangely, the ten hours that passed
had felt a million times shorter. Taeyeon felt awake, alert, exhilarated in a way she had never
felt after a recording session that long. She couldn’t even imagine sleeping.

“Okay, that’s it for today.” Jihae looked pretty cheerful, which Taeyeon found
encouraging. “I know my schedule is terrible right now, and I’m really sorry about it, but if
you guys compile your schedules and send them to me or the producer, I’ll definitely make a
decent recording schedule happen. Okay?”

“We can do that,” Tiffany agreed.

“Unnie, do you want to go out, get something to drink?” Taeyeon asked with a frown,
watching Jihae gather her things. She hopped up and down until Hyoyeon put a heavy arm
around her shoulders to lock her down. Even then, she bent her knees up and down
restlessly.

“Rain-check?” Jihae reached out to ruffle Taeyeon’s hair. “Definitely another time. You
guys were excellent today, so good you sucked all the energy out of me,” she joked. “I’m going
to get some sleep, don’t forget to give me your schedules.”

They set about cleaning up once she was gone, but the collective gloominess from
earlier seemed to have mutated into a bizarrely cheery mood of mockery, at least where
certain people were concerned.

“‘Unnie, do you want to get something to drink?’” Yuri imitated.

Taeyeon frowned. “Hey.”

“‘Unnie,’” Yoona added, her voice high-pitched. “‘Recording music gets me so hot, let’s
go back to my place—’”

“Wait, first of all, that’s not how my voice sounds,” Taeyeon protested.

“That’s true,” Hyoyeon agreed, “it’s completely inaccurate.”

“And secondly, it’s not like that at all, I didn’t mean the two of us, I meant all of us could
go—”

“All of us, and then the two of you could leave—”

 “No, I meant it in a professional way,” Taeyeon pouted. “I’m not—”

“Shouldn’t we be discussing our schedules,” Tiffany said quietly, folding her arms over
her chest. Taeyeon glanced at her, frowning.

“Right,” Taeyeon said, taking a seat and reaching for her planner. She uncapped her pen,
feeling uneasy under Tiffany’s aloof gaze. “It’d be easier if we can make ourselves available
for unnie, so we can look at the next week or so, and—”

“I’m filming all week,” Sooyoung said.

“Even on Saturday?”

“No, not on Saturday, but Yuri—”

“Yeah, I have that—meeting,” Yuri said evasively, pulling her phone out of her pocket
to check her schedule. “But I can record some of my parts separately, if I need to, so if the
rest of you are free...”

“How long is the meeting?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri replied quickly. And then she laughed nervously. She examined her
nails. “It’s not a meeting actually, I’m going in to record a song.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Oh,” Sooyoung said eloquently.

“Solo song?” Tiffany prompted.

“Yeah,” Yuri said slowly and then looked at Taeyeon apologetically. “It’s just a digital
single. I’ll probably just promote it for a month. Either February or March, or...”

She trailed off uncomfortably. Taeyeon twirled her pen too quickly and it fell into her
lap. She picked it up, nodding absently. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.
Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“That sounds cool,” Hyoyeon said.

The mood had become awkward. Jessica poked Yuri in the stomach. “That’s big news,”
she said with tactful deliberation, wrapping her arms around Yuri’s waist. “Since when don’t
you share big news with us?”
 Yuri laughed so nervously that it made Taeyeon feel bad. “Since this whole... you know,
it feels weird, accepting solo work, even if it’s just a one-off thing.”

“There’s nothing to feel bad about.”

“Yeah,” Sunkyu agreed. “I don’t think this—changes anything. And that’s really cool
news. We should be sharing cool news with each other.”

They lapsed into silence. Someone cleared their throat. Taeyeon felt her earlier excess
in energy immediately draining out of her. Tiffany caught her eye.

“Okay, so we don’t have to do it this week,” Taeyeon said abruptly, making a note of
Sooyoung’s and Yuri’s schedules, “if you’re going to be shooting all week, Sooyoung—”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Beginning of week is bad for me, I’ll make a note of that—what about
after Thursday?”

Yoona glanced at Jessica. Jessica looked down guiltily. Taeyeon shifted in her seat.

“Okay, Jessica’s busy?” she asked, trying not to feel impatient.

“Thursday and Friday,” Jessica said hastily. “But Saturday should be okay.”

“No, because Sunkyu is going to be filming on Saturday,” Taeyeon said with a sigh. “So—
”

“Well, on Thursday it’s just a meeting.”

“Who are you meeting with?” Tiffany asked her.

“Um—I think it’s a lot of different people—” Jessica said haltingly. “Maybe it’s—”

Taeyeon was getting tired of this, and she was pretty sure she had figured it out. “You’re
meeting with the head of artist development,” Taeyeon finished for her. “To develop your
image as a soloist. I’ve met with him, so has Juhyun.”

“And me,” Tiffany said quietly.

“And Fany. Who else is meeting with him at some point?”

She didn’t need to look at them to know—it was all of them. She rubbed the back of her
neck where it had become tense. Everyone was looking at her guiltily as though they felt they
were betraying her. Betraying the group, maybe—but mostly her. That was why it felt weird;
all of their guilt was directed toward her. She closed her planner.
 “That’s really great,” she said quietly, sincerely, “and there’s nothing wrong with it. The
only thing wrong here is that we’re keeping secrets from one another.”

She thought, at that moment, that it was the perfect time to bring up the contract
revision she’d been offered but her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. She swallowed. What if
they took it the wrong way? Just because she had been offered it didn’t mean she was
considering it, and—another thought occurred to her. There was no reason to believe she
was the only member who had been offered a contract revision, and their silence about their
individual activities wasn’t reassuring.

You’re paranoid, she told herself.

“Look, okay, let’s get one thing straight. You are all free to pursue solo opportunities. I
think we all encourage it. No one here is going to judge anyone for wanting to establish a solo
career, so there’s no need to be secretive about it. Right?”

“I guess it just seems wrong,” Sooyoung pointed out, “when we know—I mean, isn’t it
kind of playing into their hands? They want to break us apart and promote us as soloists, and
we’re all willingly going along with it?”

“It’s okay to want both,” Taeyeon mumbled. “It’s not fair of them to break us up if we
can do both. We should probably be proving that we can do both. I mean, do solo stuff all you
want, guys, and if we’re serious about a summer release date for this album, you definitely
have plenty of time. But if you aren’t willing to make time to work on it, how are they going
to see the point in keeping us together as a group?”

She wasn’t sure why she had to be the one to say this. If they all wanted the same things
as her, why did she feel like she was begging them to care?

“I don’t want to hold you back,” she finished softly. “I don’t think anyone wants that. I’m
excited that you’re recording a single, Yuri.”

Yuri’s smile was relieved. “Thanks.”

“All right.” Her tone was sharper than she had intended. She was eager to end this
before she got annoyed. She stood, grabbing her stuff. “Let’s stop here, you guys can text me
your schedules and I’ll just shove it all at unnie and let her decide a recording schedule.
Okay?”

She didn’t lose her temper until she was in the elevator, jabbing at the ground floor
button like it had insulted her.

“Hey—” Tiffany said shortly, shoving her arm between the elevator doors before they
could close. Taeyeon moved aside to make room for her. Tiffany nudged her in the ribs.
 “Take it easy,” she said in a soft murmur. When Taeyeon didn’t respond, she nudged
her again, and then again.

“Tickles,” Taeyeon snapped, slapping her hand away.

“So—smile,” Tiffany said, nudging her again.

“I’ll smile after I kill you,” Taeyeon said conversationally, slapping her hand away again.

“Okay,” Tiffany agreed, now switching to poking at her cheek. “Smile. Smile.”

“No one will hear your cries for help in this elevator,” Taeyeon replied.

“There’s a security camera,” Tiffany pointed out, “so you’ll still go to jail. Smile.”

“At least I won’t have to smile in jail—what are you doing?”

There was a click and a flash. Tiffany lowered her phone and began typing. “Texting a
picture of your sad, stupid face to your mother.”

“Hey—”

“‘Mom, save me,’” Tiffany narrated as she typed.

“Leave my mother alone.”

“Smile.”

She smiled tightly. “How’s that.”

Tiffany looked at her silently and then pocketed her phone. “Very cute, unfortunately.”

The elevator doors opened and she walked briskly past Taeyeon. Watching her go,
Taeyeon took a breath so extended the elevator doors nearly closed on her. She felt a bit
lighter, suddenly, and hurried to catch up with Tiffany.

“Do you want to get something to drink?” she asked, wincing at the blast of cold air
when they stepped into the parking garage.

Tiffany glanced at her. “Wouldn’t you rather go drink with Jihae unnie,” she wondered
dryly.

Taeyeon frowned, exasperated. “Come on. Not you, too. I expect that from them, not
from you.”
 “Sorry.” She seemed to mean it. She looked down at the ground. “Do you want to take
my car or yours?”

“Are we getting a drink?”

“No, we’re going home. You’re not drinking anymore, remember?”

She remembered. “Yours.”

They were silent in the car. Tiffany turned the heat on high and it blew out noisily, too
loud for conversation. Taeyeon slouched down in her coat, pulling the sleeves over her hands
and wrapping her arms tightly around herself. When she ventured a glance over at Tiffany
she found her staring blankly at the steering wheel, lost in thought.

“Did you forget how to drive?” Taeyeon asked her.

Tiffany turned, blinking. Snapped out of it. “What?”

Taeyeon turned the heat down a little, quieting the car. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She sat back in her seat at last, settling her hands atop the steering wheel and
glancing back before she pulled out of the parking spot. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry. This has
been a weird day.”

Taeyeon frowned. “Yeah.”

“I mean.” Tiffany glanced at her awkwardly. “Not this morning. That wasn’t weird.”

“It was a little weird,” Taeyeon pointed out.

“Yeah, but not—bad weird. Not that the rest of the day was bad weird. It was more like,
ambivalent weird, and this morning was good weird, and then the rest of the day was like,
unexpected weird, and then disappointed weird, and now it’s like—weird—in a—I don’t
know—” She had pulled over abruptly, barely out of the parking garage to begin with, and
threw the car back into park. Her shoulders were up near her ears and her body was strung
tight.

Taeyeon looked at her, wide-eyed. “What—”

“I’m sorry, I mean, being alone with you right now, it’s really weird for me.”

“I’m confiscating the word ‘weird’ from your vocabulary,” Taeyeon muttered,
perplexed. “I don’t understand, we’ve been alone together before.”

“Yeah, but it’s different when you’re like, my best friend, Taeyeon.”
 “I’m not your best friend anymore?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Tiffany said with a frown. “I’m not thinking about you in a friend
context right now.”

“I don’t need to play dumb, it comes naturally,” Taeyeon replied. She could feel the hair
on her arms standing up beneath the layers of clothes, even though the car had warmed up
by now. “I need things explained to me slowly. What kind of context—”

“Stop,” Tiffany whined, “it’s weird—”

“Stop saying weird—” she tried to say but Tiffany had grabbed the collar of her coat and
yanked her over so forcefully she nearly fell into the gear shift. She could barely catch her
breath before Tiffany’s lips were pressed hard against hers, so hard their teeth met and
Taeyeon winced. Her palm struck the driver’s side window in an effort to keep herself from
collapsing onto Tiffany entirely and it stung and throbbed from the tips of her fingers all the
way to her mouth where Tiffany had seized her.

Tiffany kissed like she was fighting. Taeyeon had never kissed anyone with this much
longing, this much forcefulness; she felt her fingers slipping from their purchase against the
window and was suddenly, dizzily, reminded of the outside world.

“Wait—Tiffany—” she tried to say, wet and tumbling into Tiffany’s mouth—“someone
might see—”

“The windows are tinted,” Tiffany said confidently, dismissively, and put her hand
behind Taeyeon’s neck to press her closer. She was gentler this time, compliant, as though
urging Taeyeon to take control. Which was dangerous, Taeyeon thought, because she was
completely devoid of any sense of control when in Tiffany’s presence.

“Still,” she tried again and felt more than heard Tiffany groan.

“Sorry,” Tiffany mumbled breathlessly, tightly, “sorry—you’re just—you’re really good

at this. Did you know that?” She pulled back and then kissed her again, more restrained. “Can
I take credit for that, at least, a little, I mean, I did teach you—”

“If you want,” Taeyeon laughed. With difficulty she pulled away, using her hand on the
window as leverage to push herself back into her own seat. She felt strange, but she felt
better. Her annoyance with the rest of the group was dissipating—sort of—and the feeling
that had been twisting in her stomach all day had relaxed, spreading warm through her body.

It was after midnight and the roads weren’t too crowded. Tiffany maneuvered through
the sparse traffic easily. Taeyeon fiddled with the heat, and then with the music, and then the
door locks until Tiffany slapped her hand away. She didn’t pull away, though, her fingers
grazing the back of Taeyeon’s hand before she took it, pulled it into her own lap and held
them both there against her thigh while she drove.
 Tiffany’s hands were always cold. Taeyeon looked at them, at the anxious press of
Tiffany’s fingers against the back of own hand. She was right. It was weird.

“You can tell me, you know,” Tiffany said conversationally, eyes on the road, “if you
don’t want me to work on a solo album.”

“I want you to do what you want,” she replied honestly.

“And the rest of the girls?”

“I want them to do what they want. Just because I don’t want it doesn’t mean you guys
can’t.”

“And why don’t you?” Her fingers pressed tightly against Taeyeon’s hand now, as
though afraid she would try to pull away.

“I... don’t know.” That was honest, too. She really didn’t. Maybe she did want it.
Performing was performing, music was music. There were things she could do solo that she
would never be able to do with the group—she knew that. There was no fear of failure. She
knew she would be successful—it wasn’t arrogance, it was common sense. Still, she didn’t
quite know what it was.

She looked at her hand beneath Tiffany’s. If she couldn’t hold them in one place, hold
them there with her indefinitely, where would they go? Maybe she understood, a little, that
fear of losing someone if you didn’t hold on tightly enough.

“I want you to do a solo album,” she told Tiffany softly. “I want all of you to—I mean, do
any solo things you want. Really. Do both, or—if the group is holding you back, I... I don’t
want anyone staying with the group because they feel they have to. No one should feel
obligated to stay—”

“Stop it.” Tiffany kept her eyes on the road. A muscle in her jaw tensed.

“I’m just saying—”

“Well, stop.”

Taeyeon sighed, turned to look out the window. Tiffany held fast to her hand; her
fingers were cold but hot air was trapped between their hands. Taeyeon watched the
streetlights blink past.

“Taeyeon, listen to me,” Tiffany said. “Look, if it happens, it happens. But if you let it
happen without a fight, you know you’re going to regret it forever. I know you, TaeTae.”

Taeyeon didn’t want to look at her. “It’s not just me, though, Tiffany, it’s—everyone. I
mean, all of us. I can’t be the only one fighting. What’s the point, then?”
 Tiffany didn’t seem to know what to say to that. The back of Taeyeon’s throat burned.
It had been a very long day.

The car was silent, sick with silence. They drove under a highway overpass and the
lights on the dash were bright enough to burn, set fire to the blanket of darkness that covered
them briefly. In the dark, Tiffany’s hand relaxed and slipped from hers and Taeyeon flexed
her fingers, waiting for the blood to circulate again.

A very long day, a very weird day.

 CHAPTER 18
Past: 2010

Lately, Tiffany has a glow about her. Everyone has noticed. Her smiles are brighter than
Taeyeon had ever thought possible. She’s late coming home, often now, and spends a lot of
her time on her phone.

All signs point to her having a boyfriend, and Taeyeon suspects everyone in the group
has been told but her.

She’s willing to admit this is at least partially her fault—they’re leaving her out a lot,
she feels, and it hurts her a little, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t somewhat
responsible for pushing them away. It’s what she wanted, she tells herself, this whole time.
It was insane to rely on them, and it was insane for them to rely on her. There was no way
the group would last forever, and when it ended, wouldn’t she be sorry for wasting her
feelings? Eventually it would all amount to a waste.

There is an ache in her chest when she looks at them, and she knows it’s because she
loves them, but there is nothing that can be done about that. There is freedom onstage, under
the lights, when her only responsibility is her voice. It’s different offstage. It’s like being
boxed in. It’s unexpected, that where she is least on display, she feels it the most.

“What’s his name?” she asks Sunkyu casually one day. They’re alone in the dorm on a
rare day off and Taeyeon has found half a carton of ice cream in the back of the freezer. She’d
scraped away the freezer burn and used her spoon like a pickaxe to break it up.

Sunkyu glances at her out of the side of her eyes. “Whose name?”

Taeyeon digs a spoon into her ice cream. “The guy Miyoung is dating.”

Sunkyu sighs and sits on top of the kitchen counter. “I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?” she demands.

“Because she should tell you.”

“She won’t.”
 Sunkyu shrugs.

“Do I know him?”

A nod.

“Is he an idol?”

Another one.

“Is he good-looking?”

Sunkyu rolls her eyes. “Obviously, he’s an idol, Taeyeon.”

“Is he—”

“Stop asking me and ask her.”

“You’re a bad friend,” Taeyeon says, feeling petulant.

Sunkyu ruffles her hair. “I’m the best friend.”

Taeyeon ignores her. “She tells me she wants us to go back to how we were before, but
then she refuses to tell me things. I don’t think that’s fair.”

“Do you really want to hear about her dating someone?” Sunkyu looks at her skeptically.
Taeyeon shrugs stiffly. There is a perverse, masochistic part of her that would love it. She’d
like to see them together. It would tear the hole in her chest fresh open. It would hurt, and
maybe it would help.

“I want,” she says, casually, honestly, “to not feel like this anymore. Because it’s selfish.”

Sunkyu looks at her softly. Taeyeon wishes people would stop looking at her that way.
“It’s not selfish. You can’t control how you feel.”

Taeyeon shakes her head. “It’s the worst kind of selfishness, because I can’t turn it off. I
want her for myself, because it’s what I want. Because I love her. This guy could make her
happier than she’s ever been and I’ll still want her for myself. I mean, it’s a really ugly thing.”
She’s rambling now. “I mean, this—whatever this is—unrequited love. Maybe it looks
romantic on paper, and it sounds pretty in songs, but in reality, it’s just wanting something
you can’t have and not caring about the consequences. Doesn’t she seem happy? I mean, she’s
really happy lately.”

“She is,” Sunkyu admits, and her lips come together in a thin, worried line.
 “She is,” Taeyeon tells herself. “If I really loved her, wouldn’t that be enough? That she’s
happy? But it’s not enough.”

“You deserve to be happy, too, Taengoo.”

“I’m trying.” She looks down at her feet and then meets Sunkyu’s eyes again. She is
struck, suddenly, with how badly she needs the girl standing next to her. It’s a similar kind
of need. There’s selfishness in her love for the group, too, she thinks. “I’m trying.”

•••

There’s a writer unnie at the radio show who always leans close when she hands
Taeyeon things, makes lots of eye contact while explaining, blushes when Taeyeon smiles at
her. Taeyeon thinks of herself back in high school, how uncomfortable she was in her own
skin, how filled with disbelief she was when people liked her, or confessed. It seems so long
ago, especially now; it’s easy to recognize when someone is attracted to her, and she
supposes this is the sort of sixth sense idols develop, because it’s part of her job to be
attractive, and it’s part of her job to make people fall in love with her. It had never occurred
to her that this would be a particularly useful skill offstage.

She makes love to her in her small, cramped apartment, where the bed is inches from
the kitchen, in a part of the city she’s never visited. It makes her feel weird, like idol life has
left her sheltered, although the dorm she and Tiffany lived in before debuting was hardly
luxurious. It just feels weird, being there, and realizing how little she knows about the girl
she’s pressed against, except for the brief, polite exchanges of conversations they’ve had at
work. Seeing her from this angle, in the heavy darkness, in the smallness of her apartment,
is like walking in on someone changing, seeing them in a private moment you weren’t meant
to see. It elicits a hosts of questions that fill the back of her throat—how long have you lived
here, does the radio show really not pay that well, do you have any other jobs, where did you
go to school, do you like radio or is it just what you do to make money, are you a writer just
trying to get your foot in the door—

She swallows them. She shivers, feels thighs tighten around her hips, tastes the salt on
her skin at the base of her throat, and when she comes up for air she can only think of Tiffany,
of Tiffany’s hair, Tiffany’s eyes, Tiffany’s mouth. Tiffany’s hands, the line from Tiffany’s wrist
to her elbow. Tiffany the trick of the light, Tiffany the optical illusion, Tiffany the illness she
breathed in one day and has been unable to unstick from her insides.

“Have to go,” she says quietly, rising from the bed. She feels a hand wrap around her
wrist. “I have work,” she explains hastily. She dresses in the dark. The room seems cold now.
She bumps into a table on her way around the bed. In a fit of guilt she sits down on the bed,
kisses her.

“I really like you,” she says quietly. “I don’t want you to think this can be more, though,
because it can’t.”
 “Because of your career.”

“No—yes. And no.” She looks down at the floor. “I’ll just end up hurting you,” she tells
the dark, still air. “That’s what I do. I try to be enough, and then I’m not. If I dated you,
somewhere along the way you’d realize.”

It makes her feel better, and it makes her feel worse, and she starts to think at this stage
in the game, if she can have a little bit of the former, more of the latter is a worthy sacrifice.
It’s surprisingly easy and had never really occurred to her. Being in love with the same
person for the better part of her teenage and young adult years had sort of closed her eyes
to the pulsing, surrounding world; the idea of attracting people had never resonated with
her, and now it’s all she can think about. There are pretty people everywhere, some even
more objectively pretty than the one she wants, and if she can make them want her, she
reasons, then it isn’t her fault. There’s a small amount of ego in it, but she tells herself ego is
really the only thing she has.

There are starstruck fans, and they’re easy, and they listen to everything she says and
stay quiet obediently and if she saddles them with complexes she can’t feel terribly guilty
because she has complexes too, and confusion is an entry point. There are people who aren’t
fans at all, who know who she is and are hardly impressed with her as more than just a pretty
face—which she admits is all she really is, at the end of the day—and they stay quiet because
their priorities are the same.

“That’s freakishly methodical,” Sunkyu tells her when she explains the system but
Taeyeon thinks that’s better than going about it with no method at all.

“But it’s your life,” Sunkyu goes on, “and if it makes you feel better...”

She blanches, somewhat, because she isn’t sure that it really is making her feel better
so much as it’s just making her not think about it as much. It relieves the tension and appears
to be a win-win sort of symbiotic relationship, because they want her, and she wants to
forget. It is nice, really, the feeling of being wanted. She isn’t defective or anything, she thinks.
She’s a bit of a mess, but people want her, even if Tiffany doesn’t want her, and messes can
be cleaned up.

She puts her hands in her pockets, looks around. Tiffany is getting her makeup done.
They’re getting a little better, she and Tiffany, and sometimes they even have conversations,
conversations that trail off into nothing, but conversations nonetheless. Taeyeon has begun
counting the amount of words they exchange to one another per week and when one week
it peaks into triple digits, she thinks maybe they’ll be okay. Maybe. Maybe Tiffany will go and
marry that stupid guy, maybe he’ll disappear mysteriously and they’ll find his body floating
in a river, maybe, maybe, there are so many possibilities.

Taeyeon frowns deeply. Sunkyu pinches her at the nape of her neck, as though she can
hear what she’s thinking. Taeyeon winces.
 “Who’s that?” she asks, nodding in their direction.

“Tiffany.”

“No, I mean, who’s doing her makeup?”

“The makeup artist?”

“I’ve never seen her before. She’s pretty.”

Sunkyu laughs, shoving Taeyeon. “I don’t think she’s into girls, Taeyeon.”

Taeyeon shrugs. “A lot of girls aren’t, until they meet me.” It isn’t arrogance; maybe it’s
bravado. After all, they both know that if it were really true, she wouldn’t be in the position
she’s in, would she. She looks at Tiffany and swallows hard. Tiffany meets her eyes and starts
to smile, but it’s the way it drops off at the end, like they can’t even exchange that much—
Taeyeon looks at the floor and changes her mind about the girl doing Tiffany’s makeup.

•••

The dead cold of winter, at five in the morning, is like an empty room where her
footsteps echo. There are these group of fans in the parking garage where she tries to enter
from. They crowd around the elevator; more of them come, then, from behind her and from
all sides. They had been following, but she hadn’t seen them. The danger of traveling without
managers, even if it was a necessity sometimes.

“Go home,” she tells them, trying to keep her distance. She had thought the entrance
through the parking garage was the most discreet, but now it makes sense to loop around to
the front.

They don’t answer her, so she says it again.

“Go home. I don’t like seeing you. I’m sick of it.”

One of them is holding their phone up, taking video. Taeyeon can tell from the red light.
She forces herself not to snatch it out of her hands. Some slouch on the floor, leaning against
the wall; they smoke and play games, they eat snacks and drinks and leave the garbage
behind. They vandalize the walls. They post stupid messages on their stupid websites, with
timestamps and pictures and names and addresses and phone numbers and when she meets
their eyes they look through her, like fire eating through her skin and bones.

“I don’t like you,” she says evenly, feeling itchy under her skin; she isn’t sure why she’s
speaking at all, except that she hasn’t slept in over twenty-four hours and she is tired of
sneaking around and tired of being watched. “I don’t like seeing you. I can’t stand seeing you.
Go home.”
 Some of them are kids. Some of them are older than she is. They don’t scare her, really,
not too much; the older men did, but they don’t really follow anymore like the kids do. She
feels constricted, tied to them. They know everything about her, and if she does anything to
make them stop loving her, they can destroy her career. They have evidence, they’ve taken
pictures, they’ve taken videos, they know.

Jessica says they won’t. Jessica says that’s all it is, that they want to feel close to you,
and keeping your secrets, holding them inside, makes them feel that way. But Taeyeon
doesn’t want that, and it’s insulting to call it love. It’s ownership. It’s wanting something you
can’t have, knowing you can’t have it, and still wanting to keep it in one place, keep it for
yourself.

She feels like crying, and spins on her heel, hurrying out of the parking garage to enter
from the front.

The dorm is quiet, and dark, and she neatens up a little on her way toward her bedroom.

“Taeyeon?”

Taeyeon yelps. Tiffany turns on the light. She’s on the couch.

“You scared me,” Taeyeon says. “What are you doing out here?”

“I fell asleep,” Tiffany explains, trying to sit up. Taeyeon moves to help her. “By the time
I woke up no one was around to help me into my room.”

“Where are your crutches?”

Tiffany makes a vague, disinterested gesture. Taeyeon clicks her tongue impatiently.

“Please be more careful, and thoughtful,” she says quietly. “If your knee doesn’t heal
properly, what will you do?”

Tiffany shrugs, looking at her lap.

Taeyeon grows frustrated. “I’m serious. Think about your future. If you don’t take care
of yourself, you’re shortening your career. It’s one thing after another with you. You have to
be careful. Don’t you care?”

Tiffany snorts. “Wow, you haven’t lectured me in awhile.”

Taeyeon looks at her, startled. She shakes her head and frowns. “I just worry about
you.”
 She tries to ease up a little. She knows Tiffany. As much as she’s felt, over the past two
years, that she’s lost her, she knows her. She has more drive than anyone she knows, and she
isn’t a quitter. Taeyeon knew she was beating herself up for her injury.

The silence becomes awkward. Her hip presses against Tiffany’s thigh; she’s radiating
warmth. Taeyeon closes her eyes, bites her lip.

“Do you want me to help you into your room?” she asks, finally.

Tiffany shakes her head.

“Are you sure? Is it comfortable out here?”

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.” She rises. Tiffany grabs her hand. It’s soft, cold.

“Stay with me,” Tiffany says, quiet.

“Okay.” Obedient. No matter what’s happened to them, when Tiffany wants something,
Taeyeon gives it. They sit in silence.

“I miss you,” Tiffany says, finally.

Taeyeon can only look at her. How is she meant to respond? What’s the proper
response? Is there one? I miss you too is an understatement; there are no words strong
enough to describe the ache inside her. She just nods. Tiffany sighs, as though rebuffed, but
Taeyeon thinks that if she doesn’t get that the feeling is mutual, she hasn’t been paying
attention.

“Where were you?”

Taeyeon shrugs. “Out.”

“Where?”

“Out.”

“Were you with someone?”

Taeyeon looks at her, impassive. If Tiffany thinks she’ll talk about this with her, of all
people, her fall had messed up more than her knee.

Tiffany sighs.

“You need to think about the future, too,” is all she’ll say.
 “I’ll think about it,” Taeyeon says flippantly, and stands. “We have to leave for rehearsals
in two hours, I’m going to try and get in a little sleep before.” She looks away, putting her
hands in her pockets. “If you need anything, text or—yell real loud—or whatever.”

“‘We’,” Tiffany repeats quietly. “You mean the eight of you.”

Taeyeon looks at the floor. “Yeah, the eight of us. We’ll keep you updated.”

She hears Tiffany exhale and shift on the couch. When she risks a glance at her again,
her eyes are on the ceiling. Her face has that look it gets right before she cries. Taeyeon hates
it, so she looks away.

“Go. Sleep,” Tiffany says, and Taeyeon takes the hint and leaves.

•••

“What do you think of me?”

Her heart is beating fast. Lately, this is the question at the very front of her brain; all
thoughts pass through it. What do you think of me. It isn’t an idle, egocentric thought—it’s a
frantic, indignant demand—what do they think of me, what do they think I’m doing, what do
they think I’ll do, what do they think I’ve done. Maybe it’s paranoia, or narcissism. Maybe
she’s twenty-one years old and so indescribably and unspeakably famous that she wonders
if she’s been rendered useless. At twenty-one years old, does she have anything left to give?

“I like you,” the girl says. There are hands, insistent, at the button of her jeans. She
pushes them away.

“But why?”

Eyes widen in confusion, as though she believes she’s being tested. Was this part of the
debuting process, did senior singers routinely interrogate their juniors on their own self-
worth?

“I admire you. You’re talented,” she says simply, “and you’re pretty.”

Well, you’re eighteen years old, Taeyeon thinks, so what do you know—that’s no reason
to like someone. What’s being talented when hundreds of idols are talented, and what’s being
pretty when hundreds of idols are pretty. That doesn’t say anything about longevity—

But what do you care about longevity, she argues, closing her eyes, if you cared about
longevity you wouldn’t have become an idol, right—

“Sorry,” she says, soft. Somehow, it’s painful. She swallows hard, kisses the mouth
beneath hers urgently. “Sorry.” She kisses her again. “I think you’ll do really well—I think
you’ll be really famous. In three years, you’ll look back and wonder what you did to deserve
it all.” She exhales; her mouth is wet. “Believe me.”

There’s no response. She isn’t listening. A hand slips past the waistband of her shorts.
Taeyeon breathes her in, feels the storm pass over her.

•••

There is a point, somewhere in time, and she doesn’t see it coming, but suddenly she
cannot stop crying. They aren’t sad tears, but they aren’t happy tears. They’re that place in
between, where exhaustion and weariness lie. The idea of being rewarded for hard work
feels odd to her, like an itchy sweater she wants to climb out of. It’s a hollow victory,
somehow, and even when she looks at the audience, at their blurred faces like twinkling
lights, at the members, at the past year—at the past three years—it all feels hollow.

She realizes why she always feels pressed underwater, and it’s because she is
separately and collectively in love with eight people and it has worn her down. The
consequence of trying not to care is caring too much, and they haven’t just gotten under her
skin, they’ve gotten deep into her heart where she keeps private and safe, and every wall
she’s erected they senselessly demolish without care. It exhausts her and humbles her and
terrifies her, and yet there’s security. It’s safe, there, with them, in the circle of their arms,
and she cries harder because it doesn’t make any sense if it isn’t all of them, if her best friend
isn’t there, if there’s a missing piece, if they aren’t complete.

She pulls out her phone backstage and checks her messages, and the mass-text from
Tiffany makes every part of her feel like she’s falling apart. It hangs in the air, bittersweet,
and they all feel it, the want to have her there, but Taeyeon feels pulled apart by it.

She thinks of the girl she fell in love with years ago, the girl who held her and admitted
she was scared, the girl who was vulnerable for all of ten seconds, just long enough to swear
and promise and tie them together forever and she thinks maybe it’s codependence or maybe
it’s just loyalty, but maybe it’s okay for people to need other people.

