your hand in mine ii

i

She doesn't remember how she gets home. It's not a blur, or fragments, or flashes of memories - Lisa's door, stairs, street, cab. No. She just doesn't remember, because that's not important.

All she remembers is Lisa and her green eyes full of tears.

Did she break down on her way home? Or was it when she entered her apartment and saw the tree still standing there; wrapping paper still scattered on the floor; Lisa's presence still very much there, in her living room, in that easel and that sloppy sketch of her jaw and blushing cheeks?

She laughed when she sketched her, just this morning. Lisa laughed, too. Lisa smiled and blushed and left an awed kiss of gratitude on her lips when she was finished.

Lisa never wants to see her again, and her sheets still smell like them; and Roseanne's head hurts almost as much as her heart when she climbs into her bed, shoes and all, curling up against Lisa's pillow. Lisa's pillow. She's been spending so much time here that Roseanne's come to think of so many things as hers. There's her toothbrush in the bathroom, and her towel. Several pairs of fluffy socks and all the undershirts she's forgotten to wear in the morning. Roseanne's old sweatpants, neatly folded on her chair. This pillow and the right side of this bed she's never noticed to be so unnecessary big before.

And her. She's Lisa's, but Lisa doesn't want her anymore. Just like all these things, she's hollow. Meaningless. Void of purpose while still carrying Lisa's mark, her scent and her touch clinging to her skin.

She doesn't get to spend weeks holed up in her bedroom, smelling the sheets and crying her heart out - but God, does she want to, even though it hurts like it never has. When she heard about her dad's accident, maybe. But that pain was different. It's not something she can compare, and she doesn't want to in the first place.

If she closes her eyes and pretends - it's almost as if Lisa's still there.

She dreams of her that night, when she cries herself to sleep. In her dream, there's a knock on her door, and she throws it open because she already knows it's Lisa.

"Roseanne," Lisa says in her dreams, and she's just as soft as she always is with her. Was. "I found you."

"But I lost you," she replies in a small voice, and Lisa's holding her in her arms again, and there's snow falling outside the window while the blanket keeps them warm in her bed.

"I found myself for you," Lisa tells her between kisses. Gathers her tears with her smiling lips. Roseanne is safe and wanted and warm.

"Don't leave me. Don't walk away from me. Please, Lisa, don't ever walk away from me."

She doesn't want to wake up. She has to, but she doesn't want to. Not that day, not a day after that; not a week after that, either. Her mom says it'll fade. Roseanne knows she's waiting for her to get over Lisa, and she doesn't know how to tell her she doesn't want to. She doesn't tell her about the scheme. Can't bring herself to think about it, but can't stop herself from doing just that, either.

Hyeri is, understandably, pissed. "I'll kick her ass," she promises Roseanne when she finds her the next day after Lisa broke up with her. "I don't care how rich or scary she is."

She's decidedly less vengeful when Roseanne tells her everything. "What the fuck were you thinking?" She shakes her head, astonished. "No - what the fuck was Eunwoo thinking? How did he even... I don't even know what to say," she sighs, running a hand through her hair, taking it out of her trademark ponytail.

Roseanne really tries to fight her tears this time. They still come, and Hyeri sighs again before scooting closer to her and hugging her close. "Hey," she whispers, rocking her back and forth. "It's gonna be okay. Somehow. I don't know. I just have a feeling about you two. It's gonna be okay. Just give it time, alright?"