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Byulyi leans back against Yongsun’s chest, letting her weight flop back heavily for a second while Yongsun flails. She catches Yongsun’s pout out of the corner of her eye as she looks over her shoulder, still giggling, before she gives her room to breathe. Yongsun has to push her hair away from where it got caught in her lipgloss, but she smiles anyway, pulling Byulyi close with her arms wrapped around her waist.
The final notes of 4 Walls reverberate across the stadium as the screen behind the stage zooms in on Krystal kneeling down into the ending pose. They’re so close they don’t even need the screen, and it’s kind of unreal.
Hyejin’s been teasing over text all week that there’s nothing like a concert to teach you who you most want to bang—her words—when you can’t take your eyes off them the whole show. All of them already know that Krystal is Byulyi’s favourite (her words), and Hyejin isn’t entirely wrong, exactly, because she hasn’t been able to look away.
“Still can’t believe you got tickets this close. Or a queue number this good,” Byulyi says.
Yongsun ducks down to tuck her face in closer to Byulyi’s neck. Her hair tickles as it falls forward, but even after the time they’d spent in line and then up towards the barrier, she still smells like her favourite shampoo: a little vanilla, a little herbal. Byulyi isn’t sure exactly what it’s supposed to be, just that it lingers on Yongsun’s pillow in the mornings after she gets up to shower for work. She could recognise it anywhere.
“My magic powers.” Byulyi can only tell she’s laughing because of the little puffs of air she lets out against her neck. “Girlfriend of the year award, right here.”
“No arguments there.”
“You sure you don’t want to go up front again? We could fight our way, probably.”
“This is good. The view’s better without the risk of getting hit in the face with someone’s light stick. Remember Wheein’s story about the Wonder Girls concert?”
“True.” Yongsun’s arms loosen just a little before her hands come to rest on the fabric of Byulyi’s shirt over her hips where it’s tucked into her skirt. The skirt falls down to Byulyi’s mid-thigh, just long enough for the tips of Yongsun’s fingers to brush her skin when she reaches down. “I still kind of can’t believe you wore this.”
Byulyi hums before she realizes that Yongsun won’t be able to hear it. The chorus of Rude Love takes off and the crowd screams, surging forward as Krystal comes near their part of the stage.
“I can’t either.” She fidgets with the cuffs of the bomber jacket she’d worn overtop, hoping it’d make up for the skirt somehow. It didn’t, not really, and she still feels exposed, even with Yongsun pulling her in even closer and pressing hot against her back. The jacket rides up for a second and the air feels cool against the part of the shirt fabric she’s sweat through, but then Yongsun is right there, swaying her along with the music.
“You okay?” Yongsun’s hands stay comfortably at her waist.
“Yeah,” Byulyi sighs, leaning her head back against Yongsun’s shoulder. It leaves her neck bare and Yongsun twists to press her lips against the skin, so briefly Byulyi wonders if she’s just wishing for it. “I’m okay. When we talked the other night—”
Yongsun nods against her neck.
“—and you-you said you’ve thought about, um—god, I can’t say it.”
“Cute.” Yongsun’s hand drifts down and pats her thigh. She leaves it there, just resting. “Me fingering you in a skirt?”
“Y-yeah,” Byulyi breathes. It’s probably lost in the music, but it doesn’t matter. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So I wore this.”
“God.” Yongsun’s fingers slip down the outside of the skirt, painfully slow. She plays with the hem as the song fades out, and the band moves towards centre stage for their ment.
In the relative quiet Byulyi’s pulse is loud in her ears, pounding with the high from the show and having Yongsun so close. Yongsun’s palm slips under the fabric of the skirt, floating over Byulyi’s skin before she rests it halfway up. Her fingers press lightly into the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, curling inwards, and Byulyi can’t help the tiny sound she makes. She already knows how wet she is—she hasn't been able to stop thinking about Yongsun, about her fingers, about what it would be like if Yongsun got her off right here in the middle of the crowd.
Yongsun doesn’t, though. She stays pressed in close, but her hands don’t move any farther.
Byulyi can’t stop smiling when Krystal starts her ment. Yongsun hooks her chin over her shoulder. Her hands move back into safe territory on Byulyi’s waist.
“You’re really cute when you’re fangirling.”
Byulyi blushes. She lets her hands rest over Yongsun’s, linking their fingers together. “Thanks for taking me.”
When she turns to look at Yongsun’s face, she’s caught in a wash of violet light from the screen and from the sea of light sticks around them.
Yongsun squeezes her palm in hers. “Can’t wait to take you home.”
“Me too.” Byulyi swallows. The crowd cheers as the members leave the stage, chanting their names as they wait for the encore. She leans in enough that her lips brush against Yongsun’s ear when she speaks, to make absolutely sure she hears. “We can leave the skirt on?”
She’s close enough to feel Yongsun’s breath hitch. “Yeah.”
The crowd surges as the members come back for the encore. It’s a rush to be caught up in the light and the sound like this, the energy of all the people around them who love these girls just as much. Byulyi’s giddy with it, like she’s floating, swept up in the rush of it all, but she always kind of misses this feeling once she’s home and it’s faded away.
Yongsun’s hands squeeze around hers. She’s solid and warm in a different sort of way, and the two of them have this soft intensity that she’s so happy she won’t have to miss.
She can’t wait to take her home.