Archive of Our Own

Absurdity (in philosophy): Absurdism is the philosophical theory that existence in general is absurd. This implies that the world lacks meaning or a higher purpose and is not fully intelligible by reason.

Philosophical Pessimism:  Family of philosophical views that assign a negative value to life or existence.  Philosophical ideals that loosely state that the world had an unequal amount of pain in existence. This branch defines that life is fundamentally meaningless. 

Eternity: In the context of this piece, we assume eternity to be defined as the time after life, in which our conscious would exist endlessly, with no regard to the concept of time. 

“Ever feel something so much deeper than you can express?” The black haired woman asked, eyes curiously eyeing the art that hung so proudly in front of them, though it felt a bit plain to the human eyes she owned.

The museum was damn near empty, save for a few stragglers, the man with a beanie and headphone, staring at the pamphlet someone left on the seat next to him. The young high schooler, taking pictures of statues, mumbling about a final. Along with people like the two women standing before the piece, friends or couples (we don’t judge labels), wandering about, stopping to observe and wonder. It was peaceful, it was quiet.

It was free admission for all college students, and Mina and Tzuyu had not left their apartment for nearly 100 hours, cramming for finals and essays and applications. Just another day in the life of the student. They could have stayed cooped up even longer, neither really fond of the city, but when Jihyo and Nayeon teamed up, they had to leave. None of them wanted to be subjected to the endless nagging both those women could produce.

The winter felt endless. At least, to the two shivering women, huddled a bit closer then usual, absorbing whatever body heat they could produce together. Well, whatever a leather jacket and peacoat could get you. The museum, though warmer than the outside, was still chill. The lights dimmed, except to light up each exhibit. It was a peaceful moment, with silence around them and between them, at least, it had been silent until Mina popped up with that random question, even throwing Tzuyu off slightly, taking her attention to the cherub painting she had been staring at, questioning why those angels were always so round and bulbous.

“What?” Tzuyu could only dumbly respond, feeling a bit embarrassed at how focused she had been on the ridiculous painting, then again, was that not the point of the museum?

Mina did not seem the slightest bit annoyed, she still wore the same look of thoughtfulness, one Tzuyu could only see obscured, her black hair a bit messy from the icy wind of earlier. “Do you ever feel something so much bigger than you can express?” Mina repeated, a bit quieter this time, not tearing her eyes away from the piece before them.

Tzuyu gave herself a moment to let the question sink in, she always said she was a bit slower to these things, and Mina was nothing but patient, simply letting her eyes move all over the art. “I…,” Tzuyu trailed, “I suppose you could say, yes. Yes, I have.”

Mina stayed focused. “Like when?”

Oh. They were still going to talk about it?

“Uh,” Tzuyu coughed awkwardly, unsure whether she should still watch Mina watch the art, or just let her eyes focus on something else, “Um, I guess like…when our little friend group first hung out altogether. That was a lot to take in.”

Mina hummed in understanding, introverts by heart, no?

“Is that it?” Mina questioned, not annoyed, nor disappointed. Just simply asked. Tzuyu’s brain racked for more ideas. None really came to mind. Tzuyu almost felt bad for not really having anymore to say.

“I just, I can’t really think of anything right now,” Tzuyu admitted quietly, shoving her hands into the pockets of her peacoat, feeling somewhat ashamed of her lack of conversational skills. “Don’t worry,” Mina assured, as if she could just feel Tzuyu’s embarrassment. Maybe it was because their shoulders were still touching, maybe Mina had some sort of sixth Tzuyu sense, only useable by minimal contact.

(Tzuyu knew it was absurd. Lots of her thoughts were that, absurd.)

“I only asked because,” Mina motioned to the piece before them, “I don’t feel anything.”

Tzuyu cocked her head in confusion. “Like…you don’t feel anything about the piece?”