They party into the early hours of the morning and when it winds down, Jessica offers
to help Tiffany to her room, but Taeyeon says, “I’ll help her,” and that’s that, and then they’re
alone, and she’s terrible at this—at feelings and emotions and knowing what to say, and so
finally, when Tiffany looks at her, looks at her long and hard, she just says, “I miss you, too”
as though picking up where they left off.

And when Tiffany just sort of looks at her, brows furrowed in confusion, she pulls her
into her arms and squeezes her, closes her eyes. “I know I messed everything up,” she
mumbles into Tiffany’s hair. “But you’re my best friend, and I need you. I’ll always need you.”

That’s the exact second, she realizes later, that she knows she will need to do this
forever.
 •••

Present: 2017

“So, what’s her name?” Sunkyu asked, setting down two cups of coffee on the cafe table.
The coffee shop was surprisingly empty for mid-afternoon. Taeyeon closed the game she was
playing and pocketed her phone.

“Huh?” She watched Sunkyu’s hands expertly add the right amount of milk and sugar to
her coffee. This was their routine. It wasn’t that she was incapable of preparing her own
coffee, she just liked to wait and see if Sunkyu would do it for her. She always did. It came
with a weird sense of warmth. It was nice to have someone know you that well. A long time
ago she had told Sunkyu, stubbornly, that she hated being taken care of, and Sunkyu’s only
response had been to teach her to like it.

“The girl you’re dating. What’s her name?”

Taeyeon sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “I’m not dating anyone.”

Sunkyu rolled her eyes. “I know, you don’t do relationships or whatever but you’re
obviously seeing someone. Why else would you be so happy lately?”

“Because we’re working on the album?”

“Bull. Come on. I haven’t seen you this happy in forever. Is it Hyejin?”

Taeyeon frowned. “No. I haven’t seen her for a few weeks.”

Sunkyu looked at her expectantly. Taeyeon tipped her coffee cup from side to side,
watching the coffee dance up to the edge and then slosh backwards. She wrapped both her
hands around it, feeling the heat solid in her palms.

Her silence didn’t seem to make Sunkyu happy. A rolled up paper napkin was tossed at
her head.

“Does Stephanie know?” Sunkyu asked, not giving up. Taeyeon swallowed hard. “She
must like her, because she’s been in a pretty good mood lately, too. You know how protective
she is of you.”

Taeyeon burned her tongue on an extra large mouthful of coffee. She looked down at
the table. It wasn’t often that she and Sunkyu kept secrets from each other. But this wasn’t
like most things. Hers and Tiffany’s reluctance to put a label on whatever they had become
had made it difficult to talk about with each other, let alone anyone else. It wasn’t that they
were consciously keeping it from everyone else, Taeyeon reasoned, or she thought it wasn’t.

She fiddled with her fingers. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to... well, first,
freak out, and second, tell anyone, and third, be judgmental, and fourth—”

“So many rules. What is it? Who is it?”

“Tiffany.”

Sunkyu looked at her with a steady, level gaze and then stirred her coffee for a long,
quiet moment.

“Tiffany, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Our Tiffany? Miyoung? Our Miyoung?”

“Yeah. That one.”

Sunkyu set her spoon down on a napkin. “Taengoo.”

“I know,” Taeyeon sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I know.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“About a month now?”

Sunkyu reached across the table to smack her in the head. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know what to say! I still don’t know what to say. I mean, this is...”

“Are you guys, like—dating—or—”

“No, we’re... pretty much exactly the same,” Taeyeon said thoughtfully. “Except instead
of fighting all the time, we make out.”

“Oh,” Sunkyu said eloquently.

“Yeah.”

Sunkyu exhaled across the surface of her coffee. “This is weird.”

“Yeah. It is.”
 “But you seem happy.”

“Yeah. I am.”

She was. She thought. She was a poor gauge of happiness, but she thought that it was
probably what this feeling was. It was distracting at least. Her worry over the group’s future
was intense enough to give her stomachaches, but every time she stopped to think about it,
she just thought about Tiffany instead.

“You’re the first person to know, though,” she told Sunkyu quietly. “I don’t know if I
should have said anything, but—well—”

“Is it supposed to be a secret?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean, we haven’t talked about what it is.”

Sunkyu looked conflicted. “But you’re happy?”

“I am.”

“Then, okay.”

“What do you mean? Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like there’s more to it. I told you not to be judgmental.”

“And that’s why I’m not saying anything.”

“Sunkyu.”

Sunkyu shook her head, glancing out the window beside the table. She ran her finger
along the rim of her coffee cup.

“Nothing,” she said finally. “Look, I love Fany. So much. She’s my baby. But if she’s
playing with you, I’m going to kill her.”

Taeyeon nodded calmly. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t considered it—actually, it
would be a lie to say it hadn’t completely possessed most of her waking thoughts.

“Tiffany wouldn’t—” she started to say, but Sunkyu cut her off.
 “I know she wouldn’t—consciously—I mean. Look, you and I both know that Fany
doesn’t have a mean or insensitive bone in her body. And it’s you, I mean, I think she’d cut
off her own arm before ever doing anything to hurt you. On purpose. I mean, I don’t think
she’d play with your feelings on purpose.”

Taeyeon frowned. “Then why do you sound so skeptical?”

“Just, why now?” She blew on the surface of her coffee again. Taeyeon thought it must
have certainly been cool enough to drink by now and in an effort to distract herself she
started counting the seconds until Sunkyu finally took her first sip. “I mean, she’s known how
you feel about her for a really, really long time now. If she’s felt the same all this time, I am
going to rip her hair out for making you suffer for so long.”

Taeyeon watched her carefully as she lifted the coffee cup to her lips and then set it
down to add more sugar.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m not a mind-reader.”

“You could ask.”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey remember that time I pined after you pathetically for
over ten years and you led me to believe I had no chance with you whatsoever? What was
that all about?’”

“Maybe leave out the word ‘pathetically,’” Sunkyu suggested, blowing on her coffee
again.

“Will you please just drink that, you’re driving me crazy.”

Sunkyu drank, obediently. Taeyeon checked her phone. No texts.

“I just want you to be happy,” Sunkyu said, the old saying. She wondered if they even
realized they were saying it at this point, or if it was reflex, the way you said hello or thank
you. She wondered why they told her it at all, constantly. Like she wasn’t aware that was
what they wanted.

“Well, I think I am,” Taeyeon said.

“Then, I’m happy, too.” She drank her coffee. Taeyeon drank hers. “But if she hurts you,
I swear, I will rip all of her hair out.”

“Wow, that’s sexy. Maybe you guys could mud wrestle.”

“I’m going to let that slide because you’re happy and you’re cute when you’re happy.”
 “I’m always cute. Did you see that article online? Someone let it leak that we’re working
on an album.”

“Yeah, did you read the comments?”

“I never read the comments,” Taeyeon said with a scowl, even though it was a lie.

“‘Wow, I didn’t know they were still together.’”

“Are you surprised that there are stupid people on the internet?” Taeyeon asked dryly,
draining the last of her coffee. “Clearly they’re not a fan.”

“Also a lot of ‘I was expecting Taengoo’s solo album instead’ comments.”

Taeyeon made a noncommittal sound. “Well.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Sunkyu asked her suddenly, and Taeyeon met her eyes.

“I’m not afraid.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m—”

“Are you going to pretend you know yourself better than I do? I am the master of
knowing you, Taengoo. You’re terrified.”

Taeyeon dabbed gently at the table where she’d spilled her coffee. It really wasn’t fear,
she wanted to explain, although every time she thought about it lately, her blood ran cold.
She tried to think of a way to explain it.

“I’ve never told anyone this before, but uh, when they put me in that training group with
all those other girls, I was pissed. I really didn’t want to be in a group at all, let alone one so
huge. I wanted to be a soloist. It wasn’t even about ego or anything,” she tried to explain, “it’s
just what I had pictured for myself. So all those times, in the beginning, when I said I wanted
the group to be forever, I was lying. I was just saying it because it seemed the right thing to
say.”

“I doubt you’re the only one who felt that way,” Sunkyu pointed out.

“But I still remember the precise second when I realized I didn’t want that anymore,”
she said, remembering how hard she had cried, and how empty she had felt when she had
realized the victory was incomplete. “The thing is, this is a really, really terrible business, you
know? I mean, I’ve watched it literally destroy people, and every time that happens I think,
wow, that could have been me. Or you. It could have been any of us. And the only way I knew
how to not let that happen was to make myself depend on other people.”
 Sunkyu smiled, a little. “That’s all we wanted from you anyway. For you to depend on
us.”

“But it’s all or nothing, you know? I can’t turn it off. I can’t teach myself to depend on
you and then suddenly decide I don’t need you guys. When I made that decision, I really
couldn’t turn back. Maybe it’s not like that for everyone, but that’s how it is for me. I made
myself weak, for you guys.”

“I get what you’re saying,” Sunkyu said gently, “but I want to remind you that we’re not
kids anymore, we’ve been doing this a long time, and nothing has to change, anyway. Just
because you go solo doesn’t mean we’re not here for you. You went to every single one of
Juhyun’s performances when she promoted her single, and you know why that is.”

“Because I don’t really have much of a life,” Taeyeon pointed out.

“Because you wanted her to know she’s not alone. And I mean, look at who we’re talking
about. Juhyun is the most independent person in the world. She wouldn’t have asked for that,
but you did it anyway.”

Taeyeon nodded, playing with her empty coffee cup.

“It’s okay for people to need other people,” Sunkyu told her. “But you have to find a
middle ground, you know?”

Taeyeon’s phone vibrated on the table and she picked it up, checking her texts.

Come keep me company, please~ Filming is the most boring thing in the world.

Sunkyu looked at her over the rim of her coffee cup. “Is that Miyoung?”

Taeyeon’s thumb hovered haltingly over the reply button. “Yeah, uh—”

“Is she summoning you?” Sunkyu asked with a tone of amusement.

“Well, not really—do you want to come? She’s filming someplace in Gwangjin.”

“No, you go.”

Taeyeon frowned. “No, come.”

“Why, you don’t want to be alone with her? She asked for you, didn’t she?”

Taeyeon found it difficult to read her tone. “I guess.”

“I’m serious. Tell her you'll be there.”

 Taeyeon had already typed the reply. “Sunkyu—”

“And tell her I said hi.”

Taeyeon stood up, reaching for her wallet to pay for their coffees. “Thanks,” she said,
smiling.

Sunkyu looked puzzled. “What are you thanking me for? It’s not like you need my
permission to go see her.”

Taeyeon bit her lip. “No—just—thanks. For not making me feel like an idiot.”

Sunkyu shrugged. “I’m the best friend,” she told Taeyeon and Taeyeon found she could
do nothing but agree.
 CHAPTER 19
Present: 2017

“How long did you film?” Taeyeon asked, getting Tiffany’s coat for her. She handed it
over, watching the show’s production director out of the corner of her eye. One of their
managers was talking animatedly with him. Tiffany pulled her coat on.

“Eight hours,” Tiffany sighed, looking at her phone.

“You left early.”

“Yeah, sorry, I know we were going to have breakfast.”

“No big deal. Oppa, you can go home, I have my car.”

Jooyoung scratched the back of his head as he joined them. “Are you okay with that,
Fany? Do you want to leave with this hooligan?”

“No, save me from her.”

“I’m very trustworthy,” Taeyeon protested.

“It’s true,” Jooyoung agreed, “it only took you thirty-six tries before you got your
driver’s license.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“I have to thank the rest of the staff,” Tiffany told them, leaving to do just that. Taeyeon
settled against the wall; this would be awhile, Tiffany was a lot more thorough than she was
with this sort of thing. Genuinely liking people probably helped a lot.

“Did you eat?” Jooyoung asked kindly, leaning against the wall next to her. Taeyeon
nodded. “Good. Uh—everything going okay with the contract?”

Taeyeon looked at her hands. “Why are you asking?”

“As an oppa,” Jooyoung said. He looked straight ahead, frowning. “Not an employee or
anything, just as a close oppa.”
 “My lawyer’s still working on a revision,” Taeyeon said quietly, glancing around to be
sure they were more or less alone. “So I guess we'll see.”

“Have you told the other kids about it?” Jooyoung asked.

“No,” Taeyeon said honestly. “It’s—an unnecessary stress. Who knows if I’ll sign it.”

Jooyoung nodded, looking at his shoes. “I guess that makes sense.”

Taeyeon looked down as well, pulling at a loose thread in her sweater. Even from far
away she could see the blush in Tiffany’s cheeks as she thanked and sent off each individual
staff member. Her body felt tense. It had felt that way for weeks now; every lull in
conversation felt like a missed opportunity to confess about the contract. She knew she
hadn’t done anything wrong, but she also knew that the longer she kept quiet about it, the
more dangerous it became.

Her father’s lawyer had mentioned that discussing it with the girls really wouldn’t do
any good until they had worked out something that better matched their needs, which helped
a little, but guilt was a powerful demoralizer anyway. “I don’t know what they told you,” he’d
said over the phone, “but this isn’t like the previous renewals, it’s a completely new contract.”

“I figured,” Taeyeon had said, her voice low. She had ignored a few of his calls already
because it was hard to find a time when she was truly alone. Even then, Tiffany had been only
one room over, in the bathroom. Her ears had remained attentive for the sound of her shower
shutting off. “I’m not that stupid.”

“If you’re going solo, the agency interprets this as you being a new artist they’re signing
on, so they drafted a brand new contract,” he had explained. Taeyeon had suddenly wished
she had thought to meet him in person. This was dumb. It wasn’t even the worry that Tiffany
would overhear, it was the guilt of discussing something this condemning in their shared
home. “That’s what this is, it’s similar to the first contract you and the girls signed, but of
course the provisions are different because they consider you a new artist. And as far as new
artist contracts go, it’s pretty light on restrictions, I guess because they trust you and you’ve
got leverage.”

Taeyeon had bit her tongue. She’d wanted to protest that she had no plans to go solo
and that the contract was an attempt to blindside her, but she had thought it might be better
to listen. The agency knew she wasn’t stupid. They knew she would have a lawyer comb
through it; they knew a lawyer would explain it to her. They must have felt that she would
feel compelled to sign—but why?

“There’s some good stuff in here, Taeyeon. The amount of creative control you would
get is unheard of. I mean, it’s heard of, but at that label? There are some really good controlled
composition rates, and giving you full ownership of your own music is huge. That means if
you wanted to leave, there’s nothing they could do with your music.”
 “Right. But there has to be some restrictions.”

“Of course. The biggest control they seem to want to exert is who you work with. If I
were to explain it simply, there’s a lot of creative control on your part, but every producer or
composer or engineer you work with is going to be pretty closely monitored by them. That’s
nothing new, though—that’s in your old contract.”

“Right. But. Would control over who I work with also apply to the other girls?”

“Yeah. Being marketed as a solo artist means you’d really need permission to do
anything with them. I mean, I don’t know how much they’d exercise that. They need the
option to monitor who you work with so that you don’t sign some crazy producer onboard
or anything like that. That’s standard. But if you’re reasonable, they probably won’t feel the
need to exert it. It just saves their asses.”

Taeyeon thought about what he had said. That had been a week ago; when he’d asked
her if she wanted him to submit a revision that more closely matched what she was hoping
for, she’d said yes—mostly to buy time, she thought, and as a test. If she could negotiate a
contract that worked for her, maybe the rest of them could, too.

As she looked at Jooyoung’s drawn face, set in concern, his eyes on the floor, she
wondered if that was going to be possible. She watched Tiffany chatting excitedly with one
of the writers. She thought about being eighteen years old and learning that the industry
she’d carelessly flung herself into was more complicated than she could stand to
comprehend, and thinking that maybe it would get easier, more straightforward the older
and smarter you got, but it suddenly seemed to her that it was the other way around.

“Oppa,” she started, and then stopped. She was scared. “If you thought... if you thought
that something wasn’t going to be good for us, would you say so?”

“Yeah.”

“Really, though? Would you?”

Jooyoung shrugged, smiling. “Should I try convincing you? I think sometimes your
cynicism makes you smarter than most people, but a lot of times I think it makes you blind.
Did you know that Taengoo? I think I care about you kids like you’re my own family
members. I want the best for you, all of you.”

“What do you think that is?”

“What?”

“The best for us—what is it?”

He shrugged again. “As long as you’re happy and healthy, it’s the right choice, right?”
 “But do you think the rest of the agency wants the best for us?”

“No. I think you’re talking about business, and business is something that only ever
wants the best for itself. When your needs and business’s needs match, that’s when things
are good. When they don’t— then maybe it’s time to go separate ways.”

He did know, Taeyeon realized.

“So what do you think?” she asked him. They both watched Tiffany.

He thought about it for a long time. He looked around. “We didn’t have this
conversation, Taengoo. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“They’re going to use your loyalty against you. Not just your loyalty toward the girls—
but your loyalty toward the company. They’re going to say, we’ve raised you since you were
a teenager. We turned a messy country kid into one of the nation’s most adored voices. We
protected you. We stamped down every scandal, guarded you from criticism. We took care
of you like you were our daughter. They’ll lie to you—they’ll use people, and the feelings
attached to those people, against you. From top-tier executives to producers to part-time
staff. They’ll use me—‘what would Jooyoung say? Would you abandon Jooyoung?’”

Tiffany was coming back. He wet his lips and turned, standing in front of her and
blocking her from Tiffany, covering her in shadow. His eyes were intense, sad.

“Don’t listen to them. No matter what they say, go with what you know. You know who
the people are that care about you. You know what we want. You know we just want your
happiness. All of you. Just remember, you know better than they know. And you know.”

“Oppa, don’t hover over her like that,” Tiffany chided as she came up to them. “If
someone took a picture from this angle, there’d be a scandal.”

“Good point,” Jooyoung said with a cheerful smile, moving away. “Like I need more
trouble with my wife. Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you, Tiffany?”

“I’m sure,” Tiffany said, linking arms with Taeyeon. “I trust Taeyeon.”

“That makes one of us,” Taeyeon joked as they headed out of the building. “See you,
oppa.”

•••

“Tuscany would have been so much better,” Tiffany complained, looking at the water.
 Taeyeon laid another piece down. “It was pretty but there was too much of the same
color.”

“Still, this is a kid’s puzzle,” Tiffany pointed out, watching Taeyeon sift through the
puzzle pieces so she could continue constructing the trunk of the tree.

“A kid couldn’t do this,” Taeyeon protested. “We should push the couch back a little, this
is going to take up most of the floor over here.”

Tiffany eyed her. “Looks like a kid's doing it now.”

Taeyeon narrowed her eyes at her, settling both her arms atop her knees as she
crouched on the floor next to the five-thousand piece puzzle. “Okay,” she said finally.

“Aw,” Tiffany said, pouting, “are you hurt?”

“No,” Taeyeon said sadly.

Tiffany crawled toward her, and then crouched as well, their knees touching.

“It is a kid’s puzzle, though,” she pointed out. “You know you only chose it because of
the pandas.”

“I like pandas,” Taeyeon explained.

“I like you,” Tiffany said and then nudged her with one of her knees. Taeyeon put a hand
on the floor to stop herself from falling over and then scratched her nose, looking down at
the puzzle.

“Do you want to order something to eat, or—I could make something—but we don’t
really have anything in the fridge—I could make rice... we could order something...”

She trailed off, uncomfortable with the way Tiffany was looking at her. She had been
looked at that way before; she had looked at people that way before. She had looked at the
person in front of her that way before. To be on the other end of a look she knew so well was
disconcerting, close to an out-of-body experience.

“Are you... hungry...” she attempted searchingly, looking at Tiffany with a cautious
expression.

Tiffany nodded absently, not taking her eyes off of Taeyeon. “Yeah.”

“We could go out,” Taeyeon suggested.

“I don’t want to go out.”

 “We could get something delivered.”

“You could stop talking about food and just say whatever it is you want to say.” She
settled her fingertips on top of Taeyeon's forearm, touching the vein in her wrist.

Taeyeon pursed her lips. There were a million things she wanted to say; a good handful
of them were things she really should say and yet couldn’t bring herself to.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

Taeyeon frowned. “Don’t get mad,” she said carefully, “but I kind of—told Sunkyu—
about this.”

Tiffany gave a wry smile. “About the puzzle?” she joked lightly.

Taeyeon didn’t take the bait. “It is a bit of a puzzle, isn’t it.”

“What?”

“You and me.”

“Ah.” Tiffany folded her arms neatly across her knees. “I guess so.”

Her pensive expression worried Taeyeon, somehow; she wasn’t sure what she wanted
from this conversation. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from Tiffany, really, which was
weird considering she had thought she had wanted the same thing for years and years. And
she still did, but—it was different now. Because she had what she wanted, and she didn’t.
She had Tiffany, and she didn’t have her at all. Maybe that was why they hadn’t talked about
it—maybe it hadn’t just been Tiffany’s reluctance to label them, but her own reluctance too.
Without labeling it, it was whatever she wanted it to be, and that was somehow safer.

She glanced back down to the puzzle and began sifting through the pieces again. “You’re
not mad, are you?”

She didn’t dare look up and so only heard Tiffany shift and cluck her tongue, saw her
hand a moment later as it joined hers in the pile of puzzle pieces.

“Why would I be mad?” she answered after a long moment.

Taeyeon shrugged. “I don’t know. I figured you didn’t want to... tell anyone... I don’t
know—I just thought—”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Tiffany replied and then for a few moments they were
silent, assembling the puzzle with dedicated concentration.
 “I just don’t know what we’d say, and—” Tiffany exhaled. “I don’t know how they’d take
it. I’m guessing Sunkyu threatened me with violence.”

“A little bit of violence,” Taeyeon admitted.

Tiffany sighed. “And the rest of them will be exactly the same.”

“I think she was mostly confused,” Taeyeon pointed out. “I mean. Maybe that was my
fault. I couldn’t really explain to her what was going on, because I don’t really know what’s
going on, and I think the fact that we haven’t talked about it is...”

She shrugged and looked up. Tiffany had settled down and was sitting cross-legged, her
shoulders slumped forward, her eyebrows lowered over her eyes. Taeyeon couldn’t help but
feel bad, although she didn’t know why. Maybe it was easier if they didn’t talk about it. Maybe
what she had told Sunkyu was an ideal, maybe the best thing for them to be was exactly what
they were and had always been, except kissing instead of fighting, which she admitted was a
pretty good compromise. Maybe. The thought of defining it at all weighed heavy on her.

“We can talk about it,” Tiffany said.

Taeyeon took a breath. Now she didn’t know how to. Never mind just forget about it
seemed a little bit childish at this juncture. “What are we doing?” she blurted.

“I don’t know,” Tiffany told her honestly.

“I mean—what are we, to each other, I mean...”

“I don’t know,” Tiffany repeated. “Is that what this is? Does it need a label for you to be
okay with it?”

“No, I just—look, I think we both know how I feel about you. I’m not really a wild-card.
I’ve wanted the same thing for, like, ten years now, so I know what I want this to be, I just
have no way of knowing—what—you—”

“I want the same thing you want.”

“But why?” Taeyeon sputtered, realizing suddenly why she felt so frustrated. “Why,
suddenly, now? Did you just flip a switch and decide you can feel the same way about me?
After ten years? I mean—”

“That’s not fair,” Tiffany said in a small voice. “I’ve felt this way for a long time.”

“Then why now?” Taeyeon shook her head. “I mean, are you really that—insecure—I
mean, is this just another thing to keep me with you?”
 “Would it be so wrong if it was?” Tiffany asked. She met Taeyeon’s eyes. “Listen, if I had
the rest of my life to figure out how I feel about you, I’d take it. But I don’t. You're telling me
I could lose you forever. What do you expect me to do?”

“That’s not very comforting,” Taeyeon said with a frown. “You know, that if there wasn’t
the threat of disbandment hanging over our heads you’d leave me to continue being
miserable forever—I mean, it’s a little—I don’t want to use the word sadistic, but there’s no
thesaurus on hand, so—”

Tiffany flung a puzzle piece at her and smiled, strained. “You know I just want you to be
happy. I kept thinking, you know, if I wait long enough, you’ll get over me and I won’t even
have to figure out how I feel about you, because it’ll be too late. That’s what I wanted,
honestly.”

“Why?”

“Because you had it in your head that I was somehow going to be the thing that could
make you happy, and I knew I wasn’t. I still think that. But—” She shrugged helplessly.
Taeyeon looked at her. The idea of the past ten years of her life being summarized with a
helpless shrug was so ridiculous it almost made her laugh.

“That’s stupid,” Taeyeon blurted. “You’re stupid.”

“What are you, five? Don’t call me stupid—”

“I’m sorry, but that’s dumb—”

“Taeyeon, get this through your head,” Tiffany rasped harshly and her tone was unlike
anything Taeyeon had ever heard in all the years of knowing her. “I can’t make you happy,
okay? I’ve waited years for you to figure this out and I’m still waiting—you’re going to realize
that I’m not what you want, that you put me on an unrealistic pedestal for years, and there’s
no way any human being could ever live up to what you want, especially me. You’re going to
realize that.”

“Is that what this is? Just another effort to make me get over you? You’re unbelievable.”

“No.” Tiffany shook her head adamantly. “You don’t understand the pressure.”

“I would never pressure you in any way,” Taeyeon said, feeling defensive. “You know
that.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean—when you idealize something for too long, you’re only
bound to be disappointed.”

“Idealize?” Taeyeon repeated skeptically. What even was an ideal, she wondered. A
type, an ideal—that was someone you could summarize in a line, a few words. She couldn’t
explain Tiffany in a few words. She couldn’t explain Tiffany in a million words. She knew this
because she had tried, and the more difficult it became to talk about, the more genuine she
knew it was.

“Listen.” She straightened her legs and then hesitantly scooted forward, close enough
to touch her. She took a breath. She had left the ball more or less in Tiffany’s court for a month
now, never approaching her, never initiating anything. In a way, it felt like her last lifeline,
her last effort at some form of self-preservation, an assurance that this was what Tiffany
wanted and that if Tiffany suddenly decided it wasn’t what she wanted—well, maybe she
could only get her heart broken a little if she didn’t invest too much.

Now, though, she made the first move forward, placing her hand carefully on Tiffany’s
knee. That much she could do. She shook her head. “Look, I’m not some fan, okay? I’m not
someone who doesn’t know the real you. I’m not admiring you from afar—I know you. I
mean, the good stuff, the bad stuff. I know everything about you. I know you look like an ugly
monkey when you wake up in the morning—”

“Taeyeon,” Tiffany gaped.

“I know that you’ve lived here for a million years and your Korean is still so
mysteriously bad I have to explain my incredibly hilarious jokes to you. I know you’re stupid
and stubborn and overprotective to a really obnoxious fault, and I know that—better than
anyone because I’ve worked and lived and been with you for ten years now.” She felt Tiffany’s
knee shake beneath her hand. “I’m not in love with an ideal person,” she said. “If you don’t
get that I’m kind of stupidly in love with every single one of your flaws, you haven’t been
paying attention. At all.”

She felt brave enough to finally look up at her and was surprised to see Tiffany’s head
bowed in a slight nod. She scooted closer, braced both hands on the floor on either side of
Tiffany; the proximity made her dizzy. That’s it, she thought, studying Tiffany’s wet
eyelashes, that’s it—you won’t get out of this alive.

She swallowed. “Can I please kiss you?” she asked.

Tiffany looked up, her eyes dark, and she nodded timidly. Taeyeon kissed her. She felt
Tiffany cup her face and her arms shook.

“Ugly monkey,” Tiffany questioned with a tone of disapproval, kissing just the edge of
Taeyeon’s lips.

“A really cute ugly monkey,” Taeyeon clarified, smiling.

“And I’m sorry, my Korean’s awesome and you’re just not that funny—”

“No, I’m really hilarious—”

 “You’re really not, all your jokes are lame puns and—”

“Puns are funny—”

“For old people, maybe—”

“Please shut up,” Taeyeon muttered and sealed their lips together, pressed close and
put her mouth anywhere she could, feeling Tiffany’s feverish pulse throb where their lips
met. She pressed her to the floor and her skin prickled and buzzed as her blood raced through
her veins.

She was beginning to forget the point of self-restraint. Maybe Tiffany was, too. Tiffany
left marks in her skin, always, little imprints of her nails on Taeyeon’s shoulders, scratches
on her forearms. It meant that she couldn’t kiss Tiffany and walk away from it, blot it from
her mind, because the memories were carved into her skin.

It had seemed like a long fall over the course of many years, but maybe it was shorter
and quicker than she had thought.

•••

The elevator stopped on the eighth floor on the way down. Taeyeon barely glanced up
from her phone but there was a chill in the air as soon as the other occupant stepped in and
instinctively, Taeyeon found herself backing toward the corner of the elevator, shrinking
away.

“Unnie,” the young girl greeted. She looked kind of young, Taeyeon thought, but there
was never anyway of knowing. Jessica and Tiffany had never had as many stalkers as she did
and she had been meaning to ask one of the managers to increase security at the new building
but it had slipped her mind over and over again. They had seemed so docile, so non-intrusive
since Christmas.

“How did you get in,” Taeyeon sighed, her eye trained on the elevator’s floor lights as
they descended too slow for her liking.

“I just want to see you... You’re keeping a lot of secrets from them lately,” the girl said
and Taeyeon looked up in surprise. “You and Tiffany unnie, the contract—”

How did you know—leapt to Taeyeon’s lips but she pursed them, not wanting to give
herself away. Her skin crawled a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know we always find out,” the girl said casually, warmly, answering her unasked
question. Taeyeon studied her. She was pretty. Now that she was looking at her closely she
thought she looked like she was maybe university age; Taeyeon recognized her, because she
had been following her for a few years now. At least three or four. This was the first time she
could remember ever talking to her and it almost made her laugh, somehow, the idea of a
young university-aged girl following a celebrity for so long and only saying you’re keeping a
lot of secrets the second she had a chance alone with her.

Taeyeon thought she should almost be grateful for the negligible sanity, at least in some
respect, although the thought made her bitter.

“It’s okay, unnie, you know,” the girl said softly. “You think they’re not keeping secrets
from you, too?”

Taeyeon just looked at the descending floor lights, keeping her face still. Why had she
left the apartment alone, she wondered.

“I’m your fan, so I’ll always follow you. Unnie—you know that, right?”

“Yes,” Taeyeon said stiffly.

“I like the other members, too, of course, but it’s you. And it’s us. We’re the ones who
are always there for you.”

She was keeping her distance. They kept to opposite sides of the elevator. Taeyeon held
her breath.

“Do you remember when Tiffany unnie left? How hard you cried? That was us there for
you, not the members. Do you remember that time you were too drunk to drive home? Maybe
you don’t. You were really out of it that night. We were the ones who called you a cab. We
said, where should we have them take you? We wanted one of the members to take care of
you that night. But you said no. You just wanted to go home. I’ll bother them, you said, I’ll just
be trouble.”

Taeyeon shook her head. She didn’t remember.

“You never bother us, though. You don’t trouble us. You can count on us—that’s all I’m
saying.”

Taeyeon breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator came to the parking garage.

“Good,” she said, brushing past the girl, “I can count on crazy people. I’m so touched.”

“Hey.” She was surprised that she hadn’t been followed out of the elevator and despite
her better judgment, she turned.

“I don’t have an agenda, unnie—it’s the same for me no matter what you do. But don’t
you think they probably have an agenda? Not everyone wants the same things.”

The elevator doors closed. The parking garage seemed eerily empty. She wanted to
laugh about it but she thought she was in no position to. If she was keeping things from them,
then why wouldn’t they keep things from her? Hadn’t they all kept quiet about their solo
activities? Wouldn’t she have done the same?

An eternity of friendship suddenly seemed very stupid if trust could collapse so easily.
 CHAPTER 20
Past: 2013

In all technicalities, as Taeyeon will later explain, the decision to not renew the lease on
the dorm is theirs entirely. Like everything else, the choice is left to them and it’s only kind,
well-meaning managers who explain that making them continue to live together when
they’re well into their twenties would be like saying the company doesn’t trust them to be
adults, and of course we trust you to be adults, you’re our precious daughters, you’re new-
age icons, you’re responsible little girls who tugged us out of red and right into black, and
you know we’ll always be grateful for that.

In that context, it makes perfect sense, and Taeyeon is the first to point out that it’s been
six years since debut and all the reasons they had for needing to live together back then
simply don’t exist anymore. They’re responsible adults who sometimes even drive their own
cars to their own separate schedules, and they have private lives, and significant others, and
little spots and pockets of life that don’t intersect at all. From a financial standpoint—and
Taeyeon rarely considers financial standpoints, but her parents do—the quicker they’re out
from under the company’s thumb, the less they’ll have to pay back when all is said and done.

