Dahyun's mother is dead. They never really got along well, didn't see each other often. And even when they did see each other, it was only for one or two days and then they stopped for months. Dahyun almost wouldn't even know that she died if her brother hadn't called her.
Still, a death changes things, doesn't it? A door closed on possibilities, a final period at the end of a tragedy, a last chance wasted and left to rot. There will never be a reunion.
Dahyun is getting ready for the funeral that is in a few hours.
"Do you want me to come?" Momo asks.
Dahyun takes Momo's hands in hers. She looks tired. "Thank you, I'll be alright."
There is a weight in her tone, the weight of the coffin, of the church, of the world and the whispers, and the looks and everything else. Dahyun doesn't think she can truly bear the day she will be burying her mother deep down into the ground, even if they never really had the perfect mother-daughter relationship.
"I love you," Momo says.
Dahyun leans her head on Momo's shoulder and Momo feels the tickling of Dahyun's hair against the side of her neck.
"I love you," Dahyun says back.
Eventually, Dahyun leaves and the house feels so empty to Momo when she isn't there, always feels cold. Boo lies down in her lap in bed and she buries her hands in his warm fur, both patiently waiting for Dahyun to come home.
It's night and Dahyun is tired when she gets home; pale, drawn out, quiet. She doesn't wake Momo up. It's Boo who does, stirred out of sleep by the click of the lock, by the groan of the hinges, by the shutting of the door. It's Boo who shifts from his place in Momo's lap, who howls sweetly as he faces the bedroom door. Dahyun never turns on the lights or enters the bedroom.
Momo eventually wakes up and finds Dahyun in the living room, sitting in the dark, staring at the empty television screen. She doesn't answer Momo's greeting and when Momo goes to hold her, she flinches away. Dahyun doesn't answer her questions or her concerns. She refuses to drink the tea Momo eventually makes for her. She's just there, silent and still as a statue until Momo gives up at talking to her. She sits on the couch too, next to Dahyun, but not too close. They stay like that until morning.
The next days are slow, stilted, strange, cold. Dahyun continues staying distant, staying silent, staying curled on the couch. She keeps refusing comfort, food and drink, ignores Boo's happy barks and soft gazes, Momo's pleas and words. Momo doesn't know what to say in order to catch Dahyun's attention. She doesn't know what to do.
"Did something happen?" Momo asks.
Dahyun doesn't answer. It feels like a glass is creeping up between them, clear and cold, like a wall, a box, a barrier, muffling Dahyun's voice. It feels like Dahyun is stuck in the glass and it makes it so very hard to keep fighting, keep trying to help the helpless girl out of the glass. If Dahyun is sad, Momo has to be sad too. That's just how it works.
"What happened?" Momo asks and her question goes unanswered once again.
Nightfall comes. Dahyun sleeps in the guest room, legs tangled under cold sheets, door closed like a door to which she has accidentally thrown away the key to. Meanwhile, Momo sits in their bedroom, face buried between her hands, hoping that her girlfriend can't hear her cry.
But Dahyun fails. There are many things that are stopped by walls. Warmth, help, kindness, breathing. But sound, sound was never one of them, so Dahyun listens to Momo cry as she tries to sleep.
She comes knocking at the bedroom door in the morning. There is a tray in her hand, a plate with sandwiches and a cup of orange juice. "Did something happen?"
