III

                                    

                                          
It isn’t uncommon for gods to have affairs. Irene is never one to be jealous—or so she likes to think—and Seulgi is gracious enough for her relationships with the ones down below to be kept under the wraps.
                          
(Irene knows, of course. What other reason does Seulgi have, to spend so much time down on earth?)
                          
Irene doesn’t have a say in the matter of Seulgi and her utter fascination with people. After all, she has Junmyeon to speak of, and their illicit affair. On most days, as she wakes up to an empty palace, she thinks about her wife—no sign of her, but of the faint scent of grass, that seems to be apparent wherever and whenever Seulgi appears.
                          
Curious thoughts, wandering to and fro of what Seulgi is doing, what she is thinking of right now; and the ever growing suspicion that she is secretly, part-human, frequently bounce back and forth in her mind. Irene supposes it is only natural as it has not been long since she’s met Seulgi—the other practically a stranger, despite their newly-wed stage. Yet, these thoughts that plague her only disappear upon leaving her home—she guiltily admits—as she resumes her daily life, as though nothing has changed (Irene has always been one of the more subdued godlings), even after marriage.
                          
Irene wakes up to the scent of fields and flowers tickling her nose.
                          
It’s an odd feeling, and that feeling is heightened when she feels warmth draped over her. Too entirely used to the light and cool texture of her sheets. For a moment, Irene panics and thinks that she must have slept over at Junmyeon’s—but the body lined up beside hers is too soft, too pliant.
                          
She opens her eyes, and shifts away in surprise when an image of a sleeping Seulgi greets her. Her eyes slightly open, and mouth ajar. A soft whistling noise comes from her nose, a brief hitch in melody due to her scrunching it up and unconsciously wiggling it. Her arm rests lightly over Irene’s waist.A doing of her subconscious mind, Irene is sure, because they hardly ever touch each other—much less engage in small talk; other than what should be necessarily said.
                          
Wisps of Seulgi’s hair tickle Irene’s nose, and she sneezes.
                          
The quick jolt that runs through Irene’s body is more than enough to serve as a catalyst for Seulgi’s awakening, and in a frozen rapture, Irene watches her wife wake.
                          
A furrow of her brows, a slight tightening of her hold on Irene’s waist, and the languid way she presses herself up against Irene’s body andstretches fascinate Irene. Like a feline, Seulgi’s eyes blearily blink open, sleep clouding it, before ultimately being replaced with utter surprise at the close proximity of Irene’s face.
                          
“Oh.” Seulgi says in a rather adorable manner. “I apologize.” She makes for a rueful smile, but doesn’t relinquish her hold on Irene. Irene thinks it may have to do with her half-asleep state, but oddly enough, she doesn’t mind.
                          
Irene smiles. “It’s alright.” Gently, she removes Seulgi’s hold on her body. The thin veil of awkwardness they can’t ever seem to break is still apparent, and Irene is eager to evade it. She leaves the sea of cotton and silken sheets and pads away to start her preparations for her day. (A short visit to Junmyeon’s place, and then perhaps she’ll spend the rest of the day in one of Sooyoung’s temples, or bother Yeri at her shrine.)
                          
A moment later, Irene comes back to the sight of her wife curled up underneath the covers; as though wishing to disappear beneath it, and taking the chance to do so since Irene has left their bed. It is another thing to add to the growing list of oddities that has occurred in Irene’s day. She tilts her head quizzically and frowns. Irene has never seen her so subdued.