Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sayeon’s hand cupped across Ryujin's pale cheek, nails gripping, digging into her flesh. Warm breath heaving down her throat, the hard beat of brick pushing in ryujin under the force of Sayeon’s arched back - meeting, no, forcing the shorter girl closer.

But Ryujin pushes away, thwipping Sayeon around like a broken teacup and into the wall. The girl’ eyes spark open on impact with the brick. Ryujin is gasping, lugging air in and out of her lungs. Fire drool slides down her lips, leaving them with a waxy finish, a finish of sayeon. Lucy’s eyes dart up to meet the taller girl.

“glasses?”

Sayeon glares ryujin. Instead of an earlier fluster, It’s that chilly, critical glare, where she knows Sayeon's cooking up some sick psycho thought in her head. She’s going to use this, isn’t she? Sayeon reorders herself, wipes her face, tugs her jacket, and adjusts the cherry frames of her glasses. It’s a silence to be savored, delectable and rich, and Sayeon is reveling in it.

Ryujin steps back, wiping spit onto her wrinkled sleeve. She locks up the part of her that basks in the look, that yearned the kiss. It’s horrible. Glasses is horrible.

“I think that was the best one yet!” Sayeon giggles, and Ryujin is a pinned bug, desperation on display.

“The hell?!” Ryujin coughs. She staggers forward, pace quickening, and grabs the taller girl’s suit jacket. The fabric folds and creases around her hand, cheap and expendable, perfect for the aberrant corp’s short-lived soldiers. But it doesn’t rip - not yet. Ryujin isn’t pulling that hard, just enough to sink Sayeon down to her level and whip her other hand into the girl's cheek.

The slap is audible, and despite their height levels, Sayeon looks down at Ryujin. Sayeon stares back giddy with endorphins, eyes flashing an electric teal.

Ryujin can tell when she’s in the dark, or rather illuminated by Sayeon's teal light. But looking into the girl’s lit eyes and smug smile, Ryujin can’t figure it out - and this isn’t the first time she’s come to that conclusion. Sayeon slurps up the learned helplessness. Her mouth crooks open.

“Cue Isuel.”

Ryujin whisks her head around to the alley opening to see her cell-mate wide-eyed. Ryujin can tell he’s trying to gauge the situation. He won’t be able to tell what’s going on. After all, she’s not able to tell what’s going on - or wait, maybe if her heart could stop pounding so hard she could.

…Best one yet…cue isoul…

“It’s time travel, isn’t it” ryujin mutters, but it’s too late.She whips around to face those sick eyes again, only to be met with posed fingers sparking electricity.

“Aren’t you perceptive?” Sayeon’s voice reverberates with essence. Ryujin crooks up.

“You’re fucking sick, you know that?”

Snap.

—

5 minutes ago.

The first time.

It was a routine patrol. Juni had sent them off indifferently, and Sayeon charged past the cell as they walked, as though not to see their faces behind her. She could trust them, right?

Could she trust anyone? Certainly Ryujin. Certainly not the ominous godling eye that crept upon her dozed afternoons and unconscious bouts. Even in sunlight, it haunted her thoughts.

But certainly she could trust Ryujin, even though the girl wouldn’t trust her. It would happen. It wasn’t hope, it was logic; Two projectiles bound for collision would always meet.

A reminder of consistency and consequence, Sayeon thought as she waited outside a 7-11. Each rewind brought new information, to the point some branches blurred together. She had spent more time with Ryujin than Ryujin had spent with her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the chime and whoosh of automatic doors, revealing who else but the woman of the hour, a snarky but welcome guest to interrupt the taller girl’s critical spiral.

Sayeon’s glasses framed Ryujin as a portrait. Folding open her newly bought pack of cigarettes, flicking the lighter switch. Watching how her bitterly cut concord hair framed her face and how wary her grey eyes looked when she gazed back.

“Whatcha staring at, glasses,” She turned a shy smile. Sayeon tucked her hair.

Realizationp. She needed more than trust.

“You” Sayeon looked eagerly at the girl, a chemist in the lab. What will this experiment yield? What will be the outcome of the dependent variable?

Ryujin brought the cigarette to her lips. Inhale. Exhale. Her eyes darted to sayeon.

“creepy, but okay.”

“I’m serious, you’re pretty.”

Ryujin’s expression shifted to strained perplexity.

“What do you want?”

Trust. No, more than trust. I want you.

Sayeon pranced around Ryujin, fingers tipping up her shoulder as she led the girl deeper into the crack of the alleyway.Ryujin followed, tugged by the invisible and tragic chain that was Sayeon's irrefutable allure. The Lucy-eyed girl waited for words.

Sayeon looked down on Ryujin - her navy-eyed gaze trapping the girl tighter than the alleyway.

“Ryujin, do you trust me?” The respondent took a drag of smoke. It framed her lips in Sayeon's mind.

“I think you’re sick sometimes…”
She gazed.

Sayeon swallowed.

“But I trust you.”

Sayeon can’t help but fluster with that validation. She’s proud, like this is some kind of aced assignment. But this is a person; Ryujin, at that - and sayeon feels a flicker of joy in her chest. She could take this further, each second granting insight (and indulgence.)

No matter the outcome, the ice was thick. Sayeon truly did have nothing to lose within the span of 20 seconds.

Her fingers lick Ryujin’s chin, tipping her face up. The girl flinches, but stays, looking into Sayeon's eyes. She doesn’t hesitate to move closer. Ryujin slides back against the alleyway. Sayeon tests the waters with a nod, and the other girl gestures with a perplexed look on her face.

This must be so sudden, so unexpected, Sayeon thinks to herself, but still doesn’t back down. She counts the seconds left of this dream.

First contact is strange. Who knows Sayeon’s first kiss would be none other than Ryujin Kang, who now that Sayeon crooks her eye open, has both her eyes closed and a slight blush coating her cheeks.

But nonetheless, this is Sayeon’s first kiss, and its softer, sweeter, and oh so much better than trust.

She slurps up the seconds, a warm supernova in her mouth as Ryujin hastily pulls away. She staggers back, wiping her lips, and glancing back up to Sayeon for answers.

But before Sayeon can spit a reply, a familiar figure blocks the ample light from the alleyway opening. It’s Isuel, Goldfish-bread in hand, jaw agape at the remnants of a makeout.

It’s no matter - time is slipping by like sand. 19…20.

Snap.

—

She’s just going back to resume the earlier conversation. That’s it. Nothing else. (She was hungry for more)

The second time she found herself in Ryujin’s embrace.

The third time her hands caressed Ryujin’s velvet hair.

The fourth was the last, she lectured herself. This was sick. She’s horrible for it. But why did her heart flutter? Why did she feel so warm? She grasped the ephemeral moment, nails digging into cheek, eyes sharp with aggression. Tug, Push, Pull.

And there’s that peak, like a roller coaster drop, where it’s more cathartic than the rest of the times combined. But afterwards comes the plummet of the moment, where desperate consequences come into play. Sayeon has a simple solution for those.

You’re fucking sick, you know that

The words span around in her head. She couldn’t be. That never happened. Ryujin never said that.

Snap.

—

“But I trust you.”

Sayeon blinked. Everything was the same. And yet it would never truly be the same. It couldn’t.

“I trust you too.” She replied, and they turned back to the store.