“Yeah,” Mina nodded, crossing her arms, seemingly a bit annoyed, “Like…it just looks like some lines.” Tzuyu turned to the piece, a brown canvas, strokes of black paint covering half the canvas. She let her eyes watch the art, its simple style and repetitive strokes. Was she supposed to feel something grand?

“It sure does look like some paint strokes,” Tzuyu agreed, pulling her lips into a tight line, “Strokes all right.”

Mina sighed, the feeling of defeat lingering over the younger Taiwanese woman, defeat that there was not much else she could say. “I guess I’m just not cut for this art connoisseur crap,” Mina joked lightly, but Tzuyu could see the dim light in her eyes, a sort of restlessness. Maybe it was Tzuyu’s sixth Mina sense, that she could always tell when the Japanese woman was bothered, or frustrated.

(Again, Tzuyu knew it was absurd.)

“Well…why do you want to feel something with it?” Tzuyu decided to dive headfirst into this conversation, not really having a backup plan for how to go about this. But that was Chou Tzuyu, she supposed. A sucker for conversation, and a bit impulsive. Mina seemed to be lost in her own little world, Mina’s world. Tzuyu wondered endlessly what it looked like. How colorful (or colorless) might it be? How many thoughts did she have in that world of hers a day? In a week? In an hour? Did she imagine music? So many questions, so many possibilities.

Mina finally shrugged, a bit lamely, her response wholly unceremonious. “I don’t know,” She sighed, tightening the jacket around her chest a bit tighter when the entrance to the museum opened for a moment, “I just feel like I’m missing some big point here.”

“Big point?” Tzuyu couldn’t help but lightly scoff, “Like…the theme of a story type thing?”

“I don’t know,” Mina repeated, her features scrunching slightly as she stared at the piece, just lines and strokes, “I guess I’m just waiting for…for that feeling you know?”

“I don’t know actually,” Tzuyu answered earnestly and honestly, because lying felt pointless if this conversation was going to get anywhere.

“We should have brought Chaeyoung,” Mina groaned slightly, “She’s good at this deep shit and art crap.” Tzuyu couldn’t help but frown a little, even if she knew Mina was nothing but correct. Chaeyoung was good at the art connoisseur crap, it was why the eccentric blonde was an art major. Because she was good at this crap, and Tzuyu wasn’t. Tzuyu could hardly keep a conversation. “Sorry I’m not her,” Tzuyu replied, feeling how that came off more biting than she intended it to be. Mina noticed too (she always did), and now Mina’s attention as fully on Tzuyu, a tint of pink embarrassment across her cheeks, face nothing but apologetic.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mina started off and Tzuyu had already forgiven her, because Mina was just so good and never meant to ever hurt anyone, “I’m sorry,” She still apologized and Tzuyu felt a bit like an ass. “No,” Tzuyu replied, shaking her head, “I’m sorry. I just feel bad I guess.”

“Feel bad?”

“Yeah,” Tzuyu turned her attention back to the piece that was causing much more feelings than Tzuyu wanted to admit, “Because yeah, Chaeyoung probably would be better at this. She knows this stuff.”

“I mean, she is an art major,” Mina joked, “But mostly, she answers all my stupid questions. Like about life, or shit like that. Its not hard to ask her, because she’s just like that, you know?”

“Yeah,” Tzuyu answered, knowing exactly what she meant. Chaeyoung was just…like that. “But why would you think your questions were stupid to begin with?”

“Oh,” Mina blushed a bit more, “I guess because it really doesn’t have an answer, what I ask.”

“No answer doesn’t make the question stupid,” Tzuyu assured, “It just means it doesn’t have an answer.”

“I know, I know,” Mina sighed quietly, “But I can’t help but feel like…I don’t know, almost nearly…ridiculous for having these dead-end questions.”

“Ridiculous? Not quite,” Tzuyu shook her head, bringing her fingers to her chin while she thought, “Its not ridiculous. It’s absurd.”

Mina simply looked confused, her features scrunching slightly, “Are they not synonyms?”

Tzuyu bit her lip. “Technically, they can be. But in this case, no.”

