Work Text:
“I know you don’t love me,” Jinsol says. It comes out smaller than she intends it to — voice shaky, lip trembling slightly — but then again, she hadn’t meant for it to come out at all. When the words register, Lily's all big, shining cow eyes, and Jinsol has to fight against the urge to shrink into herself until there's nothing left there for Lily to scrutinize.
“Oh, baby,” Lily says, but it comes out all strangled and breathless. Still, it's cloaked in the kindest tone, the one she only ever uses when it comes to Jinsol. It's like glass shattering in her ears all the same.
Lily reaches out to cup her cheek, and Jinsol leans in to meet her halfway before she even registers what she's doing. The adjustment shifts Jinsol’s hand, too, where she’s currently buried two fingers deep into Lily, and Lily mewls.
“You don’t… you don’t have to,” Jinsol blurts, lowering her eyes so she doesn’t have to meet Lily’s imploring gaze. She doesn't stop moving her hand; her face is aflame, and everything burns. “Love me, I mean.”
What she doesn’t say is love me back.
The space between them is silent, punctuated only by Lily’s soft hah, hah's, shotgun blank breaths ghosting across Jinsol’s own lips. Lily's eyes are as soul-searching as ever, though; it spurs Jinsol onwards, to keep talking, even when everything in her is screaming at her to stop. To shut her mouth and finish the job, lest she allow Lily to drive the stake even deeper into her bare, naked heart.
“You don’t have to do anything. I’m — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
This time, it looks like Lily’s about to open her mouth in response.
Jinsol doesn’t let her say anything. Doesn't know if she can stand it. She crooks her fingers, almost viciously, and Lily’s head throws itself back, whatever words she was about to speak lost and bleeding into an incoherent whine. Her hand disconnects from Jinsol's face to find purchase in the bedsheets, and Jinsol fights not to chase it.
“Fuck, fuck, Sol-ah—"
When Lily comes, it's with an abrupt shudder, then she stills, panting. Jinsol slowly, gently removes her fingers, wincing as she watches Lily's face twitch. She wipes them on the covers, then shifts so she's a plausibly deniable distance from Lily's form. Part of her wishes she could keep the gap closed, press herself into Lily's side and share warmth between them. Cradle Lily in her arms, maybe even—
She cuts that train of thought off, before it has the chance to crystallize in her brain. It's easier this way.
Lily's still immobile. Exhaustion settles over her quickly, is something Jinsol's learned; more often than not Lily falls asleep before the ache in Jinsol's chest fully subsides. She doesn't have much to say in the post-haze. They usually don't exchange any words, which is fine, because it's not like Jinsol would know what to say, anyways. Again: easier this way.
But, in typical Lily-fashion, she also loves to defy expectations, push limitations far beyond where Jinsol thought they could be pushed. She is nothing if not persistent; it’s both a forte and a liability.
So now, Jinsol has to watch as she slowly turns her head, blonde hair messy but falling in a way that still makes her look beautiful — but then, Lily is always beautiful, devastatingly so. It's just a fact of life, something as innate as breathing. There's a question in her eyes, uncharacteristically bright so soon in the aftermath, and it's on the tip of her tongue when Jinsol cuts her off once more. Because as ceaselessly as Lily is gorgeous, Jinsol is a coward, and she doesn't want to hear it.
"I have to go to the bathroom," she mumbles. Then she's up and out, putting space between her and the mattress like it's stung her. She doesn't look back as she stumbles out into the hallway, nearly checking her shoulder into the doorframe.
It's not like she's waiting for Lily to call her name, or call anything, necessarily, but something in her chest twinges all the same when there's nothing hanging in the air behind her. She slides into the bathroom and locks the door shut without turning on the lights. Her body feels stunlocked for several heavy seconds, before her legs deposit her ungracefully onto the closed toilet lid.
It's only then, shrouded in darkness with nothing but her erratic heartbeat ringing in her ears, that she can release the shuddering breath that's been sitting in her lungs. It chokes her all the way out. There's a pressure still remaining in her chest, behind her eyes, but she refuses to let the dam break, so she presses the heels of her hands to her eyelids hard until it's the only sensation she can feel.
She shouldn't have said anything. They never say anything, nothing compromising, nothing that verges on the border of crossing that unspoken line. Still, Jinsol's mouth had betrayed her, and her stupid, bleeding heart. She has always been too sensitive, too honest for her own good.
It's fine, though. Lily has always, always given her an out from their… whatever they are. She never makes Jinsol feel like she's been trapped within this arrangement. Lily's said it numerous times: we don't have to do this, you don't have to do anything you don't want to, is this okay with you? Am I hurting you?
Never has Lily ever hurt Jinsol physically, not in a way that she didn't like. If she could, she'd get the bruises from Lily's teeth and tongue tattooed under her skin, a reminder inked into permanence that she'd belonged under Lily, if only just for a moment.
But there's an ever-persisting partition between them, and it's impossible not to feel. The harder Jinsol digs her thumbs into Lily's hips and swallows down her sighs with her own mouth, the more she feels it wall up between them. Sometimes, Lily is so warm around Jinsol's fingers, against Jinsol's skin, and she can only feel light years away from the body she's in the midst of touching.
It's entirely Jinsol's own fault that she feels this way, feels this horrid, ugly pain sitting low in her stomach. Every time, she has Lily pliant and warm and begging beneath her fingertips, and every time, it's still not enough.
It's dead quiet when Jinsol emerges from the bathroom after taking a couple seconds to splash cold water over her deadened eyes, her splotchy red cheeks. She slinks back down the hallway, feeling something like shame bear down on her at the way she'd dashed out of the room like a skittish animal. The way she'd left Lily, sweet Lily, alone in bed.
Again, again, again: she has always been a coward. At the very least, she's aware of it.
Lily's door is closed when Jinsol approaches, and she can't remember if she'd been the one to shut it. She turns the knob, wincing at the creak as she pushes it open just enough to catch sight of Lily. She's dozed off, blonde hair fanning across her pillow like sunbeams haloing outwards.
Jinsol lingers for a moment, just staring at her. She looks so peaceful in sleep, skin smooth and free from any creases Jinsol always has to fight the urge to smooth with her thumb.
The impulse to cross the threshold seizes her like an iron fist. To walk over to the side of the bed, tuck Lily further into the covers, pick up her clothes and fold them and place them on her chair. She knows how Lily likes her shirts folded, because Lily had shown her, once.
There are few things Jinsol is allowed to ask of Lily from this arrangement, she reminds herself firmly, even if she lets the thought of her desires conclude itself, instead of cutting it off. She is too tired, now, to cut it off. That domesticity, that familiarity, the deliberate choice to remain beside each other in the wake — none of that is included. None of it is permitted.
She gives Lily one last look-over, tells herself she's not allowed to memorize the curve of Lily's closed eyelids and the slope of her nose, before her hand drifts to the light switch and she flicks it off, closing the door. Once in her own room, she curls up under her sheets, falling asleep restlessly with one arm thrown out in search of warmth.
It's cold when she wakes up. It always is.