𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍 | 𝐛𝐭𝐬

THIRTEEN (Part I)

3 YEARS AGO

2016

(y/n) – 14 | Rosé – 16

Rosé's P.O.V

"I saw the lake! I can't believe it! Does it always look that amazing?! I can't wait to go!"

"But you won't actually be able to see it," (y/n) says, slamming a drawer shut. She's not in a good mood today,  probably because she just came back from her class. She's showing no interest in what I'm saying and her tone is flat when she speaks.

"No, but I'll be able to remember seeing it in my vision! I can pull it all up and play it out in my mind, and I can match what I remember seeing with how it all smells and feels and sounds." I throw a pillow, jumping on her bed. (y/n) and I don't share a room anymore. She moved to a room one floor below ours, saying that it's much easier to get to her classes from there. She's roommates with a girl called Ga Young; very sweet and kind. I'm roommates with a girl called Kim Jisoo. I like Jisoo. She and I are like best friends.

I feel like I could fly. I feel like I am flying. I saw something because I thought hard enough, and it wasn't horrible or confusing. I still don't have many vision, and can't usually figure out what they are anyway—people I don't know, places I can't recognize. None as bad as the one with my parents but none particularly awesome.

But this one! It was the beach, a beautiful narrow stretch of pale sand on the shore of the lake, a lake so wide—melting off into the horizon—it might as well be the ocean. My classmates—I saw them too, but the only one I recognized was Jisoo because of her beautiful laugh that I couldn't have one could've missed even if I wanted to. She was very pretty. Very pretty, and cute, too. And CL! I saw CL; I knew it was her because I heard her voice and I'd know her voice anywhere. Her hair is long and dyed silver, and her lashes are thick and pitch black, probably fake, but gorgeous all the same. And the sky—oh, the sky . . . so bright and blue that I couldn't get enough of it. I had forgotten to miss blue. Blue!

I flop down on my back, tracing my stomach happily. "I didn't tell you the best part."

"Oh?" another drawer slams. "I can't find my bra," she mutters.

"The best part is, I saw you."

"So? I'm not that great to look at." I could tell from her tone that she isn't being modest. She sounds like she's . . . sick of herself? But why?

"Don't be stupid! This is the first time I've seen you after you were a toddler! Your hair is so shiny, and your face. Oh, (y/n), your so beautiful. You're so, so beautiful. I knew who you were the second I saw you." Tears trace from the corner of each of my eyes. I'm on (y/n)'s bed, and it smells like her; sweet lavender. And now I know what look goes with that smell.

She was there, on the beach ahead of whatever vantage point he vision gave me, and she looked back for a brief second before kicking a ball wildly and chasing after it through a group of adults.

She didn't look happy. I wonder if she always looks that way and u don't know. Or maybe I don't remember what happy looks like. But even with her brows knit together and her lips pulled tight, she was so beautiful. And when she ran, she was every description of graceful I have ever read.

"You're beautiful," she says with a sigh.  "And I'm glad you saw singing happy. Really. That's amazing. I hope you keep seeing happy things. It makes everything worth it."