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It’s the same every night.
Jinsoul settles at the bar in a tight flimsy sapphire dress, orders her strongest favourite drink to start with so that the noise of chatter and music turns into a numbing buzz, and later, a blaring headache. A missing person’s poster peeks through her open bag.
And like every night, Yves watches.
By the time Jinsoul’s found her tipsy courage, she’s off to the dance floor, champagne in her walk — Yves drunk on her footsteps, nearly loses her amidst the crowd as Jinsoul finds the next best thing to latch onto so that maybe it could soothe the ache beneath her ribcage, fill up the missing spots so loneliness has no room left to stay in. At least, that’s what the last woman — Haseul, did.
Yves catches Jinsoul before she stumbles into someone else’s arms, smiles at the recognition sprinkling beneath her hazy-lidded gaze.
“Hey, you.”
Jinsoul grins back at her, tears filling her eyelids. She clutches Yves close, burrows into her neck, always seeking for a place to hide.
“I miss her,”
“I know,” Yves pauses, “You’ll find her. Eventually.”
“But you’re still here,” Jinsoul trembles, her shaky fingers digging into Yves’ back. “Thank god you’re still here.”
Yves remembers a time Haseul had said the same thing — when another friend of hers, Jiwoo, had gone missing.
And now they both stay at home, forever frozen in time; beautiful and permanent.
Jinsoul’s more soft-spoken than Haseul’s louder, striking voice. They fit together. It’s no wonder they were friends — and it’s no surprise she couldn’t look away from them the moment she first laid eyes on their blend of perfection.
Jinsoul breathes against her neck, feels her tears soak into her skin. “Take me home?”
Yves wraps an arm around Jinsoul’s waist. “Of course.”
On the way out she helps maneuver Jinsoul through the crowd, bumping into nobodies pretending to be somebody, clusters of suits and dresses all designed to catch eyes but none of them do. Like Jiwoo, or Haseul had. Or Jinsoul. But she notes the faint shimmer of red and gold from the corner of her eye. She blinks, and it’s gone.
“Do you mind if we go to my place first?” Yves tightens her hold as Jinsoul wobbles beside her, “I just remembered I have to return Gowon’s jacket. She lives next door to you, doesn’t she?”
Jinsoul nods, circling her arms around Yves. Hums her approval.
Jinsoul falls asleep as soon as her back hits the passenger’s seat. She makes sure the seatbelt is fastened right, gently nudges Jinsoul’s head so her neck isn’t straining to hold it up. Her fingers linger, thumb caressing the edges of her jawline. Jinsoul nuzzles against it, a subconscious need for warmth. There it is, again. This feeling. A starry burst in her chest, has her blood trembling for more. To keep it from going anywhere else.
Yves guides them home.
It started off with a question.
“What’s your name?”
Yves learned of Jinsoul from Haseul, when she’d been at the bar searching for anything to make her feel something. Haseul had caught her eye, initially, in her beautiful emerald dress, Burberry hanging off her shoulder.
“This is Jinsoul,” Haseul had introduced them as soon as the woman in sapphire blue returned from the restroom. “Jinsoul, this is Yves.”
Yves felt something then; a twinge in her heart from Jinsoul’s smile, a tug whenever Haseul would laugh. At that moment she knew. They were perfect. Like Jiwoo.
Jinsoul lingers by the entrance, half because she can’t keep steady on her own, and the other because she’s clearly mesmerized by the paintings on the wall.
“They’re beautiful,”
Yves readjusts her hold on Jinsoul, ushers her to the sofa. “I’m glad you think so. Now come on, you can rest up here.”
“I could’ve just stayed in the car, you know.” Jinsoul giggles, slumps onto the cushion as soon as her knees hit the edges. “You wouldn’t have had to drag me around.”
“It’s dark out. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“How sweet.”
Yves smiles, flutters her fingers through Jinsoul’s hair. “I’ll be right back, okay? I won’t take long.”
All she gets is a thumbs-up and a lopsided grin, but it’s enough.
Haseul was soft under her touch, a little fragile, even. And quite light. But it was to be expected.
Yves combed through her hair, made sure the strands cradled Haseul’s face as pleasantly as it always did. She wiped off the remaining splotches of imperfection on her neck, the light splatters on her cheeks, before shutting the glass door.
To have her feelings physically encased and close to her heart forever— she should’ve thought of this sooner. At least now she wouldn’t need to worry about losing them ever again.
Jinsoul hates wandering off without permission, but she really needs the washroom. Besides, her head’s finally stopped spinning and that means she’s fine to get up and balance herself all on her own.
She makes it out of the living room to find the rest of the hallways dark. How could Yves even walk through without the lights?
“There you are,” Jinsoul mumbles to herself, hands blindly feeling the walls for the light switch, flicking it up. “How does she even get around like—“
Her voice halts in her chest, feels it stumble beneath her ribs, piling up. It’s hard to breathe when fear coils around her lungs, the warmth of blood draining from her face.
It's Haseul. Oh god. It's Haseul. Her head is secured in a glass casing like a trophy on display. Blood still drips from where her neck has been cut clean — slithers of flesh and skin slipping down from the little podium that holds her up. Expression frozen in terror. Jinsoul remembers the missing person's poster in her bag that she's been helping Haseul's family put up. No no no no no.
She isn’t the only one. Recognizes the other missing girl — Jiwoo, in a glass box next to her.
Oh god. She's going to throw up.
“I told you you’d find her eventually, didn’t I?” Her heart lurches at the sound of Yves’ giggles, eerily close behind her. “Beautiful, isn’t she.”
Jinsoul stumbles away, tripping over herself towards the door. It’s locked. She doesn’t remember shutting it behind her.
“I've never felt anything, before. But you’ve all managed to make me feel something, somehow.” Yves stalks closer, turns her around with a hand on her waist - her touch more calculative than caring, index beneath Jinsoul’s chin. Her smile is no longer gentle - just ominous. “I can't let that go.”
Whatever words have piled up in Jinsoul’s chest, it tumbles into something else, more raw and primal and afraid.
She ends with a scream.
The next time Yves goes to the club, she searches for that signature shine of red and gold.
As soon as she finds it, it hits her all at once. Pulse skipping, blood pumping, fingers trembling. Overwhelming like a rushing tide, filling her lungs up with that desperate need to be swallowed in it forever; the familiar pull equally as strong as Jiwoo’s, Haseul’s, and Jinsoul’s. She can’t lose this. She can’t lose her.
Yves weaves her way next to her at the bar, signaling for her favourite drink. She sends a smile when she catches the lady in red looking, blonde tresses cascading over her open back. It makes her giddy. She's perfect.
Like always, it starts with a question.
“What’s your name?”
Her voice is heavenly, chest tightening at the sound. The woman's cheeks are a soft tinge of pink, immediately picturing her encased behind glass walls. It suits her.
“Jungeun.”
She can't wait to take her home.