When all is said and done is a private phrase that Taeyeon only thinks about in
hypothetical terms. When you’ve toured the world and sold as many albums as they have,
the idea of said and the idea of done seem like mythical concepts, things people refer to as
though they exist but what everyone knows deep down can’t possibly exist. She thinks of
Girls’ Generation that way; the public sphere talks about them as a finite thing and she
gamely plays along, but she thinks maybe she knows something they don’t know, and maybe
the fans don’t even know, that if it came down to their choice, when all is said and done, the
only thing that could break-up Girls’ Generation is an outside source.

And what could that outside source ever be, she thinks, when we’ve made the company
as much money as we’ve made them.

At any rate, the nine of them are technically left with the decision to renew the dorm
lease or not, even if there is a higher power pulling the strings more or less. Sooyoung and
Jessica talk about moving back in with their families and Juhyun diligently looks at apartment
ads and there’s a weird sort of electricity in the air that bothers Taeyeon more than it really
should, although she chalks it up to the fact that they’re discussing this during rehearsal
instead of learning choreography.
 “For work reasons it makes sense to not move too far out of Gangnam,” Sunkyu points
out, gesturing toward Juhyun’s laptop with the cap of her water bottle. “And the best security,
too.”

“You should move back in with your family, Sunkyu,” Hyoyeon comments. “Without
someone to clean up after you, you’ll probably die in your own filth.”

“There are worse ways to die. Plus, I figured Taengoo and I would move in together.”

“Then Taengoo has to deal with your filth.”

“I like her filth,” Taeyeon says absently. “Can we practice now?”

She admits that she’s done very little thinking about where to move after the lease
expires, despite the fact that she’s one of the members who has to think about it the most
urgently. The rest of them can ostensibly move in with their families until they find
somewhere else, but a daily commute from Jeonju to Seoul is more than she’s willing to do
at her state of exhaustion and homesickness. Her first thought, sort of fleetingly, is that she
and Tiffany can move in together, but the thought disappears as quickly as it comes.

She realizes, with a start, stumbling over the choreography, that this will be the first
time in nearly ten years that she and Tiffany will be living apart. The thought is so singularly
weird that it raises the hair on her arms, makes her step back and lean against the cool wall
while she watches eight pairs of legs expertly complete the choreography she can only
stumble through. The forefront of her mind had been occupied with the end of the six years
she had spent with the other girls, and it has kept her from thinking about the near decade
she has spent alongside Tiffany. She feels suddenly small and fifteen and oddly clingy,
watching Tiffany’s focused attention on the choreography and the way her hair sticks to her
forehead and temples with sweat. It’s a weird feeling, like leaving home was a weird feeling,
like looking at pictures of herself and her brother in the house she grew up in was a weird
feeling.

She has spent the last three years getting her best friend back, putting her back in the
spot she wants, and it feels a little scary to let go.

When the song picks up for the second time she pushes herself off the wall and slides
into formation. Maybe it would be a good thing, she thinks hopefully, to let go a little.

•••

“I guess it’s good that we’ll still live together here,” Tiffany says as soon as they unlock
the door to their dorm in Tokyo. “Although it still feels weird.”

“It’s going to feel weird for awhile,” Taeyeon points out, flicking the lights on as they
come in. “Thanks for coming with me.” The rest of the girls had stayed at the restaurant in
Shibuya but Taeyeon had drank too much and eaten too little.
 “It’s okay. Let’s get you some food.”

She doesn’t want, really, to eat Tiffany’s cooking, but she feels a little too dizzy and
buzzed to even properly light the stove so she lets Tiffany make it and hopes she finds it
impossible to screw up ramyun too much. The clock behind the kitchen sink says it’s barely
past eight; she wishes, sort of, that the rest of the girls would stay at the restaurant until late.
She thinks maybe they will, because it was a successful tour and it had been a year of
successful things and they deserved, she thinks, to eat a lot and drink a lot and laugh a lot,
and she deserves, she thinks, to sit here and look at Tiffany and Tiffany’s pretty hands and
deep, anxious concentration over boiling water.

“Are you still looking for a place to live?” Tiffany asks, leaning against the counter to
look at her. Taeyeon nods.

“There’s a place across the river,” she says. “I was in the area last week, maybe, and the
buildings were really nice. It’s less stressful there.”

“No matter where you go, it’ll be stressful,” Tiffany points out.

“That’s the stress that follows me,” Taeyeon agrees, “but if I can minimize it, I’m okay.”

“So you’re not going to live with Sunkyu?”

“I think she’d be happier with her family,” Taeyeon says. “And I’d be happier—”

“Alone,” Tiffany finishes and then snorts, turning to examine the water. “That’s you.”

“How can you say that’s me when I’ve never lived alone my entire life?”

“Because, it’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“Not always. But maybe it’ll be better. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Tiffany rolls her eyes and examines her nails. It’s the same any time they talk about it.
You’re not a burden, she says, and Taeyeon tries to believe it. It’s hard to live with, though,
and she worries what it must be like for Tiffany, to look at her and know how she feels, and
how she’s always felt. How can that not be a burden, she wonders.

“What about you?” she asks softly, drinking the glass of water Tiffany hands her.

“I’ve been thinking.” Tiffany examines her nails closely. “Oppa has his own place now,
and he did ask me.”

“Did he ask you?”

“Not explicitly, but I guess he did.”

 “What did he say?”

“I said, we’re moving out of the dorm, and he said oh, you can keep oppa company then.”

“Wow, is he always so eloquent,” Taeyeon mutters dryly.

“You just don’t like him,” Tiffany says, rolling her eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t like monkeys,” Taeyeon protests, “I just can’t relate with them on
an intellectual level—”

“I’ll ignore that,” Tiffany sings, “since you’re drunk.”

Taeyeon is not really very drunk but if it gives her a pass to mock Tiffany’s boyfriend
without getting hit, she won’t argue the point.

“Anyway,” she says carefully, watching Tiffany add the noodles to the water, “you can’t
move in with him, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she says, blank, as though Tiffany is a toddler, “you’re an idol, and there
would be a scandal.”

“Do you really think people would care?”

“Yes, I think people would care, do you have any idea how many news articles there
would be if you moved in with a guy—”

“Our fans are mature enough to—”

“You have to make decisions that will reflect well on the rest of the group, you’d be
burying eight other careers if you—”

“Just like you make decisions that reflect well on the group when you’re sleeping with
every single girl you meet.”

Taeyeon frowns. “That’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“Because no one knows about it and, really, do I have to explain to you how it’s
different?”

“So you can sleep with whoever you want but I can’t even live with a guy who I’ve been
dating for six months?”
 “Five months,” Taeyeon corrects idly and then feels like swallowing her tongue.

Tiffany opens her mouth to argue and then her expression softens. She turns back to
the stove and then brings the pot over to set it on the counter. “Five months,” she agrees in a
low, disapproving murmur. “Why are you keeping track.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Taeyeon admits.

“It’s not fair,” Tiffany says.

“Why should it be fair?” Taeyeon asks. “You picked a bad career if you want fairness. Do
you really want to live with him? I didn’t think you guys were that serious.”

“That’s because you don’t pay attention any time I talk about him.”

“Do you blame me?”

“No,” Tiffany says gently, stirring the noodles before lifting them up to Taeyeon’s lips.
“But—blow, it’s hot—it’s still not fair.”

“You’re an idol. You have to think about the group,” Taeyeon says, chewing.

“You know I always think about the group.”

“Jessica’s not even moving in with her girlfriend and they’ve been dating since the dawn
of time. Plus no one would pay attention if they moved in together, since they’re both girls.
In that context, you look pretty selfish. And you're not selfish."

“Would you live with me?” Tiffany asks, lifting more noodles out of the pot.

“No. I can feed myself.”

Tiffany shoves the chopsticks into her hands. “Why not?”

“Because,” Taeyeon says simply, looking down at her food, “I want to figure out where
you end and I begin.”

“Do you?” Tiffany asks curiously, leaning both elbows on the counter and eyeing her.
Her gaze is searing, and Taeyeon thinks, suddenly, maybe she really is drunk because her
world feels a little disoriented all at once. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Should it?”

Tiffany’s eyes are sad. Tiffany’s eyes are always sad.

 “It scares me. I don’t want to know where I begin. I want to know where you begin, and
I want you to know where I begin. That’s a safety net.”

“We’re too old for safety nets,” Taeyeon says and is surprised by the anger in Tiffany’s
eyes.

"Maybe you are," she says coolly. "Maybe you've outgrown me. I haven't outgrown you,
though."

She leaves. Taeyeon eats alone.

•••

In the end, Tiffany and Jessica decide to move in together, which is a terrifying
combination Taeyeon chooses not to comment on. They’re the first ones to move out, and
they have a party their first week there, partly because Tiffany will use any excuse to have a
party and partly because they’ve wrapped album promotions and their schedules are
ominously bare, save for the upcoming tour, but even that feels like the only excuse they’ll
have to see each other for awhile.

What was initially meant to be just the nine of them grows until it’s so large that
Taeyeon thinks Jessica and Tiffany’s neighbors already have reason to complain, less than a
week into occupation. He’s there, of course, and Taeyeon almost leaves as soon as she sees
him, except Sunkyu grabs her tight around the shoulders and Sooyoung shoves a shot glass
in her hand and Jessica says something like, You have to get used to it, Taengoo, she really
likes him a lot, way more than the other guys, and they do three shots in succession—one,
two, three—and her head buzzes pleasantly and she couldn't care less who Tiffany is kissing
or who Tiffany has been kissing for the past five months three weeks and two days (not that
she was keeping track).

“Doesn’t it feel weird?” Taeyeon asks Yoona, tuning out the sound of Hyoyeon
explaining the weirdly elaborate drinking game she’s invented.

“Doesn’t what feel weird?”

“The meeting earlier today.” Taeyeon frowns, shifting down low in her seat. “When they
talked to us...”

“Unnie, I think it went okay.”

“I thought about it. For the past six years, whenever we discuss our schedules, they
always tell us what we’re doing. They say, you’re going to go here, or you’ll promote in this
month, or you’ll have a concert here and here. This time they said ‘what do you want to do?’
That’s the weird part.”
 “Isn’t that what you want, though?” Yoona is puzzled. They put their shot glasses in the
middle to fill up. “All this time you’ve said you want more freedom.”

“Yeah, but it feels weird.”

“Weird to get what you want?”

Taeyeon isn’t sure it’s that, since she’s not sure it’s what she wants. There is a part of
her, an egocentric part of her, that thinks she’s too good to be an idol, and has always thought
that. But that doesn’t mean she knows how to be anything else.

“It just feels weird—one shot—” She downs her drink—“Like something’s ending or
something.”

“We have to tour for the next three months,” Yoona tells her with a laugh. “That’s not
ending. That’s never-ending.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course she’s not right,” Hyoyeon butts in, “she’s never right.”

“All I said was that we’ll be touring for three months—”

“Oh, then you’re right, I guess, this time. Taeyeon, you should move in with me and
magnae.”

“Why.”

“Because I don’t want to live alone with her, she’ll make me eat vegetables and read
books about global warming or something.”

“I don’t want to eat vegetables either. Why would you live with her in the first place? I
figured you and Sooyoung would move in together.”

“Because she’s my baby,” Hyoyeon says defensively, “and if I moved in with Choi
Sooyoung, we’d kill each other.”

“Good point.”

“I picked the less bloody option.”

“Shut up, you’re just being cool,” Tiffany says, joining them. She’s drinking the same
beer that her boyfriend likes. That’s what she drinks lately. “Yesterday she was so excited
about it.”

“I was not—”
 “Thanks for coming and saying hi,” Tiffany says to Taeyeon pointedly.

Taeyeon shrugs. “You looked busy.”

“Unnie, what’s this,” Yoona demands, grabbing Tiffany’s hand. There’s an ugly ring on
it. Well, actually, it’s kind of pretty, but the sight of it makes Taeyeon scowl.

“Oh.” Tiffany snatches her hand away. “Oppa is going to be out of the country on our
anniversary, so he gave this to me now.”

“It looks fake,” Hyoyeon jokes, mostly because it so obviously does not. "Is it made of
plastic?"

“That’s really romantic,” Yoona says.

“I guess the most basic things are romantic, huh,” Taeyeon comments.

“Unnie, you guys are kind of serious.”

Tiffany looks down. “Yeah, kind of.”

Taeyeon feels childish and grumpy but she thinks Tiffany is full of it, she thinks over the
past three years Tiffany has been kind of serious about four different guys and maybe she’s
really in no place to talk, but it seems like there’s a very skewed definition of serious going
around.

“Well no one asked my opinion,” Taeyeon says bitterly, “but I don’t think he’s good
enough for you, and he’s ugly.”

Tiffany smiles. “That’s why no one asked your opinion,” she says politely, cheerfully.

“That’s why I offered it—hey—”

Hyoyeon has yanked her up by the arm and pulls her over the back of the couch in a
messy heap. “Come on, let’s go get more liquor from the kitchen,” she says, dragging her off.
They push through the swarm of people and Hyoyeon hits her in the back of the head.

“Stop starting fights.”

“I didn’t.”

“You wanted to.”

“Kind of.”
 “Which would be totally hilarious to watch if it was just the nine of us, but there’s a lot
of people here.”

“Yeah,” Taeyeon agrees, leaning against the kitchen wall. The party’s mostly filled with
industry people and other celebrities. They talk. Even if they’re your friends, they want to be
bigger than you, and they look eagle-eyed for the chinks in your armor.

“You look ugly,” Hyoyeon greets Jessica as she comes in the kitchen, fixing her hair. She
looks almost as though she's just woken up.

“You’d know, you’re the expert.”

“Did you see the ring that oppa gave Stephanie,” Hyoyeon snickers, rinsing out a stack
of used shot glasses.

“It looks really cheap,” Jessica mutters.

“No, it’s definitely expensive.”

“Yeah, it’s expensive, but it’s a cheap gesture, you know?”

“Yeah, he’s kind of a cheap guy.”

“So you guys don’t like him either,” Taeyeon says, feeling somewhat vindicated.

“He’s okay.” Jessica shrugs. “Tiffany likes him, and if he helps her take her mind off of
things, I can’t really argue.”

“I think she has really terrible taste in men,” Hyoyeon admits, “but she has terrible taste
in music and clothes, too—”

“You would really know about terrible taste in clothes,” Jessica agrees.

“—I just think it’s kind of stupid how obsessed she is with being in a relationship. I
mean, she looks for them, instead of letting them happen.”

“Yeah.” Jessica shrugs. “I feel about him the same way I’ve felt about the last three guys,
I guess? Like—she dates him, she barely introduces us to him, after a certain point she makes
it seem like they’re getting really serious and that she can’t live without him and then—
bam—it’s over. Just like that. The fact that she suddenly seems so serious about this guy
doesn’t tell me anything except that I assume she’s going to dump him soon.”

Taeyeon wonders if that’s true. In actuality, she hasn’t done a whole lot of paying
attention to the guys Tiffany dates, but it’s true that they seem to have dedicated shelf lives
as boyfriends. For three years she’s been incapable of being single, Taeyeon thinks, but every
relationship ends as soon as it gets remotely serious. Taeyeon supposes she’s not really in
any position to judge, since she hasn’t been in a serious relationship for nearly five years and
what she doesn’t know about maintaining a serious relationship could probably fill
Kyongbok Palace.

“So Stephanie’s weird,” Hyoyeon sums up in a bored tone. “What’s new. Give me
something to drink, Sica, you’re a bad hostess.”

Jessica ignores her and smiles at Taeyeon. “I got your favorite wine.”

“Aw,” Taeyeon says, “you’re the best hostess, don’t listen to haters.”

“I’m not a hater, I’m just upsettingly sober,” Hyoyeon protests.

“And there’s someone who wants to meet you, that actress Tiffany invited.”

Taeyeon frowns. “There are a lot of actresses here tonight.”

“Jungwon, the one she’s going to host that cable show with. The one you said was
pretty.”

“Why does she want to meet me?”

“The same reason most people want to meet you, I guess.” Jessica rolls her eyes.
“Because you’re more famous than them and you’re too short to be intimidating? How would
I know? It’s my job to make sure everyone’s happy and that includes keeping you and Tiffany
from fighting, excising underage boy-band members from the guest list, banning Yoona from
any poker games so she doesn’t hustle all my friends out of their money, and making sure
you get laid.”

“And getting Hyoyeon drunk,” Hyoyeon all but whines.

“Oh god, who invited you?” Jessica snaps, leading her away. Taeyeon hunts around in
the mostly bare kitchen, looking for the wine Jessica mentioned. They’ve barely moved in,
boxes still stacked in most rooms, and the kitchen is the barest of all. There’s a cabinet filled
with wine glasses and shot glasses and a solitary cooking pot, almost as a perfunctory
afterthought. Taeyeon thinks about her own new apartment, which she’s set to move into
next week. She doesn’t expect to use the kitchen very much. She doesn’t expect to use the
apartment very much, truth be told. Sleeping and showering, but maybe not living. As much
as she’s lauded the idea of finally being alone, the promise of the silence, the emptiness, it
doesn’t really sit well with her.

The bottle is hers; Jessica always buys it just for her. If it was just the nine of them
tonight, she might drink straight out of the bottle, but image in all things, really, even at a
party where it seems image can’t be much. She has seen industry professionals, people she
respects, notionally, falling-over drunk or even worse. Taeyeon keeps image fastened to her
like full-body armor. You’re old enough now, a colleague had told her, that there are only a
handful of scandals that could really undo you. She isn’t sure why it bothers her so much.
She’s hardly a pristine person, and she makes no secret of it, but the group is still pristine, in
its own way, and that’s important. Somehow, it’s important.

•••

Jessica had mentioned that the balcony view had been pretty instrumental in hers and
Tiffany’s decision to rent this apartment and it’s in the back of her mind as she leads Jungwon
toward the doors. Forefront on her mind is how stuffy the apartment has become, and how
much she hates people closing in on her. It isn’t just the feel of them, of people she doesn’t
know or even people she does know moving in tight around her, it’s all her senses—the way
they block out any light, artificial or otherwise, the loudness, how it's never just a
comfortably dull hum but a loud storm where you can catch snatches of conversation with
no context. And the smell. Taeyeon likes perfume, almost to the point of obsession, but it’s
the singularity of scent she likes, not the collection of it.

Out on the balcony it’s cool and quiet and bright and open; it smells like Seoul in
summer. Smoke and leaves and gasoline and the quick, stinging scent of wine, like someone’s
spilled it somewhere. There are two other people out here, both smoking, and she and
Jungwon navigate to the other end of the balcony. Taeyeon looks down.

It wouldn’t be correct to say she was afraid of heights, but it wouldn’t be correct to say
she wasn’t. The sight doesn’t calm her. To be this high up is electrifying, and to see this much
of the city is daunting—and scary. Sometimes she looks at pictures of Seoul, glittering and
imposing, and tries to match it to the image she’s constructed in her head after years of living
here. They never match. When you only see a little bit of it at a time, it isn’t glittering, it isn’t
imposing, it’s just streets and people.

From here, it’s all that and more. Beautiful, but scary. Something she doesn’t think she’s
worthy of looking at and yet can’t stop looking at all the same.

She snorts a little. Taeyeon, you’re drunk. You’re so drunk. You’re so very drunk.

“Tiffany talks about you a lot.”

Jungwon has a nice speaking voice. Taeyeon hasn’t seen her in anything to know how
well she acts, but she knows that she’s nice to look at and she’s nice to listen to, and there
wasn’t much more you could ask of an actor or actress, was there. She’s had one breakout
role, but she’s still a rookie, and she makes Taeyeon feel old. They’re the same age, but
Taeyeon feels old, because she’s been in this business for six years and here is a girl who
probably still gets excited when her manager calls her. When she sees her daily schedule she
probably can’t wait to meet all the objectives—her first thought probably isn’t, but when will
I have time to eat, and when will I have time to sleep, and why do I have to work with him,
he’s such a jerk, and that scriptwriter hates me, everyone knows she hates me, and why three
hours filming for a television appearance that won’t amount to more than two minutes, that’s
going to be an hour of hair and make-up at least so maybe I can sleep then but I have to
discuss tomorrow’s schedule with our manager don’t I and when will I get time to sleep when
can I sleep—

Taeyeon frowns. When she looks down at the city she gets vertigo and the lights swim
together.

“Me?”

“She talks about all of you, but she talks about you a lot.” Somewhere in the space of the
last five minutes, she’s drifted closer and Taeyeon can feel her arm pressed against her, can
smell the alcohol on her breath. The city is a loud roar behind them. The quiet kind. A loud,
quiet roar. Kim Taeyeon is drunk.

She dangles her drink by the tips of her fingers, watching it hover above the city, a glass
ready to shatter.

“We’ve known each other a long time,” Taeyeon explains.

“I asked for your number a few times, but she said it wasn’t hers to give out.”

Taeyeon drinks, long, measured. “What would you do with my phone number?”

“Call you.”

“Ah. That’s the best use of a phone number I can think of.”

“Where do you live?”

“Um.” Taeyeon switches her drink to the other hand and then points east, where the
traffic is congested. “Right now, the fifth light from the subway station. Next week,” she
points across the river, “there’s a barbecue place over there—somewhere past the barbecue
place. I think one, two, three—blocks past —”

Her fingers brush Taeyeon’s forearm as she points to a building only a few blocks away.
“That’s where I live.”

“Oh.” Taeyeon nods. “That’s—”

“About a five minute walk.”

“That is very close,” Taeyeon says carefully, shifting her weight.

“Do you want to see it? It’s a nice apartment.”

She’s very direct.

 “Hmm, well—” She brushes Taeyeon’s arm again and smiles.

“You’re really cute—did you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” Taeyeon admits. “Listen—I’d like to—I’d definitely like to—but you
should know, you know, I don’t really do the relationship thing—or anything like that.”

“That’s okay. I can't really afford something that dangerous when my career's just
starting out anyway.” She traps her against the balcony railing. “Plus I get the feeling Tiffany
would kill me if I dated you.”

Taeyeon bites her lip. “That’s—really? She’s not a particularly—murderous person—”

She feels Jungwon’s lips on hers when the door opens and her eyes lower immediately
upon seeing Tiffany.

“Hey,” Tiffany says, frowning. She has a pack of cigarettes in her hand. It’s gross, and
she’s been doing it ever since she started dating him, although she swears it has nothing to
do with him. Taeyeon frowns.

“I guess you met Taeyeon,” Tiffany says and glances beyond them toward the city. When
she lifts a hand to run it through her long, dark hair, Taeyeon notices the ring is gone.

“Yes, we met. Thanks for inviting me.”

“No problem. Taeyeon—”

Taeyeon bristles. “Yes.”

“You’re in public, you know,” Tiffany says conversationally, and then glances at her,
aloof, her eyes narrow. “You’re an idol. You have to think about the group.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungwon says, “it’s my fault, really. I couldn’t help myself—she’s so cute,
don’t you think?”

Taeyeon smiles tightly at Tiffany. “I’m cute.”

“Adorable,” Tiffany agrees dryly.

“I’ll go get my jacket and meet you,” Jungwon says and Taeyeon watches her disappear
back inside.

“Please don’t,” Tiffany says when they’re alone.

“Don’t what?”
 “Sleep with her. I have to host a show with her once a week, and it’s going to be really
awkward if I know she’s slept with my best friend.”

Taeyeon shrugs. “Just pretend you don’t know about it.”

“Taeyeon.”

“Okay.”

She doesn’t argue. They don’t argue. They itch for fights but they don’t have them.

They stand in silence. Taeyeon drains the rest of her drink and sets the glass down on
the ground. She notices Tiffany rifling through the pack of cigarettes and pulls the pack
delicately from her hand, shoving it in her back pocket.

“You’re quitting.”

“Okay.”

She doesn’t argue, because they don’t argue. They start fights half-heartedly with no
intention of finishing.

“He’s not good for you,” Taeyeon says softly, looking anywhere but at her. “I know you
think it’s because I’m jealous, and I am, but—you’re not the same anymore. This isn’t you.
You’re not like that. You’ve always been your own person, and to see you just taking on the
traits of guys you date—it’s just...”

“Could I become someone you can’t stand?”

Taeyeon laughs at the sudden question. “Is that what you’re trying to do?”

Tiffany purses her lips. It’s cold out here. She can see the goosebumps on her crossed
arms. “No. I just want to know how you see me.”

“How I see you?”

“If you see me the way I see me.”

Taeyeon looks away. “I just see you,” she says, breathless, and then doesn’t know how
to explain it better. She has never thought about whether she sees Tiffany a certain way. Do
people really do that? She loves her, flaws and all. Maybe she loves her flaws more than she
loves her virtues. Maybe that’s sad. “I just want you to be you,” she explains at last. “And I
don’t think this is you.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’m getting sick of this.”

 “Of what?”

“It’s just really endless, you know?” She purses her lips again, brushes her hair out of
her eyes. It’s getting too long. She forgets, now that they aren’t living together, how she liked
watching Tiffany in the morning, brushing her hair in front of the mirror, turning the tangled,
messy hair into silk. It’s a weird privilege she has been afforded for too long, the privilege of
the best friend, the privilege of the roommate, to see her in her unpolished state and watch
her shine up like something impossible and pretty.

“I guess.”

“Finish tour, tour again, record album, promote, tour—I mean, over and over again. It’s
the same stuff.”

“It’s not the same,” Taeyeon says with a frown. “I mean, the music is different, and the
concerts are different—I mean, every concert is different, the audiences are different, the—
”

“I know. It’s not that I don’t love it, because I do, it’s just that I don’t know what to do
with it anymore. What are we doing? We’re not going to get more popular than we are now.
There’s no place to go but down.”

“It’s not about the popularity. You said that.”

“I know. It’s not that. I just feel stuck in one place.” She looks at Taeyeon. “It’s lonely at
the top.”

“I guess. But you’re not alone. You have us.”

“Do I?” Tiffany wonders. “Have you?”

“You’ll always have me. I just worry about you. I don’t think he’s good for you.”

Tiffany examines her hands. “Maybe not. I don’t know. I have to be in love with
someone, right?”

Taeyeon thinks about it and wonders if it’s true. In her experience, being in love with
someone isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be.

“Come here,” Tiffany says and pulls Taeyeon into her arms. She’s warm, and her heart
is beating fast. “I love you.”

Taeyeon laughs, trying to pull away. “Gross.”

“Just deal with it, okay.”

 “Okay.”

“Say it back.”

She feels Tiffany’s arms tighten around her and she breathes her in a little, that spot
where Tiffany’s shoulder meets her neck and it’s warm and Taeyeon’s heart feels light; her
tongue feels heavy.

“I love you, too,” she mumbles and Tiffany releases her. “I think I’m going to go home.”

“Take a cab.”

“I’m taking a cab.”

“Don’t sleep with Jungwon.”

“I won’t sleep with her.”

“Text me when you get home.”

“I’ll text you. Anything else?”

Tiffany looks at her for a long time. Her mouth opens and then closes and the ensuing
exhale is so loud Taeyeon can hear it over the roar of the city, over the muted racket of the
party inside. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“Okay.”

She thinks Tiffany looks pretty like that, with her hair moving in the wind and the city
bright and bustling around her like a vibrant backdrop. She thinks that’s something, the girl
she loves and the city she loves, right there, like a picture.

•••

Present: 2017
In a way, Taeyeon enjoyed the solitude.

For the most part, they’d been laying down vocal parts in pairs or small groups—two
or three of them coming in at a time and meeting with the studio engineer to record. Taeyeon
liked this, sort of, and had always had a strange relationship with studio production. The lack
of a rapt audience when recording vocals had always left her sort of cold toward the material,
but at the same time, she appreciated the methodical nature of it, the allowance of screw-
ups, and ability to re-record a bad take.
 Today she was alone, and it was strangely comforting. With less people to record, it
should have been moving faster, but she was finding discussing the music with Jihae relaxing.
It alleviated the stress, a little. In all things, she realized music would always be the thing that
moved her. It wasn’t a thing she could give up. That had never been an option.

“Have you heard the mastered version of Yuri’s single?” Jihae asked when they broke
for another discussion of the song they were recording.

“No, I want to be surprised,” Taeyeon said with a frown. The single would be out at
midnight. She’d heard the guide version of the demo once but was sort of anxious to hear
what Yuri’s version would sound like. As such she’d promised to buy a version off of every
download site she could find and argue with people on the internet who didn’t like it. In
return Yuri had promised to autograph Taeyeon’s bra.

“It’s really good,” Jihae said. “If it doesn’t chart well I’ll be genuinely surprised.”

“I’ll be genuinely annoyed,” Taeyeon said. “She’s worked really hard.” Yuri was behind
on their group recording schedule because she’d been working so hard preparing
promotions for this single. It was fascinating watching Yuri work herself to exhaustion
because she was so unlike Taeyeon in so many ways. She never complained, she just smiled
and laughed through the exhaustion. Part of that, Taeyeon knew, was just her nature, but she
guessed another part was how genuinely excited Yuri was to promote her own song.

Taeyeon supposed she was someone who really deserved it. She supposed they all
were, really. They were hard-working kids, even if they hadn’t been kids for a long time.

“All right, let’s try and finish this song,” she suggested, standing up and stretching. She
was trying to take care of her voice but truthfully she would have killed for some coffee at
the moment. She knew her voice was a little dead from close to a year of disuse, serious
singing-wise, and her radio schedule which sometimes left her hoarse. She cleared her throat
a few times on the way in.

She slipped her shoes off—a nervous, ingrained habit—and stepped into the recording
booth. The minute she was standing there, alone, studying the music, the relaxed spots inside
her seized up. When she was fourteen years old, she had stepped into a recording booth and
breathed life into a song for the first time. She still remembered that more than any other
recording session over the years, the terrified feeling of being alone in that booth with the
headphones too big for her ears and a team of engineers and producers watching her, hawk-
eyed, through the glass. Even if it was just unnie today, and even if she had done this a million
times—this was more like the first time, wasn’t it. So much was riding on this album. She had
thought, years and years ago, that if she couldn’t do it, then she would never be able to do it.
She thought that now.

Her voice cracked, just a little, and she stepped back with a frown.
 “You’re okay,” Jihae said through the intercom. “Just sing it like you sang the solo
version. It’s the same vocal part, essentially.”

“You’re right,” Taeyeon agreed, and she warmed up a little. The section they’d recorded
earlier had higher notes than this. This part was perfectly in her range. Her throat just felt
tight.

She tried again. She thought about Yuri.

Jihae broke in again.

“Do you want to move onto another section for now and come back to this one later?”

Taeyeon sighed. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Does that sound good? Let’s do that.”

“Okay. Thanks, unnie.”

“And Taengoo, if we need to change the key, we can always do that, okay? It’ll take a
little extra work but nothing’s set in stone until it’s on the shelves, right?”

“Right,” Taeyeon said, but that wasn’t a very comforting thought.

When they were finished for the day Taeyeon felt the need to apologize. She wasn’t sure
why, because she had worked with Jihae unnie even when her voice had been at its worst,
and she thought she had done better today than on other days, in the past, when she was
overworked—still, she felt guilty, because it had been a failure and it hadn’t been entirely
out of her control, she knew. She could make excuses for the physical condition of her voice,
but the fact of the matter was that she was preoccupied and that was all there was to it.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Jihae said with a laugh. “I always like working with
you.”

“I feel like I wasted a couple hours today.”

Jihae shrugged. “It’s your money,” she said playfully. “Don’t worry, we got a lot of really
good stuff, and I’ll see you on Thursday with Tiffany and Juhyun.”

“Okay,” Taeyeon said glumly, packing up.

“I’m serious, you know,” Jihae said. “I mean, I’ve always really liked working with you.
You know I don’t care what I do, as long as it’s good music. When I work with people who I
know really care, then I remember why I liked this job in the first place.”

“Yeah, but—”
 “You had a bad day, there’s no reason to beat yourself up for it. Give me your phone.”

Taeyeon frowned, watching as Jihae programmed a number into her cell phone.

“That’s my personal number,” she explained, handing the phone back. “When this
album is finished—well, wherever you end up going, just keep in touch. I think we work well
together.”