“And why not?”

“Well, your question pertains to something bigger than ourselves, at least I think,” Tzuyu mumbled, becoming increasingly aware how arbitrary something like a word description was in hindsight. Yet, here she was, explaining absurd better suited this idea than ridiculous, even if they both felt illogical. “So, no. Not ridiculous. Absurd.”

“What’s absurd mean in this sense then?” Mina questioned, the painting long forgotten, her attention fully back on Tzuyu. Damn, why did it get warm in here all of a sudden?

“Uh,” Tzuyu tugged at her turtleneck slightly, feeling the warmth grow over her body, “Well like, you said questions about life, right?”

Mina nodded.

“Okay. Well. That’s like philosophy, right?” Tzuyu asked, formulating something of a response in her head if this went how she hoped it did.

“I guess so,” Mina said thoughtfully, “Questions about life.”

“That’s basically philosophy,” Tzuyu continued, “And in philosophy, absurd is the general idea that existence in general lacks a higher meaning or purpose.”

Mina frowned. “That…That’s kind of depressing.”

“Do you think so?” Tzuyu asked, genuinely intrigued to understand Mina’s world, even if just by a little bit more, “How come?”

“Well, so absurdity-,”

“Absurdism.”

“Right, absurdism in philosophy is just basically saying life is meaningless?”

“Well,” Tzuyu felt her words bunch up like cotton, “I never said specifically that. I just said…the purpose might be a bit more lackluster than initially assumed.”

“Sounds meaningless to me,” Mina concluded, “So my questions are ridiculous.”

“I never said that,” Tzuyu nearly whined, “I just said absurdism means life might just have an unexplainable purpose, maybe not aligning with what we wish for.”

“Is Miss Chou Tzuyu…whining?” Mina could not help but tease, a small smirk playing on her lips, “I’m shocked.”

“Stop,” Tzuyu begged, feeling her cheeks grow rosy like the cherubim’s cheeks, “I’m not whining. I’m trying to defend my point.”

“Defending sounds a lot like whining,” Mina continued poking fun at the younger woman, slipping her arm through Tzuyu’s, which made the younger woman stop functioning, if not just for a moment, as she felt herself get tugged along, shoulders still touching, now arms as well. They walked down into another exhibit in silence.

“I didn’t mean to jump to conclusion so quickly,” Mina apologized when the silence was just getting comfortable, “I’ve just never heard of something like that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tzuyu managed to choke out without her voice cracking, “I guess my explanation was a bit…absurd.”

“What else do you know?” Mina continued leading them to nowhere, simply just passing by each piece, eyes scanning what they could. “What I know about what?” Tzuyu asked. Mina snorted just a little, it nearly made Tzuyu jump out of her skin.

“About philosophy.”

Tzuyu felt her ears burn beneath her hair. “Uh, maybe some other stuff,” She replied awkwardly, “Ask away.”

“Do you believe in an afterlife?”

“No.”

That made Mina reel for a second. “Wow,” She breathed, “You were prepared for that one.”

“Because I’m pretty positive on that,” Tzuyu sighed, “I don’t believe in an afterlife.”

“How come?”

“Uh…because does it not seem a bit I don’t know…wild ? That there is this perfect paradise where metaphorical perfect people go to when they die?”’

“I mean when you put it that way-,”

“Exactly.” Tzuyu said firmly, slowing down their pace, “Its wild. What would even define a good person? What about those who steal because they’re homeless? Or people who are fighting on both sides of a war? Each country believes they are doing it for the greater good.”

“Okay but like, sometimes there is a clear-cut view of who’s right and wrong in a scenario like that,” Mina pointed out. “Sure, there is, like killing in self-defense, or protection of others,” Tzuyu agreed, “But like, what about bombs? Sure, they get the enemy, but don’t they also kill innocent bystanders? Pedestrians? And then what? There’s blood on the bomber’s hands, there’s unjust bloodshed now. How can that be justified? By the greater good? Since when did the greater good say you could kill innocence?”

