itotoro

Them, in the waiting room, Heejin playing with her hair and Jiwoo pulling her close enough they could tumble off the couch. And it's sweet, and it really happened, and they were in a public place, sure—but it doesn't feel right to be seen this way. Not at those angles, not for thousands to ogle at.

Her door slams open, Heejin clearly furious as she plops down at Jiwoo's bedside. “I can't believe they used those!”

Jiwoo hates being the voice of reason, not with Heejin, but she slips into it as she sits up to rub her friend's back. “We're idols, Heejin. They use whatever they can.”

Heejin groans with frustration, brows furrowed with big emotion. Jiwoo learned early enough that Heejin always stews when she's mad, cooking up her thoughts with a slow boil until it's ready to serve. And Heejin's really mad, right now, trying to speak again and again but not having the right words to say.

So she waits for her to cook, hand moving to rest on her balled fists. She takes in their proximity, returns to that moment in the picture where she was so close she could feel Heejin's heartbeat in her chest. Maybe that's why Heejin's angry, same as the ache she feels now. That was their private moment—now memorialized on the internet for all the world to see.

“Okay,” Heejin says, an imaginary kitchen timer ringing in the corner of Jiwoo's mind. Her balled fists relax, the gaps of her fingers wide enough to fit Jiwoo's. “It's not a big deal.”

That's an unexpected dish. Jiwoo feels her brows meeting in the middle. “Huh?”

Heejin turns to her, all anger of a few minutes ago gone from her expression. “It's just a picture. It's just companies being companies, capitalism being capitalism.” Then she smiles, squeezing Jiwoo's hand. “But it doesn't capture what it's really like to be in your arms.”

It makes Jiwoo's breath hitch. Her heart is beating now, really fast, faster still when Heejin crawls into her bed and into her arms.

It's just like the moment at the couch, Heejin playing with her hair, her arms pulling Heejin close. Their proximity at this moment, her heart beating so loudly she's sure Heejin can hear it.

But they're in her room now—no cameras, no managers, just Heejin's eyes fixed on her. This moment will be lost once it passes, but it's theirs and theirs alone. Just the way Jiwoo wants it.

“Unnie,” Heejin whispers, cheeks turning pink, “can you feel my heartbeat?”

And Heejin doesn't have to say anything else—Jiwoo understands. So she lets Heejin close her eyes as she closes her own, and nobody gets to see the kiss.