Taeyeon’s mind picked up suddenly, buzzing back to life. “Going?” she repeated. “What
makes you think I’m going somewhere?”

Jihae paused and then frowned. “Um—I didn’t say you were going anywhere. Just that
if you were—just a what if, for whenever, a year from now, five years from now, even ten, I’d
work with you, whatever you’re doing.”

Taeyeon’s silence seemed to make her uncomfortable so she added, with no small
amount of chagrin, “I’m just saying I like working with you, Taengoo. That’s all.”

“And the rest of the girls,” Taeyeon supplied, looking down at the floor.

“Yeah.” A beat. “I like working with all you kids.”

“Wherever we end up going,” Taeyeon said slowly, attempting to echo Jihae’s tone
although it felt hollow.

“Ugh—god. That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry I worded it that way. I just meant—”

“You just meant that you’ve heard rumors,” Taeyeon finished for her and Jihae’s sudden
flushed cheeks made her think she’d hit it on the head. “That people are talking—are they
saying I’m leaving the company?”

Unnie looked very badly like she wanted to not answer but after a moment released a
sigh. “You know—tech people—I mean, engineers and other guys, they don’t know what
they’re talking about. They gossip about stuff constantly, it’s not—I mean, it was just a year
ago that one of my seniors was saying he knew for a fact that the company was debuting a
new group in six months, and that’s not true, so why would this be true? They just gossip.
That’s it. Everyone knows you guys—you know—you guys are in it for the long haul.”

“Yeah, but this gossip,” and she muttered it like it was a dirty word because after this
long in this business, it wasn’t anything else, “true or not—is that what they’re saying? That
I want out?”

“They are,” Jihae began carefully, “saying that some of you are planning on leaving after
this album. But like I said—what do tech people know? I’m sorry I said anything, Taeyeon,
that was irresponsible of me. I was just trying to—you know—say that I’d work with you, no
matter what. If you need a studio engineer, you can always call me.”
 Taeyeon hadn’t realized how tensed her shoulders were until she attempted to relax
them and felt her neck crack. She let them droop and then smiled, apologetically. “Sorry for
interrogating you, unnie.”

“No, I’m sorry for—stressing you out. I should’ve thought about what I was saying.”

“It’s okay,” Taeyeon said with a laugh. “It doesn’t take much to stress me out these days.”

A kind smile graced Jihae’s suddenly relieved expression. “I can tell. Don’t worry about
things too much, Taengoo. It’s not healthy.”

She felt like people had been telling her that her whole life. It was in her nature to worry,
though; it always had been. Knowing full well that it was the reason she became stressed so
easily didn’t make it any easier to stop. It undid people—worrying this way. Worry bred
desperation, and she had seen what desperation could become in a business like this. She
thought about the group, about her best friends, her trusted teammates, and she thought
about what their worry and their desperation could do to them. Would she be able to blame
them? Wasn’t she exactly the same? For all her posturing and admissions that she was
exhausted, the idea of being cast aside, an overlooked footnote in a one-day list of has-been
idols, a poster that some kid eventually grew tired of and pulled off the wall—it gnawed her
insides apart until there was nothing left.

Because that’s what she would become—nothing. If she wasn’t this, then she wasn’t
anything. A kid from the country who never pursued higher education, who had no skills
outside of this one thing. Could she really blame them? It wasn’t greed, it was survival. How
could any of them stay alive if they didn’t have a place to do the only thing they were good
at?

Taeyeon released a breath and smiled at her unnie. “I just want it to be a really good
album,” she said at last, a half-lie, a tiny truth. “I want it to be our best.”

“It will be. You had an off day. Even pretty, frighteningly talented people are allowed a
couple of those.”

Taeyeon’s smile was bland because she knew she’d had more than a couple, and knew
there were more than a couple to come. On a good day her heart felt heavy with loneliness
and melancholy; today, somehow, she felt a little lighter as she left the building. She met the
cool night air of the city with her eyes wide open. No one ever faulted a person for giving up
if they were beaten down. Maybe they would say she should have fought harder, and maybe
they would be right. But a rational person couldn’t blame her for giving up, just a little.
 CHAPTER 21
Present: 2017

Taeyeon had seen Seoul for the first time when she was seven or eight years old.

At first her father, who had some business there at the time, had only meant to take her
older brother, but Taeyeon had begged and begged and pleaded and been—she could admit
now—a bit of a brat until he relented and brought them both. That was the first time she
could remember seeing the city, or seeing the city, really seeing it and remembering it, and
she had held her breath at the first glimpse of it, at the buildings and the people and even the
cracks in the pavement.

She stood now, maybe twenty or so years later, on the balcony of her apartment and
wished she could see the city again with those same eyes. Maybe it would help a little to see
the place she’d spent her entire adult life in with a child’s eyes. Children weren’t painfully in
love with things. Children were just in love, or they were amazed, but it wasn’t painful or
longing or disillusioned. When she’d come home that time and her mother had asked so how
was it and she had said to her, honest and candid as possible, I loved it, love had been a happy
word for her. There was nothing else to attach to love other than happiness and amazement.

There were so many things, so many people, so much that she loved now, and she
wished she could say it was just love, love that was nothing more than happiness and
amazement, but the truth was it could never be just that.

She looked out at the city, at the spots where it was dark and the spots where it glittered
up and lit her from beneath, and knew what she had known the first time she heard her own
voice onstage, the first time she’d put her hand down in the middle and felt the weight of
eight other hands piling on top of it, the first time she’d looked into Tiffany’s eyes. She knew
she would never get out of this alive.

The wind picked up just in time to join Tiffany as she stepped out onto the balcony to
join her. She was holding a jacket and she said, “It’s March, you idiot,” and Taeyeon smiled.
She hadn’t noticed how cold it was.

Tiffany pulled the jacket around her and she slipped her arms in, feeling the heat of
Tiffany’s breath as they stepped close and she was zipped into it. Her hair swatted her face
in the wind and she pulled the hood up, too, watching the dedicated meticulousness of
Tiffany’s hands as they drew the drawstring tight and then slipped inside the hood to cradle
her face.
 She wanted to kiss her suddenly. Because she was pretty. It seemed like a stupid
thought, and maybe an understatement, she guessed, because she wanted to do more than
kiss Tiffany and Tiffany was more than pretty, but it came to her then, when Tiffany’s hands
were cold against her jaw and then slid down to either side of her neck—she wanted to kiss
her, because she was pretty.

It was the same logic she had applied to an uncountable number of girls before, except
that this was the girl she was in love with.

“What are you doing out here?” Tiffany asked. She held her palms against either side of
Taeyeon’s neck until they warmed up and then she placed them on the balcony railing behind
Taeyeon, trapping her between them. This was a maneuver, Taeyeon thought, rarely made
with any intention other than to trap someone. Even if it was wanted, and the feeling of being
pressed up against Tiffany was nowhere near approaching unwelcome, it was still a position
that left her very little choice in the matter.

“Just thinking.”

“You can’t do that someplace warmer? Like inside?”

“You’re inside,” Taeyeon said. “I can’t think with you around.”

Most people, she thought, would probably offer to leave her alone after an admission
like that, but Tiffany only smiled and the space between them shrunk considerably.

“That’s the idea,” Tiffany said.

“You’re trying to keep me from thinking?” Taeyeon wondered with a short laugh.

“You’re a dangerous person with thoughts,” Tiffany told her. The space between them
disappeared entirely. She pressed their hips together and Taeyeon’s hands fell to her arms
and gripped tightly because it suddenly felt dangerous to allow Tiffany to back her against
the railing like this, eleven stories up. The action seemed to amuse Tiffany.

“Are you afraid of me?” she asked. Her eyelashes were so thick, her teeth so white. She
laughed.

“Very,” Taeyeon admitted.

This seemed to amuse Tiffany even more. “Why,” she asked, pressing so close they were
forced to share air. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Taeyeon bit her lip. She could feel Tiffany’s heart beating against her own. She thought,
dizzily, that maybe it was a little public for this, but she also thought that if Tiffany allowed
her, she would make love to her right now, even in the cold, here with the city behind them.
 “Are you sure,” she breathed at last, hypnotized by the way Tiffany’s hair moved, not
just in the breeze, but in every exhalation past her lips.

If Tiffany felt she was being challenged, tested, she didn’t let on. She only smiled, first
drawing her lower lip between her teeth and then releasing it. Her gaze was not still; it darted
from Taeyeon’s eyes, down her nose, rounded her mouth, slid to her jaw; it hesitated; it leapt
back to her eyes.

“Pretty sure.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Her tone was light but Tiffany’s smile disappeared as though she recognized
immediately the seriousness Taeyeon was too afraid to approach very intently.

“Well.” She dropped her gaze below Taeyeon’s face. She was all eyelashes. “I wouldn’t
do anything I thought would hurt you,” she said candidly. “I can’t promise you won’t go
looking to get hurt.”

Taeyeon scoffed. “Who would do that.”

“Someone so used to being unhappy that she’d push happiness away with both hands.”

It was a weird feeling, being so extraordinarily warm wherever Tiffany touched her,
frozen to the bone where she didn’t. Being pressed against her was like embracing an open
flame, and she felt torn between the discomfort of being burned alive or freezing to death.
She thought about Tiffany’s hands, which always seemed so cold, but when they touched her
now, she felt scalded.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Tiffany lifted her eyes up once more to meet hers. Taeyeon shivered.

“You tell me,” Tiffany said softly. “Look where I am, and look at your hands.”

She didn’t need to look to know what Tiffany meant; she could feel the tense way her
hands gripped Tiffany’s arms and pressed her backward, pushing them both away from the
ledge.

“I just don’t want to fall,” she laughed.

Tiffany shrugged. “At this height, we’d both fall.”

“Well, think of the poor people down there. Imagine going about your evening and then
suddenly two former idols fall on you.”
 “We’re still idols.”

Taeyeon raised her eyebrows enigmatically. “Technically.”

Tiffany laughed, and pressed in closer. “I want to kiss you.”

Taeyeon humored her, smiling faintly. “Why?”

“Because. You’re beautiful. Because. You’re my best friend. Because—because. You’re a

good kisser.”

“Some of those reasons are better than others,” Taeyeon mused but let herself be
kissed, let herself be pressed against the cold iron railing, let herself be coaxed into breathing
raggedly against the wet silk of Tiffany’s mouth.

She had come out here to think, but there was too much to think about. She thought
about how Tiffany was her best friend, and how they used to tell each other everything. She
thought about the years when it was awkward between them, when they couldn’t tell each
other everything and she’d felt secrets and thoughts pile up inside her and eat away at her
from the inside out.

She thought about the Tiffany in her mind, the one who she could tell about the contract
and everything she’d been keeping inside, the one who would laugh and say my poor Taeyeon
it must have really hurt to keep this inside for so long, and the two of us can figure something
out like we always do, and she thought about how clean and free her life could be if she never
saw Tiffany or any of them again, if she moved on with her life and Girls’ Generation became
nothing but a passing question asked of her on variety shows five years down the line—are
you still in touch with the members? No, we’re no longer in touch, but I think of them everyday
and feel so grateful toward them—pause as though choked up, look ready to cry, just enough
to make for a good article about how warm her heart is.

She thought about how Tiffany’s hands were so cold but the rest of her was as warm as
she’d imagined, and she thought about how fantasies were dangerous, and how unfair it was
to ache for one person as long as she had. Her mouth watered just thinking about it and she
didn’t know how hard she pushed against Tiffany to propel her inside, but she did. March
was cold but Tiffany’s mouth was warm and wet and the only thing she could think about.

She tried to slow down but Tiffany was pressed against her, her body trembling and
buzzing with heat, and she was pulling in Taeyeon’s air, disorienting her center of gravity,
making soft, encouraging sounds and she thought it would probably be polite to warn
Tiffany, “I don’t know if I can stop,” a rough, hurried mumble—and Tiffany hissed some curse
in English as Taeyeon’s hands slipped beneath her shirt.

“Please don’t stop,” Tiffany sighed and she could barely hear it because the roaring in
her ears was so loud and she was so dizzy and exhilarated that she wasn’t even sure how
they’d managed to move to her bedroom; she pressed her to the mattress and felt it rise from
the tips of her toes to spread warm in her chest.

Tiffany’s skin, soft as it looked, as warm between her thighs as she’d imagined, her
hands shivering, her mouth trembling. The way Tiffany mumbled her name, at first
hesitantly, and then reverently, and then brokenly. The deliberateness of Tiffany’s mouth
against her skin, raising goosebumps everywhere it went, and the light behind her eyes when
she came undone and tried to swallow Tiffany’s name, force it off the tip of her tongue.

It escaped anyway—her name—breathless and groaned into the pillow beside Tiffany’s
head, exhaled into the softness of her hair.

She could cry, maybe, or laugh, maybe, but she had spent her entire life wanting one
thing and she was right there, arching up beneath her and opening her eyes lazily, drowsily,
with yearning acceptance and affection. Taeyeon knew, really knew at that precise moment,
that she would spend the rest of her life remembering that look in Tiffany’s eyes.

•••

Her eyes fluttered open, briefly, and then closed. She stretched; her muscles relaxed
like a rope slackening, and it was the first time in a long time that she didn’t have a headache.
She stirred and felt the mattress shift and undulate so vigorously she thought she would be
motion sick if the rest of her hadn’t felt so perfectly content.

The mattress shifted again, this time forcefully, and she reached a hand out blindly, eyes
still closed, to nudge Tiffany’s arm—or what was meant to be an arm, but wasn’t, and she
retracted her hand in embarrassment.

“Stop moving so much,” she said quietly, although it sunk loudly into the heavy air of
the room.

“Sorry,” Tiffany said.

“It’s okay, I just feel like I’m on a boat.”

Tiffany was silent and then shifted minutely, slowly, as though the slightness of her
movements would render them unnoticeable.

“Taeyeon.” She felt her pillow shift with the added weight of another head.

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to sleep?”

“No.” She stretched. “Sorry, I’m just…”

 The happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life seemed an embarrassing way to finish the
sentence so she just let it hang there.

Tiffany pressed against her, warm; the sheet was between them but it did nothing to
smother the addictive heat of her.

“Taeyeon.”

“Hmm.”

“Was it okay?”

She opened one eye. “Uh, yeah,” she said as though Tiffany had just asked her if it was
true that the sky was blue.

“Like, on a scale of one to ten.”

“Uh, eleven?” She opened the other eye. Tiffany’s skin was flushed. It was fascinating.

She bit her lip. “Don’t just say that to make me feel better.”

“Saying things to make you feel better isn’t really my thing,” Taeyeon joked. “Are you
serious right now? It was amazing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m—wait, are you trying to say it wasn’t okay for you?”

“Oh my god, no,” Tiffany said hastily, dropping her head back down to the pillow and
staring, wide-eyed, up at the ceiling. “That was—more than—that was…” She cleared her
throat, her cheeks turning red. “Uh, very good. Good. Very…” She cleared her throat again,
searching for a word.

“Good?” Taeyeon supplied with a grin.

“Yeah,” Tiffany replied and her embarrassment seemed to have faded long enough for
her to glance at Taeyeon with raised eyebrows. “Gold star.”

“Thank you.”

“First place trophy.”

“Wow, you’re too kind.”

They lapsed into silence. Taeyeon thought maybe her brain was becoming a little less
fuzzy.
 “This is awkward,” Tiffany admitted after a while.

Taeyeon laughed, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in her pillow. “Oh god.
It really is.” She stifled another laugh and then ventured another look at Tiffany. She couldn’t
help it. She started laughing and she couldn’t stop.

Tiffany hit her, hard.

“Oh my god—you stupid short jerk—don’t laugh at me oh my god that’s so rude—”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Taeyeon gasped through her laughter. “I’m laughing at the
situation—stop hitting me—”

“Why is it funny.”

“Because.” She lifted her head from her pillow and spared a glance over at Tiffany.
“You’re naked. You’re my best friend and you’re all—like, naked—and stuff.”

“You’re naked, too.”

“I know,” Taeyeon said, bursting into laughter again. “It’s hilarious.”

Tiffany sighed, but she was fighting off a smile. Taeyeon rolled onto her back again and
breathed deeply. It was weird how much clearer things seemed when you weren’t fighting
off a mountain of stress and the current day’s newest variation on the old headache. She felt
Tiffany press her cheek against her arm, her hand finding hers beneath the sheets and lacing
their fingers together.

“Everything’s really different now, huh,” she mumbled.

“It’s been different,” Taeyeon pointed out.

“I just mean…” Her voice was quiet, hoarse. “I just mean… I don’t know. Our friendship
is over, isn’t it?” Her fingers tightened against Taeyeon’s and she lifted her head, resting her
chin against Taeyeon’s shoulder.

Taeyeon looked at her, quietly. There was a vulnerability in Tiffany’s eyes that terrified
her, as though she had been entrusted with something fragile, something too easily broken.

“Sort of,” she admitted, barely louder than a whisper. “But sort of not.” She felt herself
getting lost in Tiffany’s gaze, patient and defenseless. “I don’t see how we could go backward
from this. Is that what you want?”

Tiffany’s eyes fluttered closed, briefly. She brought her cheek down to rest against
Taeyeon’s arm again, eyes lowered. “It’s not what I want,” she said, simply. “But not
everything is in our control, is it?”
 “I guess not,” Taeyeon agreed, her throat tight.

“Right.” Tiffany nodded. Her cheek was warm. Her hands were cold. “Are you sure I
was—okay?”

“Why are you like this?” Taeyeon asked softly. She had never seen Tiffany like this
before. “If I could go back in time and tell my teenage self about this—well, maybe I wouldn’t,
her head might explode, but that’s a good thing.”

“You better not, my teenage self doesn’t want a best friend with an exploded head,”
Tiffany said with a weak smile. “I’m just scared, honestly. If you build something up in your
mind for too long, you’re going to end up disappointed.”

“How can I convince you that that’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t,” Tiffany said blandly and then smiled, a little sad. It was weird seeing her
this insecure. “Just don’t go anywhere.”

Her eyes were too intense to look into. Taeyeon felt the fingers laced with hers tighten
once more, fingernails digging into the back of her hand.

“I can’t,” she said, attempting to joke weakly, “I can’t move my legs.”

She thought Tiffany might laugh but she only shifted, jarringly, pressing her lips against
the flat plane of Taeyeon’s shoulder, against her collarbone, against the dip at the base of her
throat. “Taeyeon,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and strained.

“Hmm,” Taeyeon prompted, but Tiffany said nothing, only her name over and over and
pressed warm, too warm, suffocatingly and safely warm, against her, covered her mouth and
drew out a low, unrestrained sound Taeyeon did not know she was capable of making. Her
hair blocked out everything but her face and Taeyeon breathed deeply, or tried to.

“Taeyeon,” Tiffany said softly one last time, and kissed her. Her hands moved lower.

Taeyeon swallowed hard. “Thought my name was ‘stupid short jerk’,” she murmured,
arching up against Tiffany’s hands.

Tiffany’s chuckle was low, her lips pressed behind Taeyeon’s ear. “Yeah, funny how you
have so many nicknames.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nipped at Taeyeon’s collarbone.

 “Call me short again and I won’t let you have sex with me.” It was a weak joke but
nothing was as heavy as the words she refused to let roll off her tongue: please don’t break
my heart whatever you do.

Tiffany laughed, a quick puff of air against Taeyeon’s ribs as her mouth moved
downward. “Deal,” she said.

•••

Even the threat of a nuclear apocalypse wouldn’t have convinced Taeyeon to get out of
bed the next morning, but Tiffany’s alarm went off early because she had a meeting about
her upcoming album. There were significant and important arguments to be made for
skipping the meeting and staying in bed all day, but eventually being actual adults with actual
adult responsibilities seemed to win out.

“You’re making it really difficult to leave,” Tiffany commented, sitting at Taeyeon’s desk
and fixing her hair. She caught Taeyeon’s eye through the mirror and Taeyeon smiled,
stretching against the sheets.

“Not difficult enough, I guess,” she replied.

“Are you sure you don’t want to accompany me?”

Taeyeon blew her hair off her forehead and stared at the ceiling. “I think I’d just be a
distraction,” she murmured. The sheets felt warm against her skin so she pushed them down
toward her waist.

“Well, if you dressed like that, you would be.”

Taeyeon laughed. “I mean, a professional distraction. You should take the opportunity
to absorb things as a soloist. You’ve spent your entire career as a member of a team.”

Tiffany paused her movements from where she’d been rifling through Taeyeon’s
makeup collection. The mascara in her hand made an audible click as she set it down on the
table, bowing her head. Taeyeon could no longer read her expression through the mirror.

“Nothing wrong with being a member of a team,” Tiffany said softly.

“No,” Taeyeon agreed, just as soft. At Tiffany’s silence, she wrapped the sheets around
her front and sat up, scooting toward the end of the bed. “But you deserve to find out how
you feel about things without someone else’s voice in your ear.”

Tiffany turned from the desk, facing the bed with an unreadable expression. She swept
a lock of hair behind her ear. The look she gave Taeyeon was shy.

“Your voice is one I never get sick of.”

 Taeyeon felt warm. She felt happy. It didn’t seem to fit on her properly, happiness, like
trying to squeeze herself into an outfit she hadn’t worn since elementary school. She tried to
maintain eye contact with Tiffany but found herself looking down at her lap, twisting her
hands anxiously.

“Thank you.”

After a moment, Tiffany stood. She kissed Taeyeon’s forehead first, then found her
mouth. Taeyeon’s hands gripped the sheets beneath her, wanting badly to pull Tiffany back
to bed. It was time to be professionals.

“I’m nervous,” Tiffany admitted, pulling away just enough to breathe the confession
across Taeyeon’s lips.

“About your solo?” Taeyeon wondered. Tiffany’s tongue swept against her lower lip and
she shuddered. “Or—this?”

“Both.” Tiffany straightened. The sunlight coming in through the blinds created a halo
around her as she shook her hair back into place. She took Taeyeon’s hands hesitantly. “A
little less so about—this—” she nodded to their entwined hands. “Now, at least.”

“I can come with you if you really want,” Taeyeon promised. “I just think it would be
better if you experienced this by yourself.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right, but thank you for acknowledging it just this once.” She smiled. “I’ll be
here, though. If you need to talk about it, or… I mean, I can listen.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Tiffany asked. Taeyeon expected her to smile, as though
it was a joke, but her expression was grave, sincere. Taeyeon’s throat felt tight suddenly and
she laughed, embarrassed.

“I’m going to take a nap,” she announced.

“I tired you out that badly, huh?”

“Please leave,” she mumbled with a pout, scooting back toward her pillows to lie down.

Tiffany’s parting words were “Happy Birthday, Taeyeon,” and her infectious laughter
followed her out of the room. The bedroom door closed with a click.

•••

“I’m really sorry,” Taeyeon said mournfully, switching the phone to her other ear as she
scanned the contents of the refrigerator for something edible. The lack of cooking skill
between she and Tiffany made for a sorry selection. “I begged them to let me pre-record the
shows in advance so I could come home, but I still have a lot of work.”

Taeyeon chewed her lip. She knew her mother wasn’t trying to make her feel guilty, but
it was the third year in a row that she couldn’t go home for her birthday, and she couldn’t
remember the last time she’d had a chance before that. It was almost a given at this point
that she wouldn’t be home for Chuseok, Christmas, the New Year holidays, her birthday, and
yet every year she and her mother had this same conversation, where they were both
apologetic and tried not to let on how much it upset them.

Every year, like clockwork, Taeyeon would say I tried and her mother would say It’s
okay, I’m sure you tried with false nonchalance and Taeyeon would say I miss you with the
same, practiced blitheness, and stay on the line as long as she could, just to hear her mother’s
voice. Every phone call for the past ten years had ended the same, with I have to go now,
Mom even if she didn’t, because she knew her voice would betray her and her mother would
know that she was crying.

“As long as you’re not alone, I’m happy,” her mother said.

“Yeah, it’s fine, the girls are coming over so we’ll be together.”

“Then you’re with family. I wish you could be here, but you’re a good person blessed
with two families.”

Taeyeon looked down at the floor, hiding her eyes as though her mother was standing
in front of her. “Thanks.”

“Give them my love.”

“I will. Yuri’s debut performance is tonight, so please watch.”

“Ah, if Girls’ Generation’s leader says I should watch, then I have to, don’t I? She’ll do
well, she works hard.”

“Yes,” Taeyeon said thickly. “Yeah. I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

She could sense her mother was ready to hang up, so she said hastily, “Wait—”

“What’s the matter?”

She paused. “I don’t know, I just—” want to hear your voice she finished silently,
standing alone in the cold kitchen, feeling the hair on her arms rise. “Nothing.”

Her mother laughed. “I love you, too.”

 The phone rang again as soon as she hung up and she looked blankly at the name on
the screen. It was her father’s lawyer. She let it ring, looking at the name silently. He must
have received the newest contract revision by now, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear
about it at the moment.

“Do you need me to teach you how to use that?” Tiffany joked, coming into the kitchen
and gesturing toward the phone Taeyeon was holding, dumbfounded, ringing plaintively.

“No.” Taeyeon hit ignore and shoved the phone in her back pocket. “I’m smarter than I
look.”

“I’d hope so.”

She let her eyes pass over Tiffany’s figure as she stared blankly into the same empty
abyss of a refrigerator Taeyeon had gazed into moments before.

“How’d it go?” Taeyeon asked.

Tiffany shrugged, sniffing a carton of milk. “Okay. I listened to the demo of the song they
want me to record. Is soy milk supposed to smell like this?”

Taeyeon took it from her and sniffed. “Yes. Did you like it?”

“No, how do you drink that stuff?”

“I meant the song,” she said impatiently.

“I don’t know, I can never tell how much I like a song from the demo,” Tiffany said,
frowning. “I wouldn’t know where to start with lyrics. The file’s on my phone, if you want to
listen to it.”

“Sure.” She looked at Tiffany carefully. “You don’t seem really excited by this.”

“The timing is bad,” Tiffany replied, pouring a bowl of cereal. “If it had been anytime
before we found out about their plans for us, I would be thrilled.”

“You can still be thrilled,” Taeyeon pointed out. “This doesn’t change anything. If they
want to break us up and we can’t stop them, do you really want the alternative to be having
no career at all? A solo career is better than nothing.”

Tiffany looked at her sharply. “That’s a really defeatist attitude.”

Taeyeon shrugged. “I’m just trying to be realistic. We can fight it, but we’re still just nine
girls, and they’re still a corporation. Besides—” She broke off, frowning.

“Besides what?”
 “Besides,” she said cautiously, “it doesn’t seem like anyone else is really into it. Keeping
us together, I mean.”

“Are you?” Tiffany asked, her tone just as cautious.

“I have nothing else,” Taeyeon admitted. The kitchen felt eerily silent. “I’m not cut out
for a solo career. You know I’m not. This is all I have.”

Tiffany looked down with an unreadable expression. “So we’re better than nothing is
what you’re saying?”

“No,” Taeyeon shot back, annoyed. “I’m saying that if we break up, I’m going home to
the country and maybe I won’t come back.”

She felt the breath leave her as she said it. She wasn’t even sure if she meant it. But
saying it felt just like telling Tiffany how she felt about her, letting the words leave her so she
could examine them for truthfulness.

For her part, Tiffany’s response was surprisingly relaxed. She raised an eyebrow,
chewed a spoonful of cereal. “You said Seoul was your home,” she said calmly.

“It is. I just—they’re both—I’m just tired,” she admitted. “I mean, I’m exhausted. I’ve
been exhausted for years. I could have quit, but I didn’t, and that’s because you guys are all I
have. I can’t be a whole person. I can’t.”

“How can you say you want me to have a solo career in the same breath you say you
can’t have one? And furthermore,” she looked her in the eye, “how can you stand here and
tell me that if the group breaks up, you’re going to leave me? I mean, how can you say that to
my face?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“But it’s what you said. So I won’t have to just deal with the group that I’ve built my
entire life around falling apart, I also have to do it without my best friend? Without my—”
She broke off, embarrassed, and Taeyeon suspected she was still reluctant to give Taeyeon a
label deeper than best friend. “My… without you? You promised we’d stay together—”

“Tiffany, I was eighteen years old,” she exploded, frustrated. “We were kids. It was a
promise children make. We’re not kids anymore. If I had known when I promised you that in
ten years I would be this exhausted and homesick and confused, I wouldn’t have promised.”

“Do you think I’m not exhausted, or homesick, or confused? Why do you think it took
me three months to come back?”

“I have no idea,” Taeyeon said bitterly. “My working theory was that it was to punish
me.”
 Tiffany’s laugh was a little cold. “I’d punish myself before I punished you, believe me.”

Taeyeon felt weak all over. She was tired. “I’m just saying, I want you to think about the
future,” she said softly, urgently. “You could have a very successful solo career.”

“So could you,” Tiffany pointed out. She put her cereal bowl in the sink and turned, her
eyes lowered. “I want you to think about the future, too. I want you to think about last night,
and this morning.”

Her voice was quiet, and Taeyeon’s was just as quiet when she replied.

“Do you think I’ve been able to stop thinking about it?” she asked, honestly.

Tiffany’s eyes rose to meet hers. It was the Tiffany of last night, the vulnerable,
uncertain Tiffany who could move mountains with the darkness of her eyes.

“So think about that,” Tiffany said quietly. “Isn’t that a future? You and me?” She came
closer, her fingers gripping Taeyeon’s hips.

Taeyeon tried to make herself speak, but the words didn’t yet exist for what she wanted
to say. “Can there be?” she asked, but she meant will there be and she meant should there be
and she meant, she meant you and me, what is you and me, what are we.

Tiffany looked at her. Like this morning, she pressed her lips to Taeyeon’s forehead;
like this morning, her mouth found Taeyeon’s and she stole the breath from her, kissed her
so hard it hurt.

“I told you what I think about the future,” she mumbled against Taeyeon’s mouth.
“There’s only you.”

“Well, think harder,” Taeyeon said weakly, wanting to pull away but the scent of
Tiffany’s hair, the feeling of her breath against her lips making it too difficult. “Because I’m
not very much.”

Tiffany’s lips trembled in the silent, cold kitchen and she cupped Taeyeon’s face
gingerly, her thumb reverent against the line of Taeyeon’s jaw. “You’re so wrong,” she
muttered sadly, kissing her again.

“No, I’m never wrong,” Taeyeon replied, lightly. She felt Tiffany’s fingers thread in her
hair, felt her pull until her head tipped back and Tiffany’s lips were at the hollow of her throat.
She swallowed hard and Tiffany must have felt it because she laughed, warm and breathless.

“Taeyeon, touch me.”

“I,” she tried to say, but Tiffany wrapped her hand around the back of her neck, yanked
her forward and slammed her lips against Taeyeon’s protesting mouth. What was she
protesting, she wondered dizzily, thinking that if Tiffany wanted to distract her from the
conversation she wasn’t really in any position to object to her methods. There were no
thoughts about the future as Tiffany tugged her lower lip with her teeth, coaxing her mouth
open, because the immediate future was the cold, empty kitchen and Tiffany’s wet mouth
and nice smelling hair and Taeyeon’s knees feeling weak enough to give out.

That meant it was possible. Her entire life she had wondered about people who went
weak in the knees, and now she knew.

“Touch me,” Tiffany said again, and her resolve snapped; something fell to the floor as
she pressed Tiffany against the kitchen counter, but she didn’t care because she had found
the zipper of Tiffany’s jeans and Tiffany’s hands were beneath her shirt and the kitchen was
silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the pace of their breathing.

“You,” she tried to say, her words more air than sound, and she slipped inside her and
Tiffany whispered, “Yes,” and she could feel stars behind her eyes.

•••

“Hey.”

She knocked on Yuri’s dressing room door.

“Taengoo!” Yuri said happily, standing up. She adjusted her hair. Taeyeon watched her
warily. It seemed unfair for one person to be that pretty. “You came.”

“Yeah, we’re all here,” Taeyeon said vaguely, looking around the dressing room. “We
didn’t want to crowd you and make you nervous before you went on, but we’ll be backstage.”

It wasn’t like Yuri was the first of them to ever promote something on her own, but
there was a weirdly slick sheen upon the proceedings. Taeyeon remembered the first time
she had promoted a song on her own, how weird it had been to see the dressing room sign
say “Girls’ Generation’s Taeyeon” instead of just “Girls’ Generation.” This sign had just said,
“Yuri,” small and matter-of-fact right in the center of the page. How unnerving. There were
millions of Yuri’s, Taeyeon thought, but surely there was only one Girls’ Generation’s Yuri.