“In the same way, say, a person who assumed they were good, goes to hell. Maybe they were damned to suffering because the company they worked for supported child labor. Inaction is causation, is it not? Even if the job gave the person the ability to provide for their family. Or all the people they hurt in their lifetime, even by an unintentional comment. So suddenly they’re bad?”

“Huh,” Mina whispered, face contorting into thousands of different emotions all at once, “I guess I never thought about it like that.”

“Morals can be considered an emotivity. Its so much theory and thought into it, and I’m supposed to assume a greater power just has the perfect answer?”

“That was…actually really profound,” Mina complimented, squeezing Tzuyu’s bicep slightly, it made the younger woman flinch. “So…okay. You don’t believe in an afterlife. So, I’m guessing eternal life is out of the picture.”

Tzuyu shuddered. “Eternity is terrifying.”

“Even more than death?” Mina watched her carefully, eyes twinkling with something unfamiliar.

“Eternity is endless. Timelessness. At least once death comes, I can assume I won’t have a single thought about it anymore.”

“I think death is terrifying,” Mina admitted, just as they came across an unfamiliar painting, with more chubby angels with pale skin. Paler than Mina. “How come?” Tzuyu asked, eager for Mina’s input.

“Well like, I’ve only ever been aware,” Mina tried to explain, “I’ve only ever known awareness. I literally can’t comprehend suddenly losing the one thing I have lived my whole life in.”

“Some say sleep is quite similar to being dead.”

“You know I don’t sleep well,” Mina sighed, “I’ve never slept well. Its either sleep paralysis, or nightmares, or dreams, or just something. It’s always something. Never nothing. So, like…death. It’s literally the most unfamiliar concept I can’t even fathom.”

“The unknown is scary,” Tzuyu agreed, “I can’t comprehend eternity. Because I’ve lived assuming everything is temporary.”

Mina stared at the painting of Lucifer’s downfall, “So no heaven. No hell. No eternity. What do you even believe in then?”

That was…actually a very good question. What did Chou Tzuyu believe in? If not a god, or forever?

“I guess…huh,” Tzuyu trailed off, feeling her swarm of thoughts gather up in her brain, unable to leave in a single stream of conscious thought, “That’s a good question. What do I believe in?”

“You don’t even know?” Mina asked, this time the disbelief was noticeable in her tone, “You sounded so sure about everything else."

"Because I am,” Tzuyu pointed out, “I believe in death. I believe that perhaps life is kind of absurd. Call me a pessimist if you want.”

Mina frowned, the lines of worry etching into her forehead and cheeks. “Aren’t pessimist like…those who feel there’s no meaning to life?”

“Pessimism is just like…kind of the idea that living is just a bit more pain and less pleasure, instead of being equal. Although I guess you could say loosely some pessimists believe simply not existing would’ve been better than existing at all-,”

“So, you just believe life is more painful than blissful?”

“Yeah,” Tzuyu shrugged, “That doesn’t mean I don’t believe in happiness. I just think life puts out more suffering than necessary. I think life brings the worst to the ones who deserve the best.”

“Sometimes, the things you say worry me,” Mina admitted quietly, and Tzuyu could feel the tug in her stomach. She knew exactly where this was going.

“Mina-,” Tzuyu tried but Mina beat her to the punch. “I’m sorry,” Mina apologized quickly, shaking her head, “I know its different. I know this isn’t the same situation but just-,”

“I can see why what I’m saying sounds like her letter,” Tzuyu said quietly, the gaping hole in the silence ripping into her chest. It was large, fresh, and now salted, their wounds. “But I promise, I’m not…I’m not feeling what Dahyun was feeling.” Mina ran a hand through her hair, and Tzuyu saw it, the glossy film over her eyes, the way she blinked rapidly. Tzuyu could feel it too, the way her throat tightened, and words felt just a bit harder to let out.