“Anyway,” she said, shaking her head. She finally pulled the flowers from behind her. “I
came to be really gross and give you these.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t have been so gross,” Yuri said cheerfully, taking them. “You should
actually bring me these after the performance.”

“Oh yeah,” Taeyeon said in an evasive tone. “Oops. I can’t even time being gross
correctly.”

“Did you want to talk about something?”

 She did, but she thought maybe now wasn’t the time. “Later, I don’t want to distract
you.”

“Sit down,” Yuri said.

“Aren’t you nervous?”

“Actually, no,” she replied. “Is that funny?”

“Yeah, actually,” Taeyeon said, leaning against the back of the couch and crossing her
arms. “I guess you’re a lot cooler than me.”

“Really? You get nervous? You’ve done more solo performances than I have.”

“Yeah,” Taeyeon said, scratching her temple absentmindedly. “Well, it’s a big stage and
I’m a pretty small person, so…”

Yuri laughed her great laugh and smiled her great smile and touched Taeyeon’s arm.
“What’s up, Taengoo.”

A valid question Taeyeon wished she could answer. She frowned, looking at the floor.
“Nothing. I’m really proud of you. I guess that’s all I wanted to say? Sorry, that’s gross, too.”

“Okay, so you’re gross lately,” Yuri agreed with a smile. “You’re a disgusting person. But
thank you.”

“Yup.” Taeyeon nodded shortly and straightened. If she hung out any longer her skin
would start to crawl.

“Taeyeon.” Yuri grabbed her hand before she could leave and Taeyeon turned,
frowning. She was surprised by the look on Yuri’s face—open, vulnerable. She almost felt
uncomfortable seeing her this way.

“Yeah?”

“I lied.” Yuri smiled weakly. “I’m kind of nervous.”

Taeyeon nodded, slow. “That’s good. Aren’t nerves motivators? I can’t perform well if
I’m not nervous.”

“It’s not even the performance I’m worried about.” Stage makeup did too much on
someone with the sort of honest face Yuri had. It made her look veiled in shadow, even with
every feature clear and distinct as possible. “It’s me. It’s everything. I’m nervous about me.”

Taeyeon wasn’t sure what that meant so she waited silently for Yuri to elaborate and
she watched her eyebrows come together and her eyelashes, false and thick, flutter closed
over contact lenses. The thick makeup on the hollow of her cheeks. The slippery, nearly
reflective gloss of her lips. She thought about how Yuri was one of the most genuine people
she knew, and she thought about how that was funny, how it was funny that Yuri became an
idol. It was funny that a lot of people she knew were sincere, genuine people, and they were
idols.

“I mean. I want to do well,” Yuri explained.

“You will,” Taeyeon said calmly. “No one’s watching the music charts closer than me, so
trust me.”

Yuri smiled, a little. “I want to do well,” she repeated. “But I want to be—I don’t want to
change things. I don’t want things to change.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri admitted. “It’s like… do you remember that period, a few years ago,
when we were recording a Korean album and a Japanese album and an English album all at
the same time and at a certain point, none of those languages made any sense to any one of
us?”

“Yeah,” Taeyeon laughed. She remembered how even her native language had started
to sound foreign and strange to her, heavy and slippery on her tongue.

“It’s like that,” Yuri said, tilting her head to the side. “Only instead of language, it’s who
I am. Does that make sense? There’s Girls’ Generation’s Yuri, and there’s solo Yuri, and then
there’s the real Kwon Yuri, and I don’t think they’re the same people, and it scares me.”

Taeyeon looked at her quietly. It was times like this she remembered that Kwon Yuri
was nothing but a storm of anxious insecurities that she was constantly trying to sell as
carefree and nonchalant. She thought of how often she’d looked at Yuri and seen qualities
she envied, like her ability to smile through exhaustion and her never-ending energy and
enthusiasm for even the most tedious jobs, and she thought of how easy it was to forget that
Yuri wasn’t as confident as she looked, that she second-guessed every move she made, and
her heart suddenly ached with how much she overestimated her, all of them.

“I know what you mean,” she said at last and her heart felt painfully tight at the relieved
smile Yuri shot her. “But I don’t think they need to be the same people,” she went on gently.
“I don’t know about you, but when I record a Japanese album, I’m still Korean, you know?”

Yuri laughed a little, in the way that only she could, kind of sad and kind of mellow and
too pretty. “Maybe the language thing was a bad analogy,” she said.

“Maybe,” Taeyeon agreed. “I’m scared, too. But I like you. I like all of the one-thousand
people you are. Is that okay?”
 Yuri didn’t look up but she laughed again. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

“Okay. Work hard. We’ll be watching.”

“Thanks, Taengoo.”

Actually, that night, her first performance, Yuri didn’t do well—she did amazing.
Taeyeon thought about it the whole way home, how Yuri had looked onstage and how it was
weird that Yuri had become an idol, but that she belonged there, genuine under her mask, a
ball of insecurity and second-guessing, and thought that if she couldn’t trust her, this person
who belonged to her just like the entire group belonged to her, then she would never be able
to trust anyone.

•••

Taeyeon couldn’t actually remember the last time the nine of them had been so upbeat
in synchronization. It was sort of an unfortunate corollary of the punishing schedule they’d
had since they were teenagers, that being genuinely excited about the work and the
performing of it had become a rarity. It wasn’t that the job had ever become a chore, really,
just that it was a job that had become very much like a job, and sometimes you didn’t want
to take it—the ups, the downs, the exhilarating energy—home with you.

Yuri had taken it home with her that night, though, and it was electric in the air and it
made everyone, Taeyeon thought, want the same thing. As the group album came closer to
actualization it was easier to look at it for what it was—a thing, a physical creation, that
would be on shelves. They sat, two o’clock in the morning, crowded around the small table
in her apartment and they ate kimbap and they discussed work and if it wasn’t for the fact
that even Seo Juhyun was drinking wine, Taeyeon might have felt like they were still
teenagers.

Well, maybe not. When they were teenagers, she had loved them less, because she had
known them less. She had loved them less and yet trusted them more. Now she loved them
an unfathomable amount and had no idea how much she could trust them, believe them. She
wasn’t angry, thinking it. They knew what the stakes were. They knew that the dissolution
of the group would provoke self-preservation. Without a recording contract ensuring you
would be allowed to continue making music, you didn’t have a lot of options.

So, they talked about the album, the only sure thing. The album they were pouring their
hearts into, the album that their contract guaranteed delivery of, the album that would start
the three-month ticking clock before the contract period ended. It was weighty, deciding on
a release date.

Tiffany would be promoting a solo album in May, which left them with an early or mid-
summer release date. If they could swing it, there could be four concerts in late July and
then—
 “I don’t know about you guys,” Taeyeon said, “but as far as meaningful dates go, I’m
pretty fond of the fifth of August.”

They quieted. Hyoyeon snorted, but it wasn’t derisive. “That’s sentimental,” she said,
but her tone suggested she agreed.

Taeyeon lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I know it is, but if we’re looking at a release
date around that time anyway…”

“Besides, this is a sentimental group, get used to it,” Tiffany said. “Tenth anniversary is
pretty cool.”

“A lot of people can’t even stay married that long,” Yuri pointed out.

“Oh!” Taeyeon said, surprised. “Are you proposing?”

“Hey, Kim Taeyeon—”

“This is so unexpected, I don’t know what to say.”

“Speaking of marriage,” Sooyoung said suddenly.

Taeyeon looked at her curiously through the headlock Yuri had wrestled her into. She
looked serious.

“Speaking of…”

“What if I got married after the album promotions?”

The room fell silent.

“Married?” Tiffany asked.

“Um.”

They looked at her, wide-eyed. Hyoyeon shoved her.

“Are you kidding, did Oppa propose to you?”

“No, he’s—I think he was dragging his feet because—you know, idols don’t get married,
usually,” Sooyoung admitted. “I proposed, sort of—well, it was mutual?”

They were silent again. They were nine adult girls of marrying age, the best of friends,
and none of them could think of anything to say.

“Unnie,” Yoona started with a frown, “can you?”

 “I think so?” Sooyoung said with a shrug. “I talked kind of briefly with some of the
managers and they said it might be okay. I mean, the fanbase has matured, and I mean, worse
comes to worst, we can keep it secret, but—you guys—I need to get married before I’m
thirty, oh my god.”

“I’m really happy for you,” Taeyeon said sincerely, and she was, even if it settled like
dread in the pit of her stomach. Maybe it didn’t mean anything; she knew Sooyoung was
incredibly career-oriented, so it wasn’t necessarily a rejection of the group. Still, it made her
feel strange. It would be a distinct image shift, she knew that for sure, and it didn’t surprise
her, suddenly, that the label would be okay with it.

“I don’t know if this changes things,” Sooyoung said apologetically, as though reading
Taeyeon’s mind.

Taeyeon shrugged. “Nope.” She looked at Sooyoung, at the breathless sort of

exhilaration she was keeping barely contained in her expression and felt warm and sad all at
once.

As if sensing her mood, Yuri wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Just means
Taengoo and I have to push back the date of our wedding,” she joked.

“Yeah, we can’t compete.”

Tiffany, for her part, didn’t look as excited as Taeyeon expected she would. “I wonder
how the public would react,” she murmured.

“It could be really good,” Sooyoung said, and Taeyeon didn’t miss the hopeful tone in
her voice. “Kibum oppa pointed out that it would be a really deliberate shift in my image,
from idol to, you know, adult.”

“You mean our image,” Tiffany replied politely. Taeyeon could see a flicker of
disappointment in her eyes.

“Yeah. Our image.”

“It’s great,” Taeyeon said decisively, worried about an argument. “I… really. I’m so
happy for you.” When she saw Sooyoung smile brightly in hesitant relief at her well-wishes,
she knew how deeply she meant it. And when the other girls finally came to their senses and
greeted her news with the excited shrieking they should have came out with immediately
and Sooyoung’s face brightened, Taeyeon knew they meant it, too.

It made sense, to grow up that way. And if it made sense, maybe it would be easier to
let go after all.

“We should celebrate,” Tiffany said suddenly, and she left to get more drinks from the
kitchen. Taeyeon hooked her laptop up to the sound system and duteously set about deciding
which playlist was the best music for an impromptu congratulatory/celebratory/birthday
party. It was a big day for Sooyoung, it was a big day for Yuri, and you never really felt any
older on your birthday, did you, but big days meant outward growth; she felt a quiet, earnest
happiness for them anyway.

“Unnie, your search ranking is number one,” Yoona told Yuri, looking up from her
phone. “It hasn’t budged since your performance.”

“Yeah, I know,” Yuri said self-consciously, scratching her head. “I thought maybe I made
a mistake that people were talking about.”

“No, everyone’s saying nice things.”

Taeyeon switched to water and kept busy on her laptop, tuning out the sounds around
her. It was a comforting sort of chaos. She organized her music and listened to Sooyoung
telling Jessica and Sunkyu about how the decision to get married had come about, and then
she heard her tell it again when Juhyun joined the conversation. Yuri was taking Yoona
through a literal second-by-second emotional journey of her performance that night, and
then Hyoyeon suggested rewatching it on Tiffany’s TV, and Taeyeon watched them all, the
way they shoved each other and put their arms around each other and listened, really
listened to each other. She thought you probably didn’t find something this real very often,
and she thought, maybe, sort of, you didn’t do it justice by trying to wear it into the ground.

Even though the rest of them had gathered around the TV in the other room, she could
feel someone standing over her and she looked up to see Tiffany. She saw her eyes first. She
knew she understood.

“Hey,” she said, and gestured to the seat next to her. Tiffany sat down, looking over
Taeyeon’s shoulder as she messed around on her laptop. She put her cheek against Taeyeon’s
arm.

“Hey,” she replied.

Taeyeon looked at the top of her head. Someone in the next room shouted and laughed
suddenly and then someone else said let’s watch it again but this time let’s take a drink every
time Yuri touches her hair. She could feel Tiffany breathing against her. Juhyun said
something about probable alcohol poisoning. Tiffany’s hair brushed her skin. Yuri’s voice got
high-pitched and whiny the way it did when they were teasing her.

“It’s good news,” she told Tiffany in a mild tone, using the hand on her unoccupied arm
to scroll through her music library.

“It is,” Tiffany agreed, but her tone was sad.

“You don’t sound like you mean it.”

 “I do.” She sighed. “I’m so happy for her I could almost cry,” she went on in a breathless
tone, laughing a little. “But it somehow hurts a bit.”

Taeyeon nodded.

“That’s okay, right?” Tiffany lifted her head to fix her with a frown. “I can feel both?”

“I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive.”

“Do you feel the same?”

She felt too afraid to say anything so she just nodded a little and swallowed hard and
Tiffany put her head against her shoulder again and they stayed that way, in comfortable
silence, hearing the girls argue in the next room and thinking about it.

It became too late and they had drank too much, so Taeyeon and Tiffany took all the
spare pillows and blankets and set them up on the floor of the main room, crowded together
like a slumber party. The excuse was that it was late and most of them were drunk, but the
truth was that sometimes when you were afraid of losing someone you just needed them
close to remind you that it couldn’t happen.

She meant to sleep in her own bed but when she was on her way back to her room, Lee
Sunkyu said, “Where do you think you’re going? Get over here.” So she had taken her pillow
and blankets too and she squeezed in next to Sooyoung and Yoona. The moon was so low in
the sky that night that the back windows framed it in close-up. Vaguely, Taeyeon thought
that leaving the blinds open would seem like a big mistake when the sun rose that next
morning, but the night sky was no joke. She folded her arms beneath her head and looked at
it pensively as her eight best friends in the world talked around her with no intentions of
going to sleep.

Even their infectious energy had a limit, though, and as time wore on, their
conversations became slower, meandered further, the drowsiness settling over the nine of
them like the blanket of stars outside draped over the city, making the conversation lethargic,
lazy.

Tiffany stifled her sixth yawn of the night. “You should get married in Bali,” she said.
“That way we can all take a vacation at the same time.”

“I don’t want to get married out of the country.”

“Jeju, then.”

“Buwon,” Hyoyeon said.

“What the hell, Hyoyeon.”

 “What’s in Buwon.”

“Nothing, I just bet no one ever gets married there.”

“You’re not invited.”

“That doesn’t make sense, wouldn’t people from Buwon get married there?”

“Way to be literal, Juhyun.”

“Seriously, you guys have no idea how hard it was keeping that news inside. I wasn’t
sure when to say it—I feel bad, though, Yuri, I feel like I took away from your night.”

Yuri yawned and then said, “I happily share everything with the members,” in such a
rehearsed broadcast-friendly way that it made them laugh.

“Then I feel like I took away from your birthday, Taeyeon.”

“She’s old, she’s had like, a million birthdays.”

“Besides,” Taeyeon mumbled, rolling onto her stomach and catching Tiffany’s moonlit
gaze a few pillows down. “This was a good birthday.”

Tiffany smiled at her.

“It’s serious news,” Jessica murmured, reflective. She had snuggled up to Sooyoung’s
side and was sharing her pillow.

For the first time in hours, the nine of them fell silent, as though they were thinking
about it.

“This changes a lot,” Yoona said at last.

“It doesn’t have to,” Yuri said. “Like Sooyoung said, it’s an image change. It doesn’t mean
we—it doesn’t mean anything else changes.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent again. Taeyeon could count their breaths as they slowed. Could almost
hear the dull thump of their hearts beating. She felt Sooyoung shift beside her, reach out for
her in her sleep. She felt close to her, but far away.

You get older, Taeyeon, she thought as she finally drifted off to sleep. But do you get
wiser?
 CHAPTER 22
Past: 2016, Part 1

“What did you get Stephanie for her birthday?”

Taeyeon is drinking in the warm, lifting air of Seoul in summer. She leans back on her
elbows, looking at the hazy summer skyline and falling in love with the heat of the pavement.

“Nothing yet,” she admits. “I don’t really know what to get her.”

“You guys have been really weird this year,” Sunkyu observes in the way that only she
can. Free of judgment, but trapped tightly in worry. A quiet admission that she sees it, she
always sees it, even if she says nothing.

They pass a bottle of wine between them. Taeyeon feels warm and sleepy and buzzed,
like if she could see this bottle to the end she’d find the key to solving all her problems, right
there, taped to the bottom. Her mouth stills against the mouth of the bottle.

“Yeah. We’re… um, hmm.”

She doesn’t know how to tell Sunkyu that she and Tiffany are exactly as they’ve always
been, except they lie to each other constantly. And they both know. That’s what best friends
do. Where there once were conversations late into the night, abstruse and saturated with
worries and feelings, there are only discussions of work, surface-level observations. They lie
about their attachment to one another; they lie about their need to talk, their need to sit in
silence together, their need to need each other at all.

“We’re in a weird spot,” she finally manages to summarize. Sunkyu nods; she already
knows. She holds her hand out for the wine. Taeyeon is weirdly reluctant to relinquish it, but
does so anyway.

“What did she get you in March? For your birthday?”

Taeyeon falls silent. The heat presses to her. Approaching twilight, it should cool down,
but it clings to every part of her, needy, possessive.

“Taeyeon?”

“Plane tickets,” she says in a blank, stunned voice, as though the memory is stupefying
her all over again. “She wanted me to relax so she bought tickets for the two of us. Just the
two of us.”
 “Where?”

“Um, Maldives, I think.” The memory doesn’t feel good. It’s a puzzle piece jarred out of
place. Touching skin still too sensitive to be touched.

“Seriously?” Sunkyu frowns. “I don’t remember you guys going to the Maldives.”

“We didn’t.” She gropes blindly for the bottle. “I told her—I can’t.”

Maybe that was the last time they argued. Because they don’t argue anymore. Arguing
is better than acting like they aren’t more than coworkers. But they argued then, and she
remembers the look in Tiffany’s eyes. She remembers how angry they both were—placing
the emotion, but not the emotion’s source.

Do you think I want to be alone with you for a whole week? she remembers snapping at
Tiffany. Maybe it wasn’t anger. Resignation. Do you think I could stand that?

She remembers Tiffany’s face. Tiffany’s pretty face. Tiffany, pretty when she’s happy,
pretty when she’s angry, pretty when she’s sad, and pretty, pretty, pretty, even then, when
the emotion was—

Taeyeon doesn’t know what the emotion was. Hurt, betrayed, maybe there weren’t
strong enough words for the look on Tiffany’s face that day.

It had been a thoughtful gift. Really, truly. Tiffany is a thoughtful person.

Taeyeon wishes she could be someone deserving of thoughtfulness.

Sunkyu places the nearly empty wine bottle in Taeyeon’s hand and closes both her
hands over it, pressing it to her, allowing her to keep it. She says, “Oh, Taengoo,” just like that,
like you’d say to a child who has made a mess, and Taeyeon nods, staring blankly at the
pavement sinking like quicksand and drains the rest of the bottle.

“Yeah.”

She knows.

When Sunkyu drags her to bed that night, pulling dead-weight of wine and regret
through her dark apartment and depositing her on her unmade bed, Taeyeon thinks she sees
her, for a moment, in the moonlight, and she mumbles “I love you” to the pillow and the bottle
of water Sunkyu leaves on her nightstand.

She feels fingers in her hair, combing back her fringe; an exhale of a chuckle. “Oh yeah?”

“Love you, love you.” She drowns in the moonlight. “Close the blinds, please, I love you.”
 The room gets darker. She sinks into her sheets. Sunkyu climbs into bed behind her,
holds her to her chest like a lifeguard dragging her to safety. “Just go to sleep.”

“Love you.”

“I know, I know.”

•••

“Let’s have two cakes.”

“Two cakes? Hold on, I have a joke queued up about your ever-expanding stomach.
Loading, loading…”

“No, no, two cakes. At the party. One for Stephanie, for her birthday, and then, since the
date falls so close, one for all of us, since it’s near our anniversary.”

“Doesn’t that take away from Stephanie a little? No one wants to share their birthday.”

“Thank you for being the only one to consider my feelings on the matter.”

“Oh god, with the puppy dog eyes—how long do you think you’re going to be able to
use that one? Hey, Taeyeon, RSVP.”

“Huh?” Taeyeon looks up from the game she’s been playing on her phone as the group
chats around her in the crowded restaurant where they’ve met for dinner.

“RSVP. Fany’s party.” Sooyoung flicks her forehead; she tries to squirm away, but
bumps into Yoona, who holds her down with one arm so that Sooyoung can come in for
another flick. “You coming?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Taeyeon scowls, continuing to struggle. Yoona’s other
hand is hunting around the table for more food, but she’s holding her still effortlessly.

“Well, everyone else has offered to help or at least mentioned they’re coming.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Taeyeon catches a glimpse of a pretty face steeped in
sorrow. She feels anger prickling beneath her skin and can’t figure out why.

“I thought it was a given,” Taeyeon says, ducking before Sooyoung can flick her again.
“I’ll be there.”

“Promise,” Sooyoung jokes, holding out a pinky. Her expression is playful but Taeyeon
bats her hand away, wrenching free of Yoona at last and getting to her feet, pocketing her
phone.
 “Just remembered I have a schedule tonight,” she lies, and doesn’t mean to catch
Tiffany’s gaze. It hurts more, somehow, that Tiffany doesn’t look surprised or offended. She
just nods, and turns back to her conversation with Hyoyeon.

Taeyeon places some money on the table. “It’s on me, kids.”

“Some unnie you are,” Sooyoung cries with her mouth full, “leaving before the
youngest,” and gesturing wildly to Yoona and Juhyun with her chopsticks, flecks of sauce
flying every which way.

She walks around for awhile, texting a few people. She stops at the convenience store
near her apartment and buys two bottles of soju. The clerk recognizes her and throws some
custard cakes on top for free. “Taeyeon-nim, they just played one of your songs on the radio
before you came in.”

“Glad I missed it,” she jokes.

“I think the theme tonight is ‘songs from elementary school.’” He taps his feet a little bit.
“What a flashback.”

“Good night,” she says.

Tiffany is waiting at her apartment when she gets home.

“Heard of a phone?” Taeyeon asks, unlocking the door.

Tiffany’s brow furrows. “Have you?” she retorts. She follows Taeyeon inside.

“I have plans,” Taeyeon explains, feeling a little impatient. It’s always like this lately.
Her skin crawls around Tiffany. Like wanting to touch her almost as badly as she wants to
set herself on fire. Or maybe it’s the same thing.

“Oh,” Tiffany says. “We haven’t hung out in awhile.”

“Yeah,” Taeyeon agrees, heading to her bedroom. “But I already made plans with
someone.”

Tiffany’s expression is impatient. “You can’t cancel?”

“That would be rude.”

“Aren’t you just going to sleep with her and then not call her again?” Tiffany tilts her
head to the side, watching her. “That’s not rude?”

Taeyeon stays silent, her eyes skirting over her. There is a look of regret on Tiffany’s
face, but she holds it well, squaring her shoulders. Taeyeon closes the door of her bedroom
with a thud of finality. Later that night, she is lying in someone else’s bed and checks the text
from Tiffany: “I was out of line earlier.”

“So was I,” she types as a reply.

“No, you weren’t. You had plans. I should have called, instead of just expecting you
would make time for me.”

Taeyeon is trying to think of a reply when another text comes in.

“I miss you, that’s all. Is that sad? I guess we see each other all the time. But I still miss
you. Maybe I should just get used to it. Maybe that’s just how we are now.”

The girl next to her stirs. Taeyeon’s eyes begin to sting from staring at the bright phone
screen for so long.

“Maybe,” she replies at last.

But Tiffany’s response is immediate, as though she’d had it typed out already and had
been waiting, hoping for a sign of life on Taeyeon’s end:

“Before I met you, I thought I knew what having a best friend was, but I didn’t know at
all.”

Another comes.

“I didn’t know what it was like to feel like someone is so much a part of you that you
feel like you can’t exist without her.”

And another, and Taeyeon’s vision is blurring.

“That’s what it’s like for me. I don’t know what it’s like for you. But that’s what it’s like
for me. If I ever had to give that up, give you up, I’d be lost, Taeyeon.”

The room feels warm and Taeyeon kicks off the sheets covering her legs. She feels an
arm wrap around her waist, a smooth cheek settle against her arm. She feels far away.

“Good night,” she types to Tiffany and then puts the phone on the table beside the bed,
looks at the ceiling like dozens of ceilings before, and wills herself to sleep.

•••

“You have a schedule here today?” Hyoyeon asks. They run into each other in one of the
studios. Hyoyeon is wearing a lot of makeup, so Taeyeon guesses she’s been filming.

“No, no.”
 “Came to see me?” Hyoyeon laughs.

“You say that as though it’s a ridiculous idea.”

“I bet you didn’t even know I was filming here today.”

They lean against the wall, flattening themselves to keep out of the way of the PAs and
the staff moving quickly through the halls. Taeyeon pauses a bit to weigh the value of a white
lie and then gives up, shrugging. “Didn’t. You’re right.”

“I know you didn’t. I said it in group chat this morning, which you never check.”

“You got me.”

Hyoyeon sighs. “Which of them are you seeing?” she asks at last, referring to the junior
girl group filming on the soundstage down the hall. Since she’d been caught out anyway,
Taeyeon doesn’t see any harm in pointing out which girl group member it is, exchanging a
wave with her as she does. “She’s pretty,” Hyoyeon observes, as though Taeyeon had been
waiting for her approval of who she chose to sleep with.

A shrug. “Aren’t they all? They’re idols.”

“Are you going to bring her to Stephanie’s party?”

Taeyeon scratches the back of her neck. “Fany wouldn’t like that too much.”

“It’s none of her business, right?”

“But it is her party,” Taeyeon points out.

Hyoyeon concedes the point with a vague nod, and the subject is dropped.

“Were you filming?” Taeyeon asks.

Another nod. “You know, when they ask about the group…”

“Yeah.”

“It’s easy to say the group hasn’t disbanded. Right? That part’s easy.”

“Right, right.”

“When they ask about, you know, if we’re close in real life, that’s easy, too.”

“Mmm,” Taeyeon hums, wondering when Hyoyeon would get to the point.
 “The thing I want,” Hyoyeon says, “is to be able to think of the eight of you, and say ‘I’m
not worried. She’s taking care of herself.’”

“That’s what I want, too.” Taeyeon’s voice is earnest. Without meaning to, she stands
closer, as though she can curl up in Hyoyeon’s shadow and find herself there. “That’s what I
want, when I think of you guys.”

“And I don’t want to tell people—I don’t want to tell them, you know, my friend,
Taeyeon, I worry about her, and we have the kind of relationship where I know how badly
she hates being smothered, but sometimes I want to just grab her and tell her, this is the
story we have. That when you wake up in the morning and it feels bad, you’re not alone.”

Taeyeon hangs her head a little, looking at her shoes. “Sappy.”

“Yeah, but like, I don’t know, maybe in old age you get this way. Sappy. You’re not alone,
Taeyeon. There’s nothing you couldn’t tell us.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. And I know you think you’re a burden.”

Taeyeon meets her eyes.

“But suck it up,” Hyoyeon continues. She’s trying to look stern but her eyes always have
this brightness to them. “Everyone’s a burden. Loving other people—that’s a burden. God, I
wish we were a smaller group, there’s way too many of you guys to care about.”

Taeyeon laughs, small, quiet. “Right?”

•••

She doesn’t crave fame; she craves familiarity.

She thinks back to her early twenties, when her name was in the news everyday. Good,
bad, sometimes very bad. It was a quiet, lonely ache, people you didn’t know talking about
you like they knew you, but it was familiar. Comfortable.

She thinks sometimes about doing something, saying something candid, off-beat,
something to stir controversy, just to see her name pop up at the top of a trending list.

It scares her. She has known idols like that, idols desperate for exposure, idols who do
everything in their power to create news, fervent believers in the adage that there’s no such
thing as bad publicity. She has always been the opposite—reclusive, sometimes. But she does
like seeing her name. She likes the feeling of dread. Resentment toward gossip. The pressure
of it, the quiet thrill of it.
 She isn’t sure, exactly, when this particular group, in its particular formation, started
following her. They might have been regulars outside the old dorm who have banded
together as a tight pack of followers since she moved out on her own. But they’re different
than the fans she remembers marking up the outside of their old dorm. Back then, there were
so many. Kids, mostly, boys and girls yearning for a glimpse of what their beloved idols
looked like without makeup. More nuisance than threatening. Sometimes a little nerve-
wracking. Managers could identify the really creepy ones on sight.

The ones now, though, they’re different. All girls, all around the same age. Ten to fifteen
of them on average, sometimes between twenty and twenty-five. She has never tried
counting.

They feel like a million eyes on her.

They are more subdued than she remembers stalkers like this being. They aren’t pushy.
They don’t try to touch her, or talk to her, or anger her to see her reaction. They’re just—
there. Like the ground is there.

Is it better? It should be better. But sometimes she’s more terrified than she has ever
been.

Right now, there’s only about six. They had followed her on the plane. Found out her
schedule in advance, booked tickets all around her. She can see them out her hotel window.

“Do you want me to chase them away?” the manager she is sharing a room with, Yeonji,
asks. “I can send Kibum down there to get rid of them.”

Taeyeon leans against the window, looking down. In a show of good faith, she had
explained to them before she left that she wasn’t doing anything particularly interesting in
Japan. Meeting with a few composers for the solo album the label wanted her to release.
Nothing exciting, no need to follow her. Not that they ever listened.

“It’s okay,” she says at last, closing the curtain as she moves from the window. “Where
could you send them? At least in Seoul, you can tell them to go home. They don’t live here.”

“I guess,” Yeonji says with a shrug. “They should have thought of that before they
followed you to a different country. Come take your phone, Taeyeon, it’s been buzzing non-
stop and unnie is sick of it.”

She takes the phone without looking at it and tosses it on the bed. Engaging is a
commitment she doesn’t have the stomach for.

“I’m going to shower,” she tells the manager. “Let oppa know we can leave when I get
out.”

She is drying her hair when she steps out of the bathroom. Yeonji is on the phone.
 “She’s right here,” she says. “She just got out, she’s here, she’s—why would I lie? Do you
want to talk to her?”

After a beat, she holds the phone out to Taeyeon. In response to Taeyeon’s blank stare,
she prompts: “Tiffany.”

Taeyeon exhales. Another thing to follow her across the East Sea. She takes the phone.

“Yes?”

“You jackass.” Tiffany is so angry she’s slurring her words. “I told you to text me when
you landed.”

“I forgot,” Taeyeon admits, and then adds sheepishly: “I’ve landed.”

“I texted you and called you like, twenty times before it occurred to me to call a
manager.”

“Sorry,” is all Taeyeon can say.

The other end of the line is silent for a long time, too long. “Whatever,” Tiffany mutters.
“I can’t stay mad at you.”

“No one can,” Taeyeon jokes weakly. “I’m told that’s my charm.”

“Whatever.” She says it again. “Whatever. You landed. That’s all I wanted to know. See
you when you get back to Seoul.”

She looks at the phone after the call has been disconnected. She tries to breathe evenly.
It takes the manager’s hand on her shoulder, politely asking for her phone back, before she
can think properly again.

“I hope you guys aren’t fighting again,” Yeonji says with a guarded smile. The same
smile they always use, the one that says we don’t want to pry so if you don’t want to talk
about it, pretend we’re joking. That sort of thing. “Being on the other end of Manager Hwang’s
wrath is no joke.”

She shakes her head. “Not exactly.”

Fighting would be a relief; fighting would be safe and comfortable. She bickers with
Tiffany just as well as she talks to her. Sometimes it’s how they communicate. What they have
now is the space between words, feeling warily along the edge of the boat lest they be the
first to rock it.

Not always, of course. Sometimes it’s just like old times.

 Sometimes she catches Tiffany just as her laughter tapers off and her eyes are dark and
empty.

What do you think about that, she’d asked Sunkyu, who hadn’t had an answer for awhile.

She’s lonely, Sunkyu had observed at last. I think she’s lonely.

Taeyeon thinks that’s true. Tiffany hasn’t dated anyone for a year. She still remembers
the last guy she dated, how Tiffany had come by her apartment late at night and done
something she had never done before.

“Do you like him?” she had asked Taeyeon, blurring with sleep. Taeyeon had stood there
in the dimly lit entrance of her apartment, watching Tiffany in her pink coat and long hair,
eyes unfathomably sad and mouth thick with worry.

Her mind had still been cloudy with sleep. “I’m sorry?”

“Your opinion matters to me,” Tiffany had said softly. “It matters to me. Whether you
like him or not. I can’t—I want to date someone with your blessing.”

Being awakened so abruptly had made her tongue loose, her mind too busy to come up
with something tactful. “I can’t give you that,” she had said honestly, apologetically. “I’d like
to—I wish I was able to. I wish I was mature enough, but I’m not. It’s too hard for me.”

Tiffany’s nod had been slow, accepting. Taeyeon had expected an argument. She had
even been prepared for it, shoulders bunched tensely, prepared to say that she was just being
honest, and Tiffany shouldn’t take it as admonishment, and her life was her own and the last
thing Taeyeon wanted, really, was to stand in the way of Tiffany’s happiness, but there was
just no way she could ever give her blessing to anyone she dated.

But they had broken up after that. Not immediately. It was a few weeks before Sunkyu
told her Tiffany was single again, and Taeyeon had expected, as she had grown used to
expecting, that Tiffany would find someone else soon enough. But one year later, and she still
hadn’t.

She’s lonely, Sunkyu had said.

Maybe.

•••

“I should warn you, I’m really bad at drinking games,” Taeyeon says.

“As bad as you are at Japanese?”

 It makes her laugh loudly, maybe too loudly, because a few heads at the surrounding
tables turn. Taeyeon thinks about ducking her head to be more discreet, but those days are
already in twilight. She’s been recognized only twice on this trip. Maybe other people have
recognized her, but no longer find her interesting enough to call attention to it.

The girl in front of her finds her interesting, and that’s all that matters, she thinks, that
and the bottle of Kubota Manju they’re sharing.

“My Japanese is good,” she protests. “I’m just out of—out of… practice? Practice? Is that
how you say it?”

“I don’t care,” her drinking companion says. She’s drunk. She’s drunk, and she’s so
pretty. “You could be speaking Ancient Chinese, you’re cute either way.”

“Thank you. I—” Her phone vibrates, rattling against her glass on the table. “Hold that
thought, I have to answer this because it’s the love of my life—MIYOUNG, HELLO! HELLO!”

“Taeyeon?” Tiffany sounds far away. Well, she is, isn’t she, they’re in two totally
different countries, and Taeyeon’s drunk mind spins with the implication that she could be
in one place and her entire heart and soul could be in another place, that she and her entire
reason for breathing and living could be a sea apart.

“Tiffany,” she babbles sadly into the phone. “Fa—Stephanie, Tiffany, Fany, Fany, you
sound faraway.”

“Are you drunk?” the tiny faraway little Tiffany asks.

“Me! Yes. How did you—hey, say hello to my drinking partner—” and she thrusts the
phone across the table at the girl who is laughing at every single thing she says, so mercilessly
infatuated with the dissolving star in front of her that she can only laugh and laugh. “It’s my
group mate, it’s Tiffany, say hello to her,” she prods, but snatches the phone back before she
can say anything. “Ah, Tiffany.”

“Still here,” says Tiffany, sounding a little impatient.

“How far apart are we? What’s the distance?” She covers the phone’s speaker with her
hand and asks her drinking partner. “Hey, what’s the distance from here to Seoul?”

“Isn’t it like, a thousand kilometers?”

“Ah, she says it’s like a thousand kilometers,” Taeyeon informs Tiffany.

“Who?” Tiffany wonders, confused.

“I can’t remember her name!” Taeyeon says cheerfully. “But you’d like her, she’s really
nice. She’s still here, even though I’m bad at drinking games and can’t hold my liquor!”
 “Yeah, I bet she is,” Tiffany says dryly. “I was just calling to check in.”

“You don’t have to.” The girl wants to clink glasses with her so she does so and then
drains the last of her drink. She likes Tiffany’s voice in her ear when she’s drunk, like not only
floating on a cloud but being wrapped up in one, too. “I’m glad you did, though,” she
confesses, her lips against the mouthpiece like it’s Tiffany’s ear. “I miss you if I go too long
without hearing your voice. If I avoid you, it’s because I’m scared I depend on you too much.”

“Oh—Taeyeon.” All the fight in Tiffany’s voice deflates immediately at Taeyeon’s

admission.

“I have to go,” Taeyeon chirps. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

She loses their drinking game, badly—she’s bad at math on a sober day—and they meet
the night air, laughing and taking gulps of it. The girl lives too far away for Taeyeon to trust
herself to make it back to her hotel, and she’s sharing a hotel room with a manager, so they
decide a motel is better.

There is a part of Taeyeon that leaves that night, that sinks into the bed pillows and is
never found again, a part of her that can only hear Tiffany’s voice in her ear when she’s kissed
with a warm, deliberate mouth.

•••

Present: 2017

“You have to trust me, okay? Do you trust me?”

Tiffany blinked at her steadily. “With my life.”

Taeyeon smiled a little, just at the corner of her mouth. “I’m not asking for that much.
Professional trust is enough.”

“I trust you.”

Taeyeon spared a quick glance over at Juhyun, who raised her eyebrows enigmatically.

“Dangerous…” she said.

Taeyeon reached across the table to take Tiffany’s notebook from her and seized her
pen. Glancing up at Tiffany once more for confirmation, she began boldly crossing out the
straight lines of her neatly written lyrics.
 “Get rid of the first verse,” Taeyeon said as she drew arrows. Tiffany watched her with
a troubled frown. “Second verse is now the first verse. Rewrite the second verse. And change
these two lines in the bridge, because they don’t reference any other part of the song. Okay?”
She slid the notebook back across the table for Tiffany to look at.

Juhyun was still listening to the demo on her phone but took one earbud out to
admonish Taeyeon. “Unnie, why couldn’t you just give her those suggestions without
scribbling all over her notebook?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Tiffany groused.

“I liked the drama of it,” Taeyeon admitted. “Do you disagree?”

“No, I also love drama.”

“I mean with my suggestions?”

“No,” Tiffany said, glancing over the lyrics. “I’ll figure out something for the second
verse. What do you think, Juhyun?”

Juhyun was listening again. “I think you should promote this song instead.”

“I’m not promoting a ballad. If I go up against other ballad singers, I’m out of my
element.”

“I like the title song,” Taeyeon assured her. “This song could chart, too, though. Would
you do a double promotion?”

The suggestion seemed to annoy Tiffany for a reason Taeyeon wasn’t sure about. “Well,
whatever you decide,” she said in a sort of noncommittal tone. “Juhyun, do you—hey, pay
attention when your unnie is speaking to you.”

Juhyun was looking at her phone. “I’m really sorry, unnie,” she said so sincerely that
Taeyeon had to fight back a laugh. “Yoona unnie texted me, she got that role.”

“What role?”

“The drama she was auditioning for.”

“Oh,” Taeyeon said quietly.

Tiffany cleared her throat and put her pen down so she could pick up her phone. “Don’t
remember her mentioning it, but I’ll text her congratulations,” she said evenly. “Do you know
how long it films?”
 “Not sure,” Juhyun replied. “Only twelve episodes, so they should finish in June or early
July?” Off the heavy silence in the room, she shifted in her seat. “Well, it should definitely
wrap up before we release the album, she wouldn’t have taken it otherwise.”

“But it’ll overlap with rehearsals and our concerts,” Tiffany pointed out with a frown.
Her thumb hovered over her phone, text unsent.

“I think she’ll manage it, unnie,” Juhyun said in a small voice, looking torn between not
wanting to argue with the unnie in front of her but wanting to loyally defend the unnie she
was close to.

“She’s a professional,” Taeyeon said mildly, trying to drag Tiffany back to the task at
hand. Tiffany nodded reluctantly and hit ‘send’. “I mean, your promotions will overlap with
our album prep, too, so there’s no need to neglect solo activities.”

“You’re right,” Tiffany said in a tone that suggested she agreed, but wished she didn’t.
“I don’t want her to exhaust herself.”

“Well, if she thinks she can handle it,” Taeyeon said with forced enthusiasm. “Still, it
would be nice to prioritize the group, wouldn’t it?” she added delicately, but picked up her
phone to congratulate Yoona as well.

She was an actress, closer to thirty than twenty. She needed to take roles, Taeyeon
reminded herself. Her career was important, and friends supported each other.

Stretching, she glanced at Tiffany. They had known each other long enough that the way
Tiffany wore stress was easy enough to recognize and Taeyeon watched her slouched over
her notebook. She would inhale deeply and then exhale slowly, her cheeks puffing up briefly
between. It would be endearing if she wasn’t so familiar with just how much Tiffany was
taking the stress of putting together her solo album and the group album home with her.

Before she could say anything—although what, she wasn’t sure, as there was little to
say in comfort that she hadn’t already attempted, multiple times, the past few weeks—her
phone vibrated. She glanced at it and then tossed it in her bag in a hurry, standing up to put
on her jacket.

“Sorry, have to run,” she told Juhyun and Tiffany’s identically expectant faces. “Are you
good with Juhyun helping you with the rest of the songs?”

Tiffany hesitated. “Um, yes. Where are you going?”

“I just remembered I have a schedule.”

With a freakish synchronicity, both Juhyun and Tiffany picked up their phones to check
the group’s currently synced schedules. Despite the fact that Taeyeon herself had suggested
it to faciliate album prep, she hadn’t realized it would only exacerbate the likelihood of being
caught in a lie. She winced.

“Um, I never put it on my calendar,” she explained. “It was last minute. I’m stopping by
the broadcasting station to meet with one of the scriptwriters.” The longer they remained
looking at her, listening in silence, the more she felt she needed to elaborate. “For my radio
show. Since I need to pre-record one of the episodes next week.”

She had never been accused of being a particularly good or particularly bad liar, as the
amount of times in her adult life she had blatantly, unambiguously lied to someone could be
counted on one hand. She was somewhat dismayed to find she was pretty good at it—Juhyun
offered her a serene nod and went back to listening to Tiffany’s demo, and Tiffany seemed
more or less convinced as well, although she did look at Taeyeon for a long, curious moment.

“Okay,” she said at last. “Do you still want to have dinner?”

“Of course.” Taeyeon fidgeted, rocking on her heels. “I’ll pick you up once I’m done
there.”

Tiffany nodded. Her shoulders were slouched. She banged her pen anxiously against
the table. “All right,” she said, and went back to working on her lyrics. “Work hard.”

“Yes.”

Taeyeon took the elevator three floors up. It had been a few years since she had visited
any of these offices. Beside her, Park Dongjin held his phone in both hands and texted with
quick, precise fingers. Her father’s lawyer had mentioned he had cleared his schedule for
contract negotiations today.

As the elevator doors opened, he looked up, then looked around. “We have a few
minutes before the meeting,” he said to Taeyeon, pocketing his phone. He reached past her
and pressed the button for the top floor. “Let’s ride to the top and talk a little.”

She supposed it made sense. It was a relatively private place to discuss things, and she
knew she had been difficult the past few weeks, unable to take any of his calls because she
spent most of her time around her other group members, particularly Tiffany. He smiled
disarmingly at her, perhaps recognizing her anxious energy. As the elevator began to ascend,
Taeyeon looked at the floor.

“I just want to make sure I understand your priorities before we go in there,” Mr. Park
said in a kind tone. “I know we’ve talked about it a little bit, but I don’t want to misrepresent
you.”

“I just want…” Taeyeon tapped her feet, off-rhythm. “I just want some clarification on
the restrictions being placed on who I can work with.”
 “I understand,” Mr. Park said. “But you’re asking me to push them to clarify in legal
terms something that you seem to have a nebulous preference for. Right? You don’t have any
issues with the limits of creative control they’re offering. We don’t want any of those clauses
touched.”

“Um, right.” The relaxed creative control limitations being offered were frankly
unheard of for this particular record label; if nothing else, Taeyeon had to entertain the idea
of signing it for that alone.

“So you’re talking about collaboration?”

“I’m talking about—yes. Collaboration. I want clarification on whether or not I’ll be able
to work with the rest of the girls.”

Mr. Park had pulled his phone back out and appeared to be making notes on it. He
looked up just in time to see the elevator doors open again; they had arrived at the top floor.
Once again, he reached past her, now hitting the button for the ground floor to give them
more time to talk.

Once the doors had closed once more, he shook his head. “Taeyeon, I will do my best on
this,” he told her. She imagined his kind face and patient smile was likely a relief to most of
his clients who needed assurance; if the nervous ball of unease eating its way through her
stomach had not been contributing substantially to her cynicism, it might have done the
same for her, too.

“Here’s the trouble,” Mr. Park said. “They are not going to give us clarification on the
contractual statuses of your friends. Okay? Can we accept that? So everything you’re asking
for is contingent on a case-by-case agreement. If you were looking to do a collaboration, for
example, you would draw up a contract then and the label would still have the final say on it.
If what you’re really after is an assurance that you can release albums as a group, that’s eight
separate collaborative agreements you would have to get them to agree to, and each one
would, of course, be affected heavily by whether or not the artist is still contracted by the
label.”

The elevator hum was loud in the silent space they created. Mr. Park made a few more
notes on his phone. He looked at her again.

“As your lawyer, you know that I don’t advocate speaking with your friends about your
contract, and as always, your priority should be getting the best deal for yourself,” he said.
“But if this worry is what is holding you up, I urge you once again to ask them yourself. Just
speak to them.”

She knew she should. It was her first or second thought upon waking most mornings,
the thought that passed the time in every shower. She would convince herself, halfway, that
there was no harm in asking, and then her mind did the work of the rest of the conversation,
of a scenario where she was unable to walk back their lack of trust, or the secrecy she had
allowed to fester for months now.

Or the other scenario, where there were other members who had been offered
contracts, too, and they had neglected to speak up about it as well. She could not, in good
conscience, disturb the balance right before their tenth anniversary.

They reached the ground floor, and the doors opened again. This time, someone was
waiting to get on—a trainee, who stared at her in dumbstruck astonishment for so long that
Mr. Park was forced to stick his arm out to keep the doors from closing in his face. He stepped
onto the elevator hurriedly, removing his earbuds in a clumsy haste and then bowing to her.

She could not remember his name, although she had been introduced once, maybe a
few months ago. She attempted to make small-talk on the ride up, to encourage him, but he
seemed too starstruck to make conversation very well. His wide eyes kept tracking between
her and Mr. Park and Taeyeon wasn’t sure why it made her cringe inwardly—who was he
going to tell? What was the game of telephone that would get this information, somehow,
back to her members?

When he got off on the same floor Taeyeon had left Juhyun and Tiffany, she held her
breath. There were a few practice rooms on this floor. The hallways looked empty.

“Work hard,” Taeyeon told him as he stumbled out with another bow. “Take care of
yourself.”

The doors closed. Mr. Park smiled at her.

“All right, let’s do this.”

•••

The days stretched longer, came quickly, and were filled to the brim. Tiffany was
juggling her album preparation with mounting the forthcoming group album promotions.
While August had seemed so far away when they’d planned for it, it suddenly seemed to loom
just beyond the horizon. It was easy to work toward a goal, and always had been, but the
imagining beyond the goal was what terrified her.

With nearly all twenty-one of the recorded tracks mastered, they had shelved the album
production temporarily to focus on mounting the tour, expecting that time and distance from
the songs would give them a fresh perspective when they went back to listen to them again
and narrow it down to a twelve or thirteen track LP.

What had seemed, to Taeyeon at least, like a dragged out event, had suddenly picked
up in pace. The entire album production had felt like theirs and theirs alone, and it had almost
made her forget that she was a small piece of a monumental puzzle. The whirlwind of hyping
a promotion and tour—fanmeetings, photoshoots, video shoots—seemed foreign to her
despite having done it hundreds of times by now.

The first fanmeeting was in mid-May, nominally advertised as being for Sunkyu’s
birthday but was going to be used as a springboard to announce the forthcoming tour and
album. It was more than a month away, which left Taeyeon a little sucker-punched when
Jooyoung oppa supervised a staff switch, and they were introduced to the new staff of
managers and handlers.

Inactivity as a group had meant that their regular staff had been downsized and full-
scale promotions ahead of them called for another changeover—it was company staff, so no
one was really very unknown, but it had always been an oddly anxious endeavor. Exchanging
information with a new staff—managers, bodyguards, stylists, coordinators, ten or twelve
assistants—names you had to memorize, people you wanted on your side, people you never
wanted gossiping about you after they were no longer in your employ.

They had worked with this stylist unnie before, and she was nice enough, if not a little
sharp, and although she usually liked to use her own staff, Taeyeon remembered, it was
customary to use staff already on the company’s payroll. Taeyeon was fond of most of the
coordinators they had worked with before, which was good because there was nothing
worse than feeling like the person in charge of your image hated you.

Had Taeyeon been a particularly forward-thinking person in terms of inevitability, she

might have predicted that they would have put Kang Hyejin on the staff, but Taeyeon was
not a very forward-thinking person.

“She worked with Red Velvet recently,” Jooyoung explained, once they’d been
introduced. “I think some of you girls know her already.”

The smile Hyejin shot Taeyeon before she bowed was maybe something approaching
apologetic. Taeyeon frowned.

“You’re our age,” Sooyoung said with a knowing smile, “so let’s be friends.”

“Y-yes,” Hyejin said, casting an uncertain look toward Taeyeon, who looked away.
“Please take care of me, I’ll work hard.”

It wasn’t until they were alone in the meeting room, discussing the schedule for the
fanmeeting, that Taeyeon’s favorite people in the world did their best to become her least
favorite people in the world.

“It sounds like Taengoo unnie pulled some strings,” Yoona teased.

“Unnie, did you?” Juhyun was mildly scandalized. “You asked to work with her?”
 “No,” Taeyeon grumbled. “I had no idea she would be working with us. I thought she
was still with Yerim’s group.”

“Are you guys still seeing each other?” Jessica asked.

“No. We never were.”

“Really?”

“I don’t get it,” Tiffany said in a bored tone, “how does this conversation have anything
to do with the fanmeeting schedule? Are we going to tell the fans about every girl Taeyeon’s
slept with?”

“Ah, well, with Taeyeon’s permission, we should consider it,” Hyoyeon joked. “It could
probably kill an entire hour.”

“We have a lot of work to do but you guys just want to gossip.”

“First of all, Fany, we excel at gossip, so don’t undermine our hard work. Second of all,
it’s just weird. What if we had to work with someone you were dating?”

“We’re not dating,” Taeyeon protested just as Tiffany spat, “They’re not dating.”

There was a beat of silence. Tiffany frowned, playing with the pen in her hands. “They’re
not dating,” she repeated.

“Got it,” Hyoyeon said, looking at them both strangely. “In surround-sound, even.”

“And for the record,” Tiffany went on stiffly, “if we had to work with someone who I
may or may not have dated in the past, I would probably be very professional and do my best
to not interact with them very much.”

“I think you just got lectured, unnie,” Yoona mumbled to Taeyeon and from across the
table, Sunkyu caught Taeyeon’s gaze and raised her eyebrows questioningly, gesturing
toward Tiffany with a surreptitious thumb.

“Uh, yeah,” Taeyeon said with an awkward glance around the table. She cleared her
throat. “I’m sorry if anyone feels uncomfortable with, um… well, I had nothing to do with it,
I didn’t ask for her to work with us, but… well, she’s really good at what she does—”

Sooyoung and Hyoyeon tried, and failed, to hold in their laughter.

“I mean, she’s good at her job,” Taeyeon clarified. “I mean, she’s good at… hair… anyway,
I’m sorry if this has made anyone uncomfortable. That’s my fault.”
 “I think you’re the only one who’s uncomfortable,” Sooyoung said, amused. “And
Manager Hwang. So, no worries.”

“Good,” Tiffany said curtly. “Let’s get back to work.”

They worked for hours, and were close to a finalized promotion schedule. The sun was
setting as they finished. Yoona looked exhausted; she had started filming already and
Taeyeon knew she was back to existing on four hours of sleep. Fortunately, even dark circles
looked pretty on her.

“Can I take you for barbecue or is it too late for you to eat?” Taeyeon asked Tiffany as
they left the office, knowing that Tiffany had a photoshoot in the morning.

“It’s too late for barbecue, but we can eat,” Tiffany said quietly. She also looked tired.
Maybe they were all tired, but maybe Tiffany’s was unique.

“Miyoung,” Taeyeon tried to say as gently as possible, taking one of Tiffany’s hands in
hers. As they turned the hallway corner, Hyejin stepped out of one of the small first floor
offices.

“Ah,” Hyejin said, surprised. “Um. Taeyeon… sshi.”

“Yes, uh…” She let go of Tiffany’s hand so she could run it through her hair anxiously,
feeling self-conscious.

Hyejin greeted Tiffany, as well, and her eyes met Taeyeon’s; she was worried, regretful.
“I just wanted to, um, apologize… I guess. I didn’t know they would assign me to your group.”

“Ah… yeah…” Taeyeon said searchingly. Tiffany touched the inside of her elbow
delicately.

“I’ll wait in the car,” she said, holding her hand out for the keys. Taeyeon handed them
over; Tiffany’s face was grey, stormy, but she wasn’t as angry as Taeyeon expected her to be
after her attitude during the meeting. When their eyes met, Tiffany looked uncertain,
hesitant. She clasped the keys in her hand, long fingers folding briefly over Taeyeon’s before
she disappeared with a hasty nod toward Hyejin.

Alone, Taeyeon shifted from foot to foot and cleared her throat. “Um… you didn’t have
to, uh…”

“I didn’t want to…”

“See me?” Taeyeon finished for her with a rueful smile.

 “No! I just thought it would make it difficult for you… uh, I’ve worked with this stylist
before this and she’s someone I respect a lot, and, um, obviously, she’s my senior, so when
she asked me on her staff, I couldn’t say no.”

“It’s fine,” Taeyeon said in a rush. “I don’t expect you to… um, it’s fine. I’m not so
sensitive that I can’t handle it.”

“Then maybe I’m a little sensitive,” Hyejin admitted. “I hope I can handle it.”

Taeyeon looked at her. “I’m sorry,” she said honestly.

“No,” Hyejin said, but then could think of nothing else to say, so she clenched her fists
at her sides. “All right. Uh, Tiffany is waiting for you.”

“Yes,” Taeyeon said awkwardly. She bowed. “Thank you for your hard work,” she said
formally. “I’ll leave first.”

•••

In the parking garage, the fans were crowded around Taeyeon’s car. As she approached,
some of them looked up and moved out of the way; the driver’s side window was down and
one of them was leaning in, talking to Tiffany.

“Move,” Taeyeon said, not kindly, to the group. “You guys’ll get run over if you stick
around here.”

“Where are you going?” one of them asked politely.

“Busan, I’ll meet you there,” Taeyeon replied, rolling her eyes. The girl leaning into the
window tripped out of the way as Taeyeon glared at her. She met Tiffany’s eyes. “Are you
okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” Tiffany said. It was a small, charitable smile. “We were just talking.”

“Are you going to move over?”

“You’re not going to let me drive your car?”

Taeyeon paused, eyes narrowed in thought. The group of girls behind her snickered.
She tapped her fingers on the car’s door handle.

“Fine,” Taeyeon muttered, moving around to the passenger seat. “Drive carefully.”

“As opposed to what?” Tiffany shot back as Taeyeon climbed into the car.

“As opposed to driving like you usually drive.”

 “You’re one to talk, oh my god.”

“It’s my car.” She reached across Tiffany to put the windows back up, but the girls were
already heading for their own cars and taxis so they could follow her. “Try to lose them on
side streets, if you can,” Taeyeon advised. Tiffany pulled out of the parking garage. “But don’t
be reckless. Why were you talking to them?”

“I don’t know,” Tiffany admitted. Taeyeon couldn’t tell if she was really as focused on
the road as she seemed, or if she didn’t want to look Taeyeon’s way. She watched her for a
moment. “They asked me to take care of you.”

“Don’t you always take care of me?” Taeyeon laughed. Tiffany’s response was a small
smile and a noncommittal humming sound. “In that case, does that mean you’re treating me
to dinner?”

“I think we should eat dinner at home,” Tiffany replied, and indeed, that seemed to be
where she was heading. “And after what I experienced in that office, shouldn’t you treat me?”

Her tone was light, amused, but there had been a stoicism to her all day that Taeyeon
was not used to seeing on her face. She bit her lip, toying with the hem of her skirt in anxious
thought.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Taeyeon said at last. “I feel like I should apologize to you
because I can tell you’re upset, but I also know that I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t ask
her to come work with us. I thought I handled it well.”

Tiffany shrugged, eyes on the road. “You’re right,” she agreed, easily. “I don’t like feeling
this way, and I wish I didn’t.” She was silent. Back on the main road, the traffic had crawled
to a stop. “It upsets me that they think you’re still sleeping with her.”

“I’m not, though.”

“But they think you are.”

“They think I am because you don’t want to tell them who I am sleeping with.”

Tiffany looked at her critically. “Isn’t that cheapening it a little, describing it like that?”

Taeyeon met her eyes just as critically. “What do you want me to call it? Are you my
girlfriend?”

Tiffany hurriedly looked back at the road, but her expression was flustered. Taeyeon
wasn’t sure whether to call it a success or not.

“Look,” Taeyeon said. “The truth is, I can’t get rid of everyone I’ve ever slept with just
to make you feel comfortable.”
 “It’s not everyone. It’s just her.”

Her mouth felt dry. “Why?”

“Because. You—” Tiffany stopped short suddenly, slamming on the brakes, and
Taeyeon grabbed her arm.

“What did I say about your driving!” she barked.

“The jerk cut me off,” Tiffany argued.

“Pay better attention!”

“Do you think you were in love with Hyejin? Do you think you’re still in love with her?”

Her words came out in a rush and Taeyeon let go of her arm gently. That was the look
in Tiffany’s eyes from before; she wasn’t angry, she was scared.

A car honked behind them. Taeyeon said hoarsely, “Drive,” and Tiffany did, and the car
was silent, and the city was loud all around it.

“I’ve only ever been in love with one person,” Taeyeon said. She shook her head, looked
out the window. “Even when I tried to love other people, you were always there, so all I could
do was compare them to you. And then you left me, for three months, and I’d never been
without you for so long.”

She didn’t want to look at Tiffany while she said it, because she didn’t want to see the
look in her eyes.

“I met Hyejin when you weren’t around for me to compare her to you. It was like
freedom. I almost forgot your face. Even when I looked at pictures of you, it felt like
something remembered wrong.” Her lips felt dry. “I thought I could love her.” She put her
head against the window. “I really wanted to love her.”

Tiffany’s voice was so soft she could barely hear it. “Do you resent me for coming back?”

“Never,” Taeyeon said without hesitation. “But I did think… you know, if you hadn’t
come back, maybe I’d be in love with her. Maybe I’d let myself feel that way. So I do care
about her. I wish I hadn’t ruined her.”

“Taeyeon,” Tiffany admonished in a sigh. Taeyeon turned lazily to face her, her head
tilted back against the headrest.

“I think I ruin people,” she said. “I don’t do it on purpose, but I’m selfish. I want to feel
something. I want to forget. I don’t think about what they feel.”
 The sun went down. They didn’t talk the rest of the drive home. Tiffany did lose a few
of the fans, but inevitably, they would find her; inevitably, they would return to the
apartment and begin their watch, keep their distance but still surround her so tightly she
wouldn’t be able to breathe.

“I thought it would get easier,” Tiffany said. Her voice echoed in the elevator as they
rode up. Taeyeon glanced at her, trying to read her expression, but there was nothing to read.

When she realized Tiffany was not going to explicate further, she had to prompt her.
“What would get easier?” she asked.

They rode the elevator all the way up.

“Thinking of you with other girls.” She breathed evenly. “I don’t think possessiveness is
cute. It’s ugly.”

“It is,” Taeyeon agreed, but knew she felt it anyway.

“But still.”

“And yet.”

“All the time I wasted.” Tiffany’s voice was so soft, as though it was meant only to be
heard by her own ears. She fumbled with her keys as they exited the elevator. “Now there’s
a part of you that will never belong to me.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Taeyeon said, leaning against the wall next to their
apartment’s door. “I don’t feel like I’ve ever belonged to anyone else. To have ten thousand
kilometers between us and still feel trapped by it. I don’t think so.”

“It’s different for you, though,” Tiffany said casually. She opened the door and held it
open for Taeyeon to walk in first. “I think I get it. Maybe.”

Taeyeon groped along the wall for the light switch, taking her shoes off. Tiffany allowed
the door to swing shut and the light from the hallway was smothered, leaving them in the
entrance unable to see each other. She made a sound to indicate Tiffany should continue and
was surprised at how near Tiffany’s voice sounded, there, in the pitch dark, how close she
had stepped to Taeyeon.

“Your feelings for me,” Tiffany explained. “For you, they’re separate from how you feel
toward me as a friend.”

“Yes,” Taeyeon breathed.

 “For me, they’re the same.” Tiffany had caught Taeyeon’s moving hand just as it landed
on the light switch and she tangled their fingers together clumsily, pulling her hand away,
leaving them stranded in the black unknown.

“How do you keep them separate?” Tiffany whispered. As Taeyeon’s eyes adjusted, she
craned her neck to study Tiffany’s face, to try and find her mouth, her nose, her eyes. She
seemed too tall. Her shoes were still on.

“I had to.” Taeyeon’s response was reflexive. She didn’t think about it. “They had to be
separate. To love you as a friend felt right. To love you as more didn’t. I had to put them into
two piles.”

“But how?”

“Does it matter?” Taeyeon asked in frustration, reaching for the light switch again.
Tiffany held her hand fast, pressed it between them.

“Kiss me,” Tiffany urged.

Taeyeon did not like having to rise up on her toes to do it, but she did anyway. She felt
Tiffany’s hand at the nape of her neck. She felt the urgency of her lips.

“Let me turn on the light,” she pleaded as Tiffany pressed her against the wall, sucked
at the skin behind her ear.

“No,” Tiffany whispered. She pulled Taeyeon’s skirt up. “Close your eyes and picture
me.”

“Why?” She bit her lip, clenching her thighs around Tiffany’s searching hand. “You’re
right here.”

“Please.” A breath against the shell of her ear. Taeyeon squeezed Tiffany’s shoulder. She
felt Tiffany move, sink to her knees, and her eyes fluttered closed.

Her head fell against the wall and she kept her eyes closed, and in her mind was every
image she had ever memorized of Tiffany, of the brightness in her eyes, the movement of her
lips, the way light would catch in her best friend’s hair and make her glitter.

She didn’t whisper “I love you,” but she felt it on her tongue and she bit down hard
enough to draw blood.
 CHAPTER 23
Present: 2017

During commercials, Taeyeon took her headphones off and fussed a bit with her hair.
Tiffany was quiet in the seat across from her. She had been bubbly and effusive all during the
first part of the interview; she was very good at being an idol.

Her mood was subdued, though. Her face was thinner.

“You look tired,” Taeyeon said in a low tone, trying not to move her lips too much, as
radio was viewable today.

Tiffany could go from zero to one-hundred in the blink of an eye. She smiled prettily,
but Taeyeon could see the exhaustion in the curve of her eyes.

“I hope I’m being a good guest,” Tiffany replied, gingerly skipping past Taeyeon’s
observation.

“The comments are really good.” Taeyeon’s response was neutral. The fans were happy
to see Tiffany and they were happy with her song and her album. It wasn’t that Taeyeon
disagreed; she thought maybe she was the biggest Tiffany fan alive at the moment. But she
could also see how Tiffany’s promotions combined with their group album preparations
were wearing on her.

They had grown used to wearing exhaustion like a second skin, and Tiffany had always
worn it the prettiest. She was the hardest worker Taeyeon knew. It felt, sometimes, like
Tiffany didn’t feel she was working hard enough if she wasn’t dying of exhaustion.

“You don’t have to sing live if you don’t want to,” Taeyeon suggested. “If you want to
rest your voice. We can play the song, or play it and talk over it.”

“I want to sing,” Tiffany said with a familiar determined look in her eye. Of course,
Taeyeon thought. Tiffany always wanted to sing.

“All right.” Taeyeon slipped her headphones back on as the scriptwriter passed by with
a revised script for the next segment. She blitzed through her opening patter.

“Actually, this probably sounds a little like I’m only saying this because you’re my friend
of thirteen years,” she added, momentarily going off script. “But listeners can confirm that
I’m obsessed with this song.”
 “Taeyeon and I live together at the moment.”

“Yes.”

“And she’s always singing this song at home.”

“It’s true, I’m always singing along to it.”

“It’s actually really nerve-wracking to have someone like Taeyeon sing your song,”
Tiffany laughed. “Because you think, oh, I’ve been upstaged.”

“No,” Taeyeon said earnestly. “I can’t sing the way you sing. I’m your fan.”

“I’m being serious, when you hear Taeyeon sing it, you think, ‘When will she release her
own album?’ It’s such a waste of a good voice.”

A second of radio silence could sound heavier than an hour, and yet Taeyeon was so
taken off guard by how much Tiffany was attempting to derail the conversation, she hesitated
for the barest of moments. “Ah,” she said gracelessly, trying to find a tone that hid her
disquiet at the conversation’s turn. “How can I? My plate is so full.”

“I wonder if it’s disappointing for listeners that you never get on the mic and sing live
anymore,” Tiffany said. Taeyeon was trying to subtly catch her eye and drag her off this
discussion, but Tiffany’s eyes were looking down at her script, even though every word out
of her mouth was her own.

She tried to kick Tiffany’s shin under the table, but her legs were too short.

“Isn’t it just laziness?” she replied, pretending to laugh. “Since I’d have to choose a song
and make time for it, it doesn’t seem fair to the writer unnies who work so hard here.”

Tiffany looked up at her at last and smiled a real, genuine smile. Taeyeon frowned at
her meaningfully.

“Speaking of singing live, you’re going to sing us a song from your album.” She hurried
into the introduction for Tiffany’s live performance before Tiffany could clutter up the
interview any further. As Tiffany stood to get on the microphone, she smiled again at
Taeyeon.

Taeyeon waited until she was off-mic. “Miyoung, I’m going to murder you.”

Tiffany laughed, and she looked less exhausted suddenly. She adjusted the microphone
in front of her to the height she wanted and said, “Not with all these witnesses.”

“When we’re alone—”

 “Quiet, please,” Tiffany scolded as the music came on. Taeyeon was torn between
listening through her headphones and taking them off to listen to the pure sound here in the
studio.

She sat back in her chair. She didn’t care how she looked at the moment, watching
Tiffany sing. She didn’t care if every person working in that studio saw her face, saw her
drinking in the sound of Tiffany’s voice and her face while she sang, her lips forming every
word—she didn’t care if the whole world knew she was in love with Tiffany.

“You’ve made things really difficult for me,” Taeyeon muttered after they had thanked
all the staff for their hard work and were leaving the studio. “Now I have all these fans saying
‘why doesn’t Taeyeon sing, why doesn’t Taeyeon sing.’”

“What do you mean all these fans, I’m one of them,” Tiffany replied, checking her phone.
“Jessica’s girlfriend is filming out of the country, I think she’s lonely. Do you want to go over
and bother her?”

“It’s a lot of trouble.”

“You’re a singer. You should sing.”

“I will sing. On our album.”

“You’re afraid,” Tiffany said softly and Taeyeon swallowed hard.

Sunkyu had said the same thing. There was no way she was this transparent. There was
no way they could pinpoint it so perfectly when she still had no idea.

They were quiet the entire ride to Jessica’s apartment. Tiffany checked her album
ranking as Taeyeon drove. Taeyeon thought about how singing was the only thing she was
any good at, and how if you were terrified to do the one thing you could do, then how could
you do anything?

Why do you want to do this so badly? her father had asked when she’d begged him to let
her go to Seoul to train.

I don’t know how to express myself, she remembered saying. This is the only way I can
express anything. It’s the only honest way I know of putting emotion out there.

And what would a solo album be, she wondered. The car in front of her had their right
blinker on and it synced up with the gentle throbbing beat of the song played low on the
radio.

Something you made, she thought. Something you from start to finish. And maybe
people would finally understand you; maybe you would be honest. Maybe human emotion
wouldn’t shame and embarrass you; maybe you’d feel free.
 Why do you like singing? her vocal teacher had asked once, frustrated with her lack of
progress.

I want to express myself.

Why sing? Why music?

She had felt like crying. She was sixteen years old; she hadn’t lived, or learned. If
someone had asked her, she might have answered that she felt like she knew a lot, but at
sixteen, you didn’t know anything. You had a mess of emotions, tangled together like wires,
and there you were, running your fingers through it, trying to untangle the knots, trying to
wrest one wire free so you could look at it and say this, this was a thing I felt.

If it’s not singing, then what? she had replied, blinking back tears. Then what? How will
people know I lived, and that I felt, and that I was human?

You can’t just tell them? You can’t just say it? ‘Here I am, I’m a person, I lived, and felt.’
You can’t say that?

I can’t say it. I don’t know how to, unless I sing.

Then if you refuse to sing, if you refuse to sing properly, you’re nothing. Right?

Right.

And if you leave all those feelings inside, bottle them up, never release them—what
happens? What happens to people who never let it out? Is it like a disease? Do you get sick and
die? What happens?

I don’t know, she had said, because she did not know. She was a teenager. She was
stupid. She didn’t know anything, except that when someone came to her after a performance
and said ah Taeyeon it brought a tear to my eye, she’d think for a moment, someone understood
me.

She stopped the car in the parking garage of Jessica’s apartment. “You’re right,” she said
finally, shutting the car off. Tiffany looked at her. “I am afraid.”

Tiffany’s eyelashes fluttered, her gaze cast downward in thought. “How are you going
to fix that?”

She had known her for too long to say something dumb like ‘what are you afraid of?’
She had known her for too long to offer mindless words of encouragement, or an attitude
that she would get past it. She knew her.

“I don’t know,” Taeyeon replied honestly.

 Tiffany leaned across her seat, cupped her face. She kissed the corner of Taeyeon’s
mouth. She smelled clean; she smelled fresh, like something remembered, but still new.

“I’m here if you need me,” she said.

That was probably true, Taeyeon thought, but it might not change anything.

Yuri was already at Jessica’s apartment when they were buzzed in. “I’m second choice,”
she lamented as Tiffany and Taeyeon came in and were scolded by Jessica for coming by
empty-handed. “She wanted to hang out with Yoona, but she’s still filming.”

“She might be by after filming,” Jessica said, offering Taeyeon a drink, which she
declined. “But I don’t think so, they wrap so late and she needs all the sleep she can get.
What’s going on, do you not drink at all anymore?”

“I get drunk too easily,” Taeyeon said, joining Yuri on the couch. Tiffany was looking
through Jessica’s cabinets for something easy to cook. “I want to sound good for the
fanmeeting tomorrow.”

“You have to practice complete abstinence just so you can get through a few lines in one
ballad?”

Taeyeon squinted at her dubiously. “Not complete abstinence.”

In response, Jessica threw a couch pillow at her; Taeyeon evaded it deftly and it whizzed
past her head, landing on the hardwood floors somewhere behind her. (Jessica chased it
down with no small amount of chagrin, muttering “That pillow’s actually pretty expensive.”)

“Also, what is this,” Taeyeon criticized. “Are you such a clingy person that your
girlfriend can’t leave for like, two days without you becoming lonely?”

“Did you just ask Jung Sooyeon the words ‘are you a clingy person?’” Yuri asked. “Did
you just meet her?”

“Mmm, true, objection withdrawn. No further questions, Your Honor.”

“I know you don’t do relationships, Taeyeon,” Jessica said, setting the pillow back on
the couch and taking a moment to adjust it, “but as someone who’s been in one for roughly
two-thousand years, yes, you get lonely when they’re not around.”

Taeyeon shifted uncomfortably. It was Jessica’s usual joking with her, but it felt wrong,
somehow. “Well, I can understand that, then,” she tried to say neutrally.

“Can you really understand loneliness when you sleep with as many girls as Taengoo’s
slept with?” Yuri joked, but the sharp look Jessica shot her as she said it made her delivery
flat. She cleared her throat.
 “Unexpectedly,” Taeyeon said, meeting Tiffany’s eyes as she came back into the living
room from the kitchen, “it’s actually very lonely.”

“Sorry,” Yuri offered, but Taeyeon waved her off. “I haven’t seen you with many girls
lately, though.”

“Yes,” Taeyeon said with some hesitance. Tiffany was studying a magazine on Jessica’s
coffee table like it was the most interesting thing in the entire world. “I’m, uh, cutting back
on that.”

“And it’s really over with Hyejin?” Jessica called from the kitchen where she was getting
a drink refill for Yuri.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it is complete abstinence, then,” Jessica joked.

“You worry so much about my sex life. You have a crush on me?”

“You wish, right?”

“You wish. Is that why you invite me over when your girlfriend’s gone?”

“Actually, I invited Stephanie. Looks like you just tagged along.”

“Oh, so the crush is on Fany, then.”

Tiffany lifted her eyes from her magazine then and she and Taeyeon shared a smile
amidst a silence so awkward it almost made Taeyeon laugh out loud.

Jessica looked between them impatiently. “What is going on with you two?” she
demanded.

“What do you mean?” Taeyeon asked.

“Either you’re fighting, or…”

In the breath of a moment, Tiffany was on her feet. “Let me check to see if the water’s
boiling.”

“Watch out, Culinary Master Fany is going to show you all how it’s done,” Taeyeon
joked, mostly in an effort to mitigate the tension in the air—unsuccessfully, too. Jessica’s gaze
followed Tiffany’s retreating form, a mystified crease to her brow.

With laser focus, she switched her gaze to Taeyeon, who shrunk into the sofa pillows,
just slightly.
 “What is going on?” Jessica demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jessica switched her glare to Yuri. “Am I crazy? She’s acting weird, right?”

Yuri studied her wine glass with a contemplative frown, answering only once she was
sure she understood the question. “Um, yes, you are crazy,” she said with a sort of cautious
precision, “and yes, she is acting weird.”

“Why is Stephanie being so weird?”

“I don’t know,” Taeyeon said defensively, aware that her voice had risen roughly four
octaves in just three words. “She’s always weird? Right? Isn’t she? Always weird? She’s
American, right? You guys are weird?”

Jessica raised one eyebrow. Taeyeon stood.

“I’m going to gallantly make sure she hasn’t destroyed anything in your kitchen.”

Tiffany seemed to feel that the harder she stared at a pot of water, the more likely it
was to boil. Taeyeon thought there might be an adage about that, but, in light of the turmoil
currently twisting Tiffany’s features, she decided to educate her on it another day.

She hesitated, just slightly, fingers twisting and clasping together behind her back,
before approaching the tightly drawn shoulders, the unquiet silhouette. She touched her
elbow, voice soft. “Miyoung,” she said.

“I’m sorry.” A blush bloomed charmingly on Tiffany’s cheekbones. “Sorry. I’m so not
smooth.”

“That’s okay,” Taeyeon laughed. “I’ve known you for a long time. You’ve never been
smooth.”

“I like to think I’ve cultivated an air of mystery as I’ve gotten older.”

“You’d like to think that,” Taeyeon agreed, “but luckily I’m here to set you straight.”

“It’s just, um.” Tiffany lowered her voice. She put the cover back on the pot. Her eyes
found the floor, then the ceiling, then the countertop just past Taeyeon’s wrist. “It just, um,
feels weird. Because there’s this disconnect. Like, they just casually talk about you and all the
girls you’ve slept with. Does it bother you?”

“I’m pretty used to being roasted, constantly.” Another attempt at a joke, but Tiffany
wasn’t smiling. Taeyeon cleared her throat. She stepped a little closer. “If it bothers you,
though,” she said, “it bothers me.”
 “It’s stupid,” Tiffany muttered.

“It’s not stupid. None of your feelings are stupid.” She paused. “Except when they are,
but not right now.”

“I’m the one who said I didn’t want to tell anyone,” she went on, “and yet, like, they
wouldn’t talk like this in front of me, if they knew. Right? I’m so obvious about it.”

“You are,” Taeyeon began as delicately as possible, trying not to sound accusing, “the
one who didn’t want to tell anyone.”

There was something unspoken between them, a quiet in Jessica’s kitchen, as if by not
telling anyone else, they weren’t telling each other. There was a moment there. Taeyeon
gazed, restrained in reverence, Tiffany’s elbow to her wrist, the drumming of her fingertips,
the withdrawn line of her shoulders.

“Your water’s boiling,” she said gently.

“I know.” Tiffany frowned.

“People with faces as pretty as yours shouldn’t frown as much as you do.”

The smile that touched Tiffany’s lips was genuine, a quick look over her shoulder as she
put the soup base in the water. “Yeah? What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t frown, I pout.”

“Is that what that is?”

“Scientifically proven to be better for your skin.”

Her laugh was soft but it echoed in the high ceiling of Jessica’s kitchen. She dragged
Taeyeon close, fingernails biting into her forearm. Taeyeon’s breath exited her lungs in a
hasty rush, as if something had chased it out. She felt herself swallow as Tiffany came closer
and her eyes squeezed shut out of reflex. Defensive.

You could store warm memories in a bank, thought Taeyeon. But every time Tiffany
kissed her, she would struggle to remember it later as something that truly happened,
something different from a dream fading from memory in the morning.

The kiss seized her. Tiffany’s other hand found the back of her neck and bent her
backwards with the force of it. The need to cling to her came so suddenly, Tiffany’s mouth
parting her lips, and there was nothing in the quiet, empty kitchen to keep her upright,
nothing except Tiffany’s arm around her waist, the scrape of her teeth against Taeyeon’s
lower lip, her jaw, and the breathless mumble against her ear, “You’re driving me crazy,
Taeyeon.”
 “Holy—”

Kwon Yuri bumped inelegantly into a cart stacked with expensive-looking wooden
bowls; as Taeyeon’s eyes fluttered open, she watched Yuri’s hand dart out reflexively,
steadying them before they toppled over. Her other hand clutched two empty glasses of wine.

Taeyeon had first met Yuri thirteen years ago and had never remembered her looking
so young, so completely disordered.

“You,” Yuri tried to say. Tiffany let go of her.

“Yuri,” she said quietly.

“I knew it,” Yuri hissed.

“Be quiet—”

“You guys must think I’m so dumb—”

“Yuri, keep your voice down,” Tiffany whispered.

“Dumb’s kind of a harsh word,” Taeyeon admitted, taking a full step backwards, away
from the dizzying area of effect of Tiffany’s entire being. “It’s more of like, I don’t know, a
ditzy charm—”

Tiffany pinched her. Yuri’s eyes narrowed.

“The way Tiffany got so angry about Hyejin,” she muttered, voice hushed. “I just wrote
it off, like, typical Fany, she just hates having fun—”

“What the hell!”

“But the more I thought about it, the weirder it was—”

“I love fun!”

“—and Taeyeon’s been so weirdly happy lately, when usually she’s such a grumpy
jackass—”

Now it was Taeyeon’s turn to say, “What the hell.”

“You are sometimes very grumpy,” Tiffany conceded.

“And you don’t know how to have fun when we’re working. You’re actually where fun
goes to die a really boring, tedious death.”
 “There is a time and place for fun and that time and place is—”

“Nowhere near my apartment, apparently,” Jessica said, coming in with a strange look.
She snapped a quick glance toward the empty wine glasses in Yuri’s hand and, with a sigh,
reached past Taeyeon for the wine rack. “Thought you got lost.”

“No.” Yuri’s mouth was a firm, unreadable line. “Just distracted.”

“What are you guys whispering about in here?”

“We’re talking about Yuri keeping her mouth shut,” Tiffany said evenly. There was a
slight strain to her voice, but she was watching Yuri with hopeful, careful eyes. Jessica
frowned; her hand stilled, the wine bottle tipped forward a few degrees in midst of refill.

“Keeping her—”

“About the comeback,” Taeyeon lied smoothly. “She always blabs to fans.”

“Ah.” Jessica resumed her refilling duties, quick and calm. “Yeah, how come you have
no self control?” she asked Yuri, who looked very carefully at Taeyeon, eyes narrowed.

“Believe me,” Yuri said, “I have tons of self-control.” She set the glasses down a little
forcefully, a bit of wine sloshing over the sides, and stalked out of the kitchen.

Jessica raised an eyebrow at the remaining occupants. “Lot of tension in here.”

Tiffany turned back to attend to her food. “She’s in a bad mood, I think.”

Jessica shrugged. “What do you expect? She worked her ass off, had a successful single,
and has heard nothing from the label in terms of praise or even a hint at her future. You’d be
in a bad mood, too.”

Taeyeon felt her stomach plummet. Guilt prickled along the back of her neck. “No
contract offer, or… um, anything?” she asked, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

Jessica shook her head a bit searchingly. “I don’t know anyone who’s been offered one,
do you?”

If she found Taeyeon’s lack of response suspicious, she didn’t let on, shifting her gaze
to Tiffany, who shrugged.

“Me neither,” she said.

“Mmm,” said Taeyeon. “Here, I’ll help you carry this.”

“Think I can handle one bottle of wine,” Jessica laughed, following her.
 “Well, uh, I’ve been working out, so…”

“Oh, then by all means—”

Yuri was pacing when they returned to the living room. Jessica watched her with a
frown, falling into step beside her after a moment and putting a glass of wine in her hand.
“Nice as it is, the furniture isn’t just for show,” she said. “You can actually sit on it.”

Yuri whirled on Tiffany, who had just sat down to eat. Taeyeon stepped between them,
hoping to diffuse Yuri’s anger, but succeeding only at turning it onto herself.

“I just want to know, were you ever going to tell anyone?”

“Yuri,” said Tiffany with a sigh. Jessica looked perplexed.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“You’re getting excited,” Taeyeon tried to tell Yuri softly; in retrospect, this was the
complete wrong thing to say. Yuri’s eyes widened. “Look—”

“What is going on?” Jessica interrupted.

“It’s no one’s business except me and Taeyeon,” Tiffany said simply, and if possible, this
seemed to set Yuri off even more.

“How can you, of all people, say that? You’re the one who says we should never have
secrets. You’re the one who says we need to put the group first. You’re the one—”

“This has nothing to do with the group,” Tiffany said defensively.

Jessica broke in with a world-renowned level of impatience. “Is anyone going to tell me,
the owner of this apartment—”

“Actually, your girlfriend owns it,” Taeyeon couldn’t help but interject.

“—what is going on?”

Yuri stood back, arms folded. She gestured to them both: Tiffany, sinking into the
cushions of the weirdly expensive armchair, noodles in her mouth, Taeyeon standing
awkwardly to the side and eyeing the wine bottle in Jessica’s hand like it was salvation.

“Go ahead,” Yuri said. “I want to hear you tell her.”

“Tell me what?”
 Taeyeon looked at Tiffany. Then she stopped looking at Tiffany because puppy-dog
eyes was a phrase that had been invented for Tiffany, and Taeyeon had no willpower. She sat
down silently next to her.

“Um,” Tiffany said. “So, me and Taeyeon are…”

Jessica raised her eyebrows.

“Taeyeon and I are, um…”

Taeyeon raised her eyebrows as well. She didn’t know how Tiffany, who refused to
define what their relationship was, could possibly finish that sentence.

“Well, it’s complicated, what Taeyeon and I are,” she finished in an uncharacteristically
small voice, and if they hadn’t been in the penthouse, Jessica’s eyebrows would have leapt
up to the floor above theirs.

“What does that mean?”

“It means they were making out in your kitchen,” Yuri accused.

“In my kitchen?” Jessica cried, and then frowned. “I’m sorry, I latched onto the wrong
part of that sentence. Making out?”

“That’s…” Taeyeon muttered. “Making out sounds so… juvenile…”

Jessica shook her head. Silence descended upon the bizarre stage they had set for their
comedy of errors. “You were right,” she said to Yuri.

“I know I was right, but it doesn’t feel good to be right. For like, once.”

“This is not that big of a deal,” Tiffany said.

“How is it not a big deal?” Yuri held out her empty glass for Jessica to refill. For her part,
Jessica took a genuine moment to evaluate if she should be cutting Yuri off, but then refilled
it with a dutiful shrug. “We’re a team. There are nine people in this team. You can’t just.
That’s. Office fraternization.”

Yuri was eloquent when drunk.

Taeyeon shifted uncomfortably. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Her tongue was down your throat—”

 “Okay.” Jessica plucked the wine glass from Yuri’s hand. “Refilling that was a mistake.
Steph, why don’t you and Yuri take a walk to the convenience store and get me something
for the headache that is the center of my world right now.”

Tiffany nodded, only managing to send Taeyeon a small, guilty look before she led a still
huffing Yuri out of the apartment.

Taeyeon had thought that getting rid of the hurricane that was Kwon Yuri’s drunken
indignation would maybe make things easier, but as the front door closed, she realized that
being alone with Jessica was like sitting alone with the teacher after class.

Jessica sat down with a sigh.

“God, Taeyeon,” she muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “What were you thinking?”

“What was I…”

“What were you thinking?”

Taeyeon’s brow furrowed. “I was thinking, um, oh, the girl I’ve been in love with since
I was a teenager maybe, sort of, likes me back?”

“So you weren’t thinking with your head.”

“No,” Taeyeon replied, eyes narrowed. “Much lower. What are you so angry about? Even
Sunkyu wasn’t this upset, other than threatening Tiffany with bodily harm, which I think was
mostly joking.”

“Sunkyu knows?”

Oops. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Who else knows?”

“That’s it.”

“What were you thinking?”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Taeyeon stood. “I wasn’t thinking, but what does it
matter? Who does it hurt?”

“You, you dumbass.”

“So what?” Taeyeon cried, getting heated. Jessica stood, too, and they were toe-to-toe,
and Taeyeon was flushed with embarrassment and adrenaline. “So what, I get hurt. I got hurt.
I was hurt. Working with her, day in and day out, for this many years, and knowing she
doesn’t feel the same, you don’t think that didn’t already hurt?”

“So what happens when she changes her mind?” Jessica prompted, arms crossed. This
close, that tiny height difference between them was really making a difference. Taeyeon
swallowed hard. “What happens then?”

Taeyeon looked down at her hands. The room felt still and heavy. As Jessica released a
long, lamentable exhale, she pulled Taeyeon to sit down next to her on the couch.

“I’m not trying to be hurtful,” she reminded Taeyeon. “I get that you’re not capable of
thinking rationally when it comes to her. That’s why I’m trying to be rational for you. I want
you to be—”

“Please don’t say you want me to be happy.” Taeyeon put her head in her hands.
“Everyone—everyone always, always says that.”

Jessica was quiet. Taeyeon felt an arm around her waist, a chin rested on her shoulder.
Jessica’s lips against her temple. “It’s what everyone wants.”

“I know.”

And I could be, she wanted to say. I could be happy.

•••

Her stomach was in knots. In the passenger seat, Tiffany silently looked out the
window, watching the traffic. Even this early in the morning, the streets were never empty.

“Hey,” Taeyeon said at a red light. She turned down the music a little. Tiffany looked
over at her in surprise, meeting her gaze steadily.

“Hmm?”

“Just—hey.”

That made Tiffany smile a little. “Hey yourself.”

The car fell silent afterward. Taeyeon turned the music up again. Tiffany’s knees jiggled
anxiously.

“I wonder if Jessica or Yuri told anyone else,” she mumbled, barely above the music.

Taeyeon shrugged. “Not really their style. But we should, um…” She lowered the music
again. The action made Tiffany square her shoulders. “But we should, actually, tell everyone
else. Take that burden off of them.”
 “You’re right.”

“Well, I mean, it’s not fair, that like, three of them know about it, and then others don’t.
It feels—oh, you said I’m right.”

“Hopefully the rest of them understand better than they did.” Tiffany looked out the
window again, mumbling, “Thought they’d be happy.”

Taeyeon squared her shoulders, too. “It was a long night, and Yuri was already in a bad
mood, and Jessica was lonely, and… with the fanmeeting today, everyone will be in a good
mood.”

Everyone was not in a good mood.

Well, in theory, Yoona probably was, but she had apparently come straight from
shooting her drama to the fanmeeting venue, which meant she was currently operating on
an approximate zero hours of sleep.

“I’m good, unnie, I promise,” she said groggily, her long limbs slack as Taeyeon steered
her toward one of the plush, empty couches in the dressing room. “Honestly, I’ve survived
on less sleep.”

“Just rest a little, okay,” Taeyeon insisted, covering her with throw pillows in the
absence of a blanket and then realizing the stupidity of it. “I mean, just a little.”

Sooyoung and Hyoyeon had arrived together and were unceremoniously in foul temper
because of it. Taeyeon could have humorously posited it was because of whoever drove, but
they seemed genuinely annoyed with one another and any attempts at levity from the other
girls only seemed to make them more annoyed.

“That is not the problem,” Hyoyeon hissed at her.

“Then what is the problem?” Sooyoung hissed back.

“You know what I’m upset about, stop playing dumb.”

“What is she upset about?” Taeyeon mumbled to Sunkyu out of the side of her mouth,
collapsing next to her on the couch. Sunkyu looked up only briefly from her phone, evaluating
her two bickering teammates across the dressing room and generating a synopsis with
robotic efficiency.

“Hyoyeon’s annoyed that Sooyoung is getting married, and Sooyoung’s annoyed that
Hyoyeon’s annoyed,” she said succinctly, returning her attention to her phone.

“Why is she annoyed?”

 Sunkyu shrugged. “Haven’t figured that one out yet.”

“She seemed okay about it when Sooyoung told us.”

“Yeah, but I could tell she was faking.”

“She was?” Taeyeon frowned. “That’s not really Hyoyeon’s style? One time I asked her
what she thought about the lipstick I was wearing and she told me it was against her beliefs
to communicate with the undead.”

Sunkyu put her phone down. “Oh yeah, she’d never fake to spare someone else’s
feelings, but she would to spare her own. Right? That’s Hyoyeon.”

“Mmm.”

“Before you and Steph got in, we were discussing the contract again. Especially now.
Doing this.” Sunkyu twirled her finger around absently as though to gesture at the entirety
of the pandemonium that was preparing for the fanmeeting. “It’s starting to feel real. Like
we’re retiring. One last album and then she’s getting married. It’s like Sooyoung’s giving up.”

Her voice became soft, wondering; Taeyeon couldn’t tell if Sunkyu truly believed that,
or if it was something she was still putting together in her mind.

“She deserves to be happy,” Taeyeon said.

Sunkyu nodded, gave Taeyeon a small smile. “Mmm. Who doesn’t?”

“Taeyeon sshi.” Hyejin poked her head around the corner where she and Sunkyu were
nestled into languor. “I’m ready for you.”

Taeyeon blinked. Sunkyu poked her tongue into her cheek and looked like she was
trying not to laugh.

“Huh?” Taeyeon asked.

“For your hair,” Hyejin said.

“Oh.” Taeyeon stood, but was nearly knocked over by Juhyun, who suddenly seemed to
be eight feet tall and in possession of eleven or twelve incredibly weaponized elbows, as she
rushed over to stand between Taeyeon and Hyejin.

“Sorry, unnie,” Juhyun said in a rush. “Can I go ahead of you?”

“Sure? Why?”

“Because, well, my hair’s longer.”

 Taeyeon frowned. Hyejin hid a smile and said, “That seems true, in my professional
opinion.”

“I guess?” Taeyeon said, or asked, and felt as though she was somehow missing
something.

“I can take you, Taeyeon,” the other hairstylist called from the other end of the room.
Taeyeon noticed Juhyun’s shoulders relax. She exchanged a perplexed look with Hyejin and
shrugged, walking over to get her hair done.

Yuri was getting up as she came over, and her eyes slid coolly past Taeyeon as she stood,
barely acknowledging her. Taeyeon sighed.

Was anyone going to act normally today?

•••

The thing was, they were professionals.

But they were also nine girls who had grown up together, had lived like sisters, and had
perfected the art of the passive-aggressive insinuation so underhanded, so indirect, that it
could fly over the head of anyone who hadn’t spent the better part of a decade in constant
proximity of them.

So when the MC asked, “What do you think it is about Girls’ Generation that has
contributed to your longevity?”

—and Sooyoung took the microphone and said, “I think it’s because we’re always happy
for each other’s achievements,” and handed the mic to Hyoyeon with a radiant, saccharine
smile—

—and Hyoyeon said, “I think it’s the way we all think about what’s good for the group,
instead of only thinking about what we want, as individuals—”

—and Jessica grabbed the mic from her to say, “I agree with Hyoyeon, I think it’s that
we put the group first and don’t make personal decisions that could negatively impact the
rest of the group,” and with a pretty, but insincere smile toward Tiffany, handed the mic to
Yuri—

—who said, “I think it’s that we’re honest with one another, all the time—”

—well. The fans seemed to like it, because the fans couldn’t tell that an all-out war of
passive-aggression was taking place right before their eyes.

And Tiffany saved it by saying, “I think we have good teamwork,” with earnest
enthusiasm and Yoona, who looked exhausted but beautiful in a way that really only she
could pull off, said “I think it’s because I just agree with whatever the unnies say, and that
seems to make them happy,” which made everyone laugh enough to diffuse the situation. At
least for the moment.

It went on and on and they avoided each other’s eyes and the fans had good energy and
they, the professionals, did not, and maybe the fans noticed, and maybe they didn’t, but the
bad feeling of it pooled in the pit of Taeyeon’s stomach. She felt worse and worse and worse
and worse, until they ended the meeting with their debut song and as they lined up, she felt
Tiffany move into position behind her and touch the small of her back, gentle as rain, with
the pads of her fingertips—

It was half a second of contact, and it meant ten years of everything to Taeyeon.
 CHAPTER 24
Past: 2016, Part 2

“What about this?”

She holds the delicate chain up to the light under the watchful eye of the lady behind
the counter; there is a diamond joining twin hearts of sterling silver.

“It’s nice,” Tiffany comments, barely looking up from a display of rings.

Taeyeon sighs and hands it back over the counter. “If I’m dropping thirteen million won
on something, I’m sort of hoping for more than ‘nice’. I can buy you a ring. Do you want a
ring?”

“You don’t have to buy me anything.”

The conversation is embarrassing her a little. The lady behind the counter is pretending
not to listen, idly straightening the displays in the glass cases while glancing at them out of
the side of her eyes every few seconds. Taeyeon touches Tiffany’s elbow gently, leading her
toward the door.

“Let’s get coffee. Okay? Can I buy you coffee, at least? Just help me out a little, okay, I
need to get you something, it’s your birthday we’re talking about.”

Tiffany shrugs. “I don’t need anything.”

“You don’t need jewelry?”

“No one needs jewelry, Taeyeon.”

“Ugh, what’s the point of being rich and famous if I can’t just waste obscene amounts of
money on pretty things?”

Tiffany hides a laugh as they duck into a coffee place and stand on line to order. There
is an intense gloominess about her today, although she wears it with a glowing smile.
Taeyeon fidgets, worrying.

“Listen. You must want something.”

“I just want…” Tiffany’s gaze darts around the coffee shop, taking in the wall to wall
crowd of people. Taeyeon can’t tell if she’s avoiding looking at her or not. “Just something
meaningful. It doesn’t mean anything if you’re just buying me something expensive just to
buy it.”

“Whatever it is, if you want it, then it means something,” Taeyeon says. She looks at the
floor. “Because you mean—you know, a lot. Uh, to me.” Tiffany glances at her. She adds, “And
to the rest of the girls.” She orders coffee for both of them.

They sit outside to drink it. Middle of a heat wave. Tiffany holds her iced coffee against
her forehead. Crosses and uncrosses her legs several times.

“Here’s what I want.” She angles her body toward Taeyeon a bit and it’s too warm for
human contact but Taeyeon leans into her anyway. “I just want you there. That’s it.”

“Lame,” Taeyeon tries to joke, but Tiffany’s stare is earnest.

“There’s nothing you can give me that I can’t already give myself, except that. I just want
my eight girls around me, particularly my favorite one.”

“Yoona?”

“No, you.”

“Oh, because Yoona would be my favorite. She’s everyone’s—”

“Am I asking for a lot?”

Taeyeon’s shoulders slump. She sips her coffee, watches Tiffany’s long fingers fiddling
with the straw to her drink. “You’re not asking for a lot,” she says, soft above the hum of the
city. “But that’s a lot of pressure for little me.”

Tiffany bumps her shoulder. “My little Taeyeon. It’s supposed to be the opposite of
pressure. You’re enough, is what I’m saying. You and me, like old times. My best friend.”

“That’s the part that’s pressure,” Taeyeon says. She tries to keep her voice light. A quiet,
casual conversation between friends. “Like old times. When is that?”

“I don’t know. The way we are now isn’t like we were before.”

The breath settles between them. It’s the first time either of them has said it out loud,
but knowing someone inside and out, knowing them more than you know your own self—
she knows they’ve both been thinking it.

Tiffany fumbles a little with her sunglasses. She slides them on. The warm honesty of
her eyes gone.
 “What do you want?” Taeyeon asks, quiet. They watch the people passing by. Not
people-watching. City-watching. She is about to say the words with her own mouth and her
throat feels tight. “You want it like it was before you knew I was in love with you. It was easier
for you then.”

She thinks Tiffany might deflect, or protest, but she’s quiet, nodding. Then she says,
“Was it easier for you?”

It’s worth thinking about, so she does. Was it ever easy? From the first moment Tiffany
had kissed her and every part of her chest had burned for weeks that stretched into months
that stretched into years, that quiet aching yearning to kiss her again and again and again
until her lungs could not know breath, it had never been easy.

But it was easier, maybe, to feel that way and not have every important person in her
life know she felt that way. To feel that way, and not have to look at Tiffany and know that
she knew, and know that it was in the back of her mind at all times, weighting every action,
coloring every word.

“Maybe,” Taeyeon says. She injects a little levity into her voice, springing to her feet.
“Maybe. We have what we have, though. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

•••

She parks her car a few blocks away. That group of girls had followed her again. It was
hard to lose them on the streets this late at night, with less cars on the road. She sends a quick
text—I’m downstairs—and waits, leaning her forehead against the cool leather of her
steering wheel. She turns up the radio a little.

There’s a tap at the window. She unlocks the passenger door and a breath of fresh air
comes in with the still, warm August night. Taeyeon is nearly pulled bodily into the
passenger’s seat with how forcefully she’s kissed.

“Were you followed?” she’s asked, sort of ineffectually, after.

“Just the usuals,” Taeyeon says, glancing in her rearview mirror. There’s a frown.
Taeyeon reassures her, “They’re really discreet. Really. Did you want to see me for
something?”

“I have to have a reason?”

“At one in the morning?” She’s pulled forward again. The kiss is warm, rushed. “No,”
Taeyeon mumbles against her mouth. “You don’t have to have a reason.”

“I was just thinking about you,” the girl gushes. “And looking at this picture of you.” She
pulls out her phone to show her. Taeyeon tilts her head.
 “When did you take that?”

“Last week, when you came to our dressing room to wish us luck.”

“That must be why I look so dumb, you guys were so pretty,” she jokes.

“You don’t look dumb.” She holds the phone against her chest. “You look cute. Sunbae,
listen—”

“I’m listening.”

“Is it okay if we take a picture together?”

“Mmm, what for?”

“So I can have a picture of the two of us, to look at. Since we have to go to Ulsan
tomorrow, and I won’t see you for a few days.”

Taeyeon smiles. “You can go a few days without seeing me.”

Her junior shakes her head, eyes wide. “Really, it’s too hard.”

“Give it a try. I actually look better after you haven’t seen me for awhile. I promise.”

“Won’t you miss me?”

Taeyeon leans forward for a kiss. Her hands are everywhere. Taeyeon groans into her
shoulder, pausing to catch her breath. “Look—”

“Because I’ll miss you.” The words are a breath dancing across her lips. “I want us to be
together.”

Taeyeon nods. “We can go back to my place.”

“No, I mean—” She tugs at the collar of Taeyeon’s shirt. “I mean, not just tonight, I want
us to be together together. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“Okay.” Taeyeon extricates herself delicately. The car feels warm now, even with the AC
on. “We talked about this, though, I’m not—”

“I know you’re not interested in a relationship, but sometimes when you look at me, I
think you really like me. I mean, it feels real.”

Taeyeon’s head feels heavy. Fingertips against the base of her skull. “I do like you,” she
says, “but—”
 “Then why can’t we be together?”

“Look. If I can make you feel happy for a little while, then that’s good. But I can’t—you
know, I can’t be more than that. Okay? It doesn’t work. And you should think about your
career, you know, your group is doing really good, and you don’t want to have to worry about
a scandal, right?”

“I don’t care about any of that.”

“You do,” Taeyeon tells her with a wry smile. “You’re just not thinking straight right
now.”

“Is there someone else?”

She thinks about Tiffany’s long slender fingers and the nape of her neck, her laugh and
the way her mouth fits around Taeyeon’s name. She closes her eyes. “Yes.”

“Who is she?”

Taeyeon looks at her gently. “Does it matter?”

She falls silent. Taeyeon is worried she’ll cry. It’s been awhile since she made someone
cry. It’s not a good feeling. She plucks the girl’s phone out of her lap.

“Do you still want that picture?”

“Yes,” she mumbles softly.

“Okay.” She holds the phone out and puts her arm around her. They sit there for awhile.
“Do you want to come back to my place?” A nod. “Okay.” She kisses her on the forehead.
“Thanks for being understanding.”

She thinks, later, skin against skin and the promise of warmth everywhere she touches,
that words are cheap, and that it wouldn’t cost her anything to tell this girl that she loved
her. It wouldn’t cost her anything, and lies are not enough to break a heart.

•••

The production assistant brings her another iced coffee.

“Sorry to be a burden,” Taeyeon says.

“You’re not a burden. You look really tired.”

“I feel really tired.” She leans back in her chair, taking her headphones off. She has two
minutes of commercial break left.
 “Poor Taeyeon,” jokes the PA. To the manager, she says, “Are you working our Taeyeon
too hard?”

“No way,” her manager says, barely looking up from his phone. “She barely works these
days. Radio is the only schedule she has.”

“What does Taeyeon do to fill her days?” the PA asks playfully.

Taeyeon rolls from side to side in her chair, a smile pressing insistently at the corner of
her lips. “You want to know?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Take me out for a drink sometime, I’ll show you.”

A blush colors her cheeks. Taeyeon glances at her manager in time to see him rolling
his eyes.

“I work for you,” the PA retorts. “Shouldn’t you take me out?”

“Mmhmm.” She swings her legs from side to side. “When are you free?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Taeyeon tilts her head back to check the time left until commercials end. “Can’t do it. I
have a party.”

“Oh, Tiffany’s party,” the manager says.

“It’s good that you and the members are so close,” the PA says.

“Mmm,” Taeyeon agrees, a little noncommittal. Thinking about Tiffany feels like
drowning. “What about tonight?”

“I can’t do it tonight.”

“Not even for me? What do you do after work?”

“I take classes at Myongji part-time.”

“Not this late.”

“I have a project due.”

“So diligent,” Taeyeon teases. “A celebrity asks you out and you can’t even make a little
time.”
 “If the celebrity is really interested, she’ll ask again, right?”

“Ah.”

“Taeyeon,” the manager says, looking a bit stern. She checks the time and puts her
headphones back on.

“Let’s do the second half of tonight’s show,” she says into the microphone. “Even if it’s
a little boring without a guest tonight. Oh, the scriptwriter unnie is telling me we’re doing a
Q&A. Is that safe? Won’t that make things more boring? I’m not too interesting.”

She’s handed a script. There’s a note scrawled at the top instructing her to only select
the questions she’s comfortable with. Her manager has already scrawled his initials next to
the ones he approves of, the ones the company wouldn’t find fault in her answering.

“Let’s see. There’s a lot of questions here about Girls’ Generation, who listeners know
are my favorite idol group. Thank you for your continued interest in such an old group, even
as younger, and prettier models come along.” She laughs, trying to not send too sharp a look
to the engineer who has laid an old Girls’ Generation song down as a backing track.

“Uh, hmm.”

Her throat feels oddly tight. She takes a surreptitious swallow of water. She scans the
page.

She doesn’t want to answer any of these questions.

“There are people who really like the question ‘Which Girls’ Generation member are
you closest to?’ even though I’m close to all of them. Whoever treats me best on that day,
that’s the answer.” She laughs.

For the first time in years, this answer doesn’t feel like a lie. We’re all equally close to
each other is the best answer for a fanbase both obsessed with their teamwork as a unit, and
obsessed with their individual pairs. She can say ‘all,’ while really meaning ‘Tiffany’ and
knowing the fans know she means Tiffany, but for the first time, it feels paradoxically honest.

These days, she is no closer to Tiffany than anyone else. The gulf between them is
immense.

“Okay, this one.” She attempts to put a little enthusiasm into her voice. It has not been
so long that she can’t remember how to be an idol. “‘Which Girls’ Generation member is the
most reliable?’ I like the world ‘reliable’ because it isn’t always good, right? ‘Who’s the most
reliably late?’ That sort of thing. But I sense the question meant the word ‘responsible,’ so I’ll
answer it that way. It’s—”
 Tiffany. Tiffany, sets an alarm just to call and wake Taeyeon up; Tiffany, first in the
practice room, last out of the practice room, Tiffany; Tiffany, Tiffany drop-everything-in-the-
middle-of-the-night-because-you-said-you-wanted-to-talk-so-of-course-I’m-here-don’t-be-
silly, Tiffany.

Tiffany, confusing Tiffany, the light behind her eyes and the promise in her smile, and
her hands squeezing yours as she says “Hey, whatever you need,” with the sincerity of the
moonlight.

Taeyeon takes another swallow of water.

“Seohyun,” she says. “A really responsible, reliable person. There aren’t any members
who have ever let me down, but Seohyun is who I admire the most.”

She tries to scan the page for any questions without the familiar letters of Girls’
Generation’s name. The PA is watching her with a worried frown; the expression is so
familiar that it turns Taeyeon’s stomach.

“‘Why doesn’t—’” She breaks off suddenly, having read half of a question that doesn’t
mention the group at all, and now, having read the rest of it, wanting nothing more to do with
it. She releases the air in her lungs like it is her final exhalation. She has committed to it
already.

“‘Why doesn’t Taeyeon unnie sing anymore? When I was in middle school, you would
always sing on radio, and now you don’t.’”

Her manager glances up at her from his phone, an untroubled, steady gaze.

“I’ll answer this one, since people ask it so much. Since we want to be mindful of the
people listening to this show late at night, we shoot for a clean audio experience. Right?
People who are working late, or driving home from work, or studying late into the night, it’s
better if it’s just background noise.”

Her manager gives her a thumbs up. It’s the answer they practiced when management
addressed the concern from fans that Kim Taeyeon ‘seemed disinterested in singing these
days.’

The truth—

The unfiltered, angry, bright, truth. The truth before bed, with its makeup scrubbed off
and its hair pulled back, the ugly truth that she keeps inside of her at all costs, is that Taeyeon
cannot remember the last time she sang, properly sang, and she wonders if she is even
capable anymore.
 The last time her voice was the loudest voice in a group of nine is the last time she can
remember. A singer without a security blanket. Who is she, when every other voice fades
away, and she’s alone, with her own mistakes, swallowing melody, choking on every note?

Who are you, these days, she thinks, other than a shell of a heartbroken person, the lead
singer of nothing, drunk enough to convince yourself that a life of spending your fortune and
having meaningless sex will one day be a life worth singing about?

“Um, but truthfully, singing is what I love.” She glances at the head engineer, slumped
in his seat, eyes barely open. “So, actually, why don’t I sing something today, before we go to
commercial.”

There is a flurry of activity in the control room as the engineers scramble to set things
up for a live performance. Her manager’s face betrays nothing, although his eyebrows are
raised in the closest approximation to surprise she has ever seen on him. The PA, in a
somewhat confounded voice, asks for a song selection and whispers a request to kill time
while they set up.

Taeyeon tries to furtively warm up while she’s standing, adjusting the microphone,
adjusting her headphones. She is aware of the eyes on her, the staff who have worked with
her every single night and have never actually seen this, like the life Taeyeon has had as a
singer is just a myth, a piece of folklore passed around amongst employees.

It’s not a lot of warm-up, and she finds that she spends the entirety of the first verse
warming up, and her voice is alien to her own ears. She remembers hearing it the first time,
fifteen years old, the first studio recording of this thing she could do but only ever heard from
the inside of her own head; this is like that, feeling the vibrato reverberating in her skull but
unable to associate the sounds she’s releasing as coming from her.

It isn’t until the second chorus that she can remember herself.

I feel like I’m being pulled apart, Tiffany once said, her voice sort of dreamy and muffled
as they tried to sleep in their shared room after a long evening of practice. When you sing, I
feel pulled apart. I hope I’m expressing this properly.

Say it in English, Taeyeon had murmured, half-earnest, half-joking. Even if I don’t

understand, I can hear you express it.

Everything you’ve ever felt, Tiffany had whispered. Like looking inside of you. When you
sing… it’s like knowing you, knowing you more than anyone has ever known you.

Her voice gives out a little on the very edge of her range, but she smooths out the note,
the flutter of Tiffany’s eyelashes the pulse hammering through her body.

At the end, she angles her head a little, mouth away from the mic. “I want to sing another
one.”
 She sings another one.

She sings another one after that, and then asks for another, but they have to go to
commercial, and Taeyeon feels drained, her life drained from her throat, her ends and her
beginnings. Her vocal cords feel swollen from not properly warming up, from forcing herself
to the top of her register, from that feeling of keeping yourself from crying.

The staff seem subdued at the end of the night when she comes around to thank them.
Not melancholy, just awkward, not meeting her eyes. Taeyeon feels more sincere than ever
when she thanks them individually. Thank you for seeing my meltdown, she feels like saying.
Thank you for looking at the worst of me, and still taking care of me.

“You’ve earned a drink,” the PA says to alleviate some of the discomfort, and Taeyeon
laughs.

“I thought you have a project due.”

“You were right. A celebrity asks me out and I can’t even make time? I’m ready when
you are.”

“Yeah. One second. Oppa?” Her manager is on the phone, and Taeyeon mouths, “I’ll
leave first, thanks for your hard work—” but he cuts her off.

“It’s Tiffany,” he says, holding the phone away from his ear. “She figured your phone
was off, so she called me.”

“Ah,” says Taeyeon, not sure what to say.

Into the phone, he says, “Our Taeyeon always sings well,” and then he holds out the
phone to her.

“I’ll, um, text her later, I have to leave.”

She’s happy she is stuck with the low-drama manager oppa tonight. There are other
managers who like butting into their lives, but this one just shrugs and says, “Have a good
night.”

She’s in a small apartment in Daehangno two hours later, the windows open, the streets
loud. Young people having drunk, boisterous conversations beneath the window, and the
rush of cars, and the smell of the air before it rains.

Taeyeon stares at the ceiling. The bed moves a little.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she says, leaning over to kiss Taeyeon. “Will you still be
here when I come back?”
 Normally, Taeyeon would say no, but her mind is fuzzy and unguarded. “Do you want
me to be?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Okay.” Taeyeon settles against the pillow and closes her eyes. “Expect me.”

That earns her a laugh, movement around the bedroom.

“Your phone’s ringing,” she tosses over her shoulder before she disappears into the
bathroom. Taeyeon checks.

She shouldn’t answer.

For once, she isn’t drunk. They’d had only one drink at the restaurant downstairs, and
Taeyeon’s buzz has worn off. She wonders why she feels like she’s floating outside of herself
anyway, why she is alone in a strange bedroom feeling on her the most discerning eyes she
has ever known.

She answers the phone. “You again.”

“What do you mean ‘me again’?” Tiffany retorts. Taeyeon isn’t sure how to explain the
familiarity of the moment, of being again in someone else’s bed and yet her words, mind, and
heart being given only to Tiffany. Instead, she grunts.

“Hearing you sing tonight,” Tiffany says, like it’s the beginning of a sentence, but then
just lets it hang there.

“Don’t know what came over me.”

“What? A singer, singing? Insane.”

“Out of my mind,” Taeyeon agrees.

“I don’t know why I’m saying this,” Tiffany goes on, “because I don’t even know how to
say it. That’s why I’m calling instead of texting, not that you answer my texts. I’m surprised
you picked up. Anyway, I don’t know why I’m saying this, but—oh, are you alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?” she sounds surprised.

“At the moment. Are you?”

“Am I what?”
 “Alone?”

She can almost hear Tiffany’s ironic smile. “Aren’t I usually?”

They fall into a heavy silence. She can hear Tiffany’s breathing. She clears her throat.

“Anyway,” Tiffany says. “How can I say this? It’s like we’ve been apart for so long. You
and me. Like, we can’t bridge that gap. So, I miss you. And I’ve told you this. But hearing you
sing like that, I realized I missed you even more than I thought I did. Do you know what I
mean?”

She hears the shower in the room over start running. “Kind of.”

“That part of you. I mean, I miss you, and I miss… knowing you.”

Taeyeon tries to cut the seriousness of the conversation by saying, “Have you been
drinking?” but Tiffany keeps talking, stepping all over her.

“There’s parts of me that only you know about, and there are parts of you that only I
know about. So that’s what I miss. That feeling of knowing, of being known.”

Her voice is so soft. Taeyeon can picture her in her apartment, maybe sitting in her bed
or her couch, and her hair is up and she isn’t wearing makeup and the image of her is so good,
so precious, that Taeyeon turns it over and over in her mind and feels herself let go and break
apart a little.

“I love you,” she mumbles into the phone, feeling her throat ache just like it had when
she went up for that note she could barely reach. “I love you, I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” says Tiffany, her soft, earnest voice. “Don’t be sorry. I love you too. The
best thing that ever happened to me, your friendship. Being your friend. Can’t we just have
that?”

“I don’t—” Taeyeon’s face feels wet. She hangs up the phone, and gets out of bed, and
dresses, and she leaves before the shower is finished running.

Her manager isn’t happy to be woken up in the middle of the night, but he makes the
flight arrangements for her anyway and has a bodyguard and another manager sent to the
airport with her.

She drives around Incheon until it’s time for her flight. The sun floats up from the
harbor and settles inside the car with her. She watches the ships, and heads to the airport.

On the flight, she says, “Is it okay if I sleep?” and the manager nods. She curls up against
the window.
 That’s how she comes in, like water at low tide, crawling on its stomach to make the
sand forget where it’s been.

•••

There are a couple of girls in Tokyo that Taeyeon has spent time with, and she texts
them all in succession because she doesn’t want to be alone tonight.

She texts her hotel address to the first girl to get back to her and then watches her
phone ring. First Sooyoung. Then Jessica. Then Sunkyu. Then Tiffany. Then Tiffany. Then
Tiffany. Juhyun calls, Hyoyeon calls. Then it’s Tiffany, Tiffany, Tiffany, Tiffany, Tiffany.

She turns her phone off. She drinks, a lot, and then drinks more when her guest comes
over, and they watch the TV in her hotel room. It’s the news, and then a variety show, and
then the news again. She leaves the TV on in the background and presses her mouth to a pale
collarbone, the flickering of television and the shadows in the room and her hand tangled in
black hair and her mouth between thighs trembling in time to the droning of the television
and the beating of Taeyeon’s heart.

She stumbles to the bathroom, hours later, and washes her face. She is dizzy from
drinking and dizzy from letting go. She turns her phone on, and the missed calls come in.

She listens to the first voicemail.

“—getting worried you’re not coming to Tiffany’s birthday party, so just text me back
when you get a chance—”

She listens to the second voicemail.

“Where are you? We’re waiting for—”

She listens to the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh—

“—manager said you went to Japan, so I guess you forgot?”

Eight, nine, ten.

“Not cool, Taeyeon.”

Eleven, eleven, Tiffany’s voice soft and hesitant.

“You asked me what I wanted for my birthday.” It’s noisy in the background of the
voicemail message; she must have called during the party. “I told you all I wanted was you
there.”

Eleven; she listens again.

 “It’s not about the party, Taeyeon. God, who cares. It’s just a party. I just wanted you to
be there. I just wanted it to be like it was.”

Again.

“I just—I don’t know what I did to upset you.” Tiffany’s voice sounds so small. “But you
never tell me anything. You never tell me—”

She returns to bed. Beside her, the girl sleeps soundly. How do people sleep like that,
Taeyeon wonders, with the TV on? She gets up, and she paces, and she pours a drink, and
returns to bed.

She looks at her phone, and drinks, and calls her.

It’s four in the morning, but Tiffany picks up immediately.

“You—” she begins, but Taeyeon cuts her off.

“I don’t tell you anything, right?” she asks. Tiffany quiets on the other end of the line.
It’s her breathing, that loud, huffy breathing when she’s upset.

Taeyeon leans back in her bed. “I don’t tell you anything. So I’ll tell you now. I wish I
had never met you. I wish I had never known you. You said meeting me was the best thing to
ever happen to you.”

She can hear Tiffany swallow. Her voice, so gentle. “It was. It is.”

“It’s the worst thing to ever happen to me,” Taeyeon says. “It was the end of my life. It’s
why I can’t be happy.”

“Taeyeon.”

“Happy Birthday,” she says, and she hangs up.

•••

She spends a few days in Tokyo before catching a flight back; she doesn’t know how
Tiffany learns that she’s back, but she’s at her door the next day.

“I wanted to see you before I left,” Tiffany says when she opens the door.

Taeyeon looks at her but says nothing. In the cold light of day she regrets every second
of it, but it’s too late to take it back, and it’s too big to take it back, and she knows she meant
too much of it to take it back. All she can do is look at Tiffany, at her big, sad eyes and feel the
need swallow her up again.
 She stands aside to let Tiffany in, but Tiffany shakes her head. She stands outside the
door and searches for words.

“I’m going back to LA. So I didn’t want to go without telling you.”

Taeyeon nods. “How long?”

“I don’t know.” Tiffany hides her eyes behind a thick lock of hair. “Maybe I won’t come
back. Since I make you so miserable.”

Taeyeon’s voice feels like dry crumbs caught in the back of her throat. “Fany, I’m
sorry—”

“But you meant it,” Tiffany says. She smiles, sadly, and she’s blinking too much. “I don’t
want that. I don’t want to make you miserable.”

Taeyeon nods. Leans her head against the open door. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I’m—
I don’t know what I’m doing. You don’t make me miserable.”

“I do.”

You do, Taeyeon thinks. You do, and yet no one makes me happier.

She nods, again. Tiffany nods, too.

“I’ll call,” Tiffany says. “Or, um, text. I think maybe we just need space.”

“Maybe,” Taeyeon agrees hoarsely.

Tiffany steels herself. Straightens her back, squares her shoulders. And then relaxes,
limp, defeated. The last thing she says, before she turns and disappears down the hall, is “I
don’t know how to be away from you.”

Breathe in, breathe out; let yourself let her go.

•••

Present: 2017

She had circled the building twice now.

She liked watching them every time she passed, like they were debating whether or not
they should follow her—by the time she circled around again, they were confused. If she
wasn’t leaving, then they didn’t need to follow, but if she wasn’t staying, what could they do?
 It made Taeyeon laugh a little. This was one of the better ways of shaking them, because
they never knew what to do. Stay or follow. She did it sometimes when she was with someone
and didn’t want them to know where she was going—circle the building a few times until
they had given up on following her, content that she would eventually stop and park, and
then just take off around the seventh or eighth time. By the time they’d realized she wasn’t
circling back again, she was far enough away that she was too hard to follow.

This time she rolled her window down on the fifth pass. She made eye contact with the
girl from the elevator. It had been months ago, when the fan had surprised her by getting
into the elevator in her apartment building with her, but Taeyeon had not forgotten her face.
She had asked for more security at the building after that, but that had not stopped them
from continuing to hang out outside.

“Do you want to come in?” Taeyeon asked, leaning across the passenger seat to speak
out the window. She kept her tone as gentle as possible.

They looked surprised, and even suspicious. That was insulting. They spent all their
time following her and yet didn’t even have the graciousness to trust her.

“Me?”

They all rushed the car a little and she hurriedly drew the window back up warningly.
When they backed off, she lowered it again.

“Yeah. Just you.”

They were taking a lot of pictures now. Little crowd of them all with their phones out.
She was becoming impatient.

“Come on,” she urged and tried to smile. “I won’t ask again.”

She had never seen anyone so afraid of her. The girl sat in the passenger’s seat and she
shook, and the streetlights lit up her face and white, trembling hands. She had not been this
afraid when she was stalking Taeyeon into her own residence. They were brave when it was
on their terms. Taeyeon locked the door; a few of them rushed the car again. She pulled out
and started driving.

A check in the rearview mirror confirmed that some of them had hailed a taxi. She
changed lanes and wet her lips.

Maybe this had been a bad idea.

They stopped at a light. Taeyeon glanced over. Maybe it was the moonlight, but it made
her look very pale, and very young. Taeyeon hated her a little, the way she hated all of them,
but she wondered if she deserved her. Them. Suddenly. Maybe she’d asked for this. Weren’t
they just kids?
 “Do you have your phone on you?” she asked her. “Let me see it.”

She pocketed the girl’s phone. Took her camera, too, SLR cradled in her lap while she
drove.

“Where are you taking me, unnie?”

Taeyeon’s hands relaxed on the steering wheel. “Nowhere. I want to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“What,” Taeyeon said with a tight smile, “you don’t want to talk to me?”

“I—”

“Isn’t that what you want? To talk to unnie?”

“Yes. No—yes.”

“Which is it?”

“N—no.”

Without meaning to, Taeyeon had accelerated. She only noticed once the bumper of the
car in front of her loomed dangerously close. She relaxed a little.

“No,” she repeated, trying to sound gentle. “No? How long have you followed unnie?
Three years?”

“Four years,” she answered in a small voice.

“Four years, you didn’t give me any privacy, but you didn’t want to talk to me? What do
you want?”

“To keep you.”

“To keep me what?”

“Just to—keep you—to keep you safe—to keep you here—keep you for me, for us.”

Taeyeon narrowed her eyes. They’d lost the taxi when the traffic had thickened. She
wasn’t sure where she was driving. She was turning when it seemed a good idea to stay
straight, staying straight when it seemed right to turn. She got on the expressway but got off
after one exit. Anything to keep moving.

“That’s insane,” she said at last.

 The girl shook her head. “You don’t get it, unnie. Following you—that’s all we want. We
want you to belong to us. That’s why—if I just wanted to talk to you, I’d go to an album
signing. Or I’d write you a letter. But you wouldn’t belong to me, then.”

“I don’t belong to you now,” Taeyeon muttered.

“You do, you just don’t realize you do.”

“You’re crazy,” Taeyeon said, shaking her head. She almost laughed. “Do you know that?
You’re crazy.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “You made me this way.”

Taeyeon stopped short. The car behind her blared its horn and then squealed past her.
She took a breath. I didn’t do anything, she thought. I didn’t ask for this. No one asks for this.

She moved slowly down a side road.

“I need you to tell me what you know, about the other members.” She glanced quickly
at her through the rearview mirror. The tense hands twisting in her lap. Do I scare you that
much, Taeyeon thought. Do I scare you as much as you scare me.

“What do you mean?”

“You said they’re keeping secrets—that’s what you said, right? In the elevator. How do
you know?”

“All we did was pay attention.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What are they keeping from me?”

The girl was surprised. “Why don’t you ask them?”

Taeyeon frowned. She didn’t want to say because I don’t think they’d tell me the truth,
but it sat in her mind uncomfortably. The girl sitting next to her probably knew that. What
didn’t she know? If she was really correct in saying the other members were keeping secrets,
then why wouldn’t she know how little Taeyeon trusted them just now?

Still, it was hard to shake—even the worst kind of fan was still a fan, and they had spent
a good number of years selling an image of sisterhood and friendship. It wasn’t easy to admit
when you wondered how important any of that was.
 She heard a sigh from beside her. She glanced in the rearview mirror again. College age.
But clearly not in college—she spent almost the entirety of her day following Taeyeon. How
stupid. A pretty girl with a lot of money, probably. There was so much she could do, and yet
she chose to do nothing.

Taeyeon snorted. A pretty girl with a lot of money described her, too, didn’t it.

“There’s a couple of them,” she said at last. Taeyeon glanced at her. “They want to get
out of their contracts.”

“Get out?”

“Yeah. They think if this is the last album the group produces, the agency will make
them finish the duration of their contract but not do anything with them. Some of you have
another two or three years left. That’s two or three years of doing nothing if they don’t have
a recording contract. Only one member got offered a recording contract so far, you know.”

Taeyeon frowned. “Me?”

“Yeah. So can you blame them? Without a recording contract, there’s no guarantee that
they can make music, but the duration of their talent contract means they can’t get work
anywhere else. Why wouldn’t they want to leave?”

“Because—how do you know all this?”

She shrugged and then laughed. “What else am I going to do?”

“Who is it,” Taeyeon asked. “Which—which members?”

“You don’t know?”

“Would I be asking you if I knew?” Taeyeon snapped.

“I bet you can guess,” the girl said calmly. “One is a member who should have been
offered a recording contract because her single did so well, but she wasn’t offered anything.
I’d be disappointed, too.”

Taeyeon wet her lips. “Yuri?”

“But you know Yuri unnie, right—she’s not the type of person to make decisions like
that on her own, is she? There are people she feels indebted to. If they ask her to do things,
she does them.”

Taeyeon’s mind raced. “Hyoyeon,” she guessed. “And Jessica.”

Another nod. “And there’s a fourth one.”

 Four. Taeyeon tried to think. “Sooyoung?”

She shook her head. “That’s a good guess, but no.”

Taeyeon bit the inside of her cheek. Her temper flared. “Is this a game to you? I’m asking
you a question, and you’re playing a guessing game.”

The fan was quiet for a long moment. “It’s just that you’re so pretty when you’re
annoyed. I want to tell everyone that I saw it up close.”

Taeyeon cursed under her breath, not just at the frustration of their conversation or
the motorcycle cutting her off at the interchange, but at the way her stomach dropped at the
reminder that she was alone in her car with an actual, real-life stalker. It was easy to think of
her as harmless, a fan who wanted too much, and was, at worst, annoying. She was so used
to their presence in her life that her mind had smoothed over the rough bumps of what the
daily experience of being stalked was.

What the hell was she doing? What was she thinking? Had the paranoia sunk so deeply
into her blood that she was inviting dangerous stalkers into her car instead of speaking
directly to the girls who meant more to her than blood, than life, than music?

She breathed deeply. She was not in danger. She tried to sound soft, charming. “Can you
please just tell me? The fourth member?”

A light laugh pierced the dull hum of the car. “Is it that hard to figure out? Maybe you
can’t see it because you’re in bed with her?”

Taeyeon blew a red light.

“How did you—”

“Tiffany unnie.”

“How did you—”

“That doesn’t matter. We keep your secrets for you, unnie. I’d keep her secret for her if
I didn’t think it would hurt you, but I don’t want them to hurt you. I don’t want her to hurt
you.”

“Are you sure about this?”

A shrug, once again. She was leaning comfortably back in the passenger’s seat of
Taeyeon’s car, her hesitance and reservation having melted away the more at ease she
became with sitting in her idol’s presence. “How can I be sure?” she replied with a smile. “It’s
just what I’ve seen.”
 Taeyeon’s heart pounded as she slowed to a stop in front of a red light. “Where do you
live? I’ll take you home.”

“Can’t go home.”

“Of course you can. Where do you live? Tell unnie where you live.”

“What will you do if I don’t?”

“I’ll leave you here,” Taeyeon threatened, but her voice shook.

“No, you won’t.” She smiled. “You wouldn’t leave me stranded in a place I don’t know.
You would never. It’s not your style.”

She was right. “Where do you live?”

“I’m not telling you because I won’t go home.”

Taeyeon cursed under her breath and turned around the next chance she had, heading
back to her apartment.

They were quiet. Taeyeon drummed her fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

“Unnie,” the girl said at last. Taeyeon grit her teeth.

“Yeah.”

“I just want you to keep singing. That’s all I want. Being able to see your face everyday—
please understand that.”

“Thanks,” Taeyeon muttered. “I’ll take it under advisement. Like I care what you want.”

“Maybe you don’t care, but I’m just telling you. If I couldn’t see you everyday, I don’t
know what I’d do.”

“Get a job?” Taeyeon suggested. “Pick up a hobby? Find someone else’s life to ruin?”

“Do we ruin your life?” The question was soft, and Taeyeon allowed it too much volume
in her mind. “Do we? By loving you? By protecting you?”

Taeyeon was silent. They were a block from her apartment building. She pulled over.

“Think about what you would be without us protecting you, unnie. All of the scandals
we’ve covered up—we take care of you because it makes us happy, just seeing you, just
hearing you.”
 Taeyeon’s head swam. She reached past the girl to unlock the door and open it.

“I can’t be responsible for your happiness,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry. I have to
be responsible for my own.”

She left her standing on the street and she locked the car doors, pulling out so she could
circle the block until her head was finally clear.