“I just…I never knew someone could really feel that amount of hopelessness,” Mina whispered, barely audible, even in the nearly empty silent museum. It was like the wind, barely able to be whispered, it barely carried. But Tzuyu heard every word, every syllable. Her eyes followed to the piece across the room, a painting of blue, with a man she presumed, and somehow, she felt heavy. Maybe because blue was associated with sadness, maybe because Mina was trying not to cry in front of her. Maybe because the whole Dahyun thing was so…fresh. So new. Unfamiliar, and Tzuyu knew very well the unknown was terrifying.

“It was you who found her, right?” Tzuyu asked, finding the nerve to put her arm around the Japanese woman, gently holding her shoulder, pulling her just a bit closer to her. Mina did not protest the embrace. She simply hummed.

“It was me, yeah.”

“Can I ask something?”

“Isn’t that all we’ve been doing?” Mina tried to joke, but it didn’t land and Tzuyu knew better than to point that out. She simply continued. “Why did you call me?”

“Why did I call you that night?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t…,” Mina let out a shaky exhale, “I didn’t know what to do. It was all so sudden. One minute, she’s fine and showing me her updated sheet music for her piece, next thing I know, there’s a thump in her room and she’s just there, hanging-,”

“Hey,” Tzuyu hugged her just a little tighter, “Breathe.”

Mina inhaled a shaky breath, hands desperately looking for something to anchor her back to reality. Tzuyu held her hand open, offering what she could as Mina squeezed it tightly, nails just slightly digging into Tzuyu’s skin. However, she figured this minor suffering was for the greater good (because Mina was everything good, in Tzuyu’s eyes.)

One hand being squeezed, the other wrapped around Mina’s shoulders, Tzuyu brought the older woman closer, close enough that she could rest her chin atop the Japanese woman’s head. She rubbed Mina’s back in comfort, letting her regain her composure.

“You saved her,” Tzuyu said quietly. “She wouldn’t be here without you.”

Mina laughed dryly, sharp and gritty, as a stray tear finally found its way down her cheek. “I didn’t really save her. It was you. I called you because I was floundering, a-and she was ju-just…there.”

“But you thought to call. And we got help. She got help.”

“At what cost?” Mina questioned, and it made Tzuyu’s bones ache. “Nearly her life? How could I have missed it for so long Tzuyu?”

“The same could be said for the rest of us,” Tzuyu added, “How did we all miss it? It’s because we’re not mind readers Mina.”

“I-I know,” Mina sighed, her squeezing ceased, now she only gently held onto Tzuyu’s hand, if not for warmth, surely for reassurance. “It was just…,”

“A lot?”

“A lot.” Mina said, solemn and exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” Tzuyu said, though she felt lame for simply only having an apology to say, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know Tzuyu,” Mina nodded, leaning her head on the younger woman’s shoulder, “I know.”

“Is that why you’ve been having those questions lately?” Tzuyu did not think about whether that was an okay question to ask, but the grave had already been dug, “Because of everything with Dahyun?”

“You could say,” Mina sadly sighed, no longer interested in the art, “Its been messing with me a lot. To just decide life isn’t worth living anymore. And for someone like her…she’s been nothing but just loving and caring and I just-,”

“Why her? Why did life have to be shit for her you know?”

“I absolutely agree,” Tzuyu assured, “Its why I’ve been saying, life hurts the kindest of people.”

“Pessimism,” Mina sighed, “Maybe its not as bad as I think it is.”

“But does that just mean life isn’t worth living then?” She added quietly. 

“I never said that,” Tzuyu argued, shaking her head, “I would never say that.”

“So why did Dahyun feel like her life wasn’t worth existing in?”

Tzuyu chest ached, muscles in her heart she didn’t even know existed began to ache, “Dahyun was in a dark spot. She needed more help than any of us realized. She needed someone to talk to, and again, we’re not mind readers.”

“We won’t ever know, or truly understand,” Tzuyu admitted, “You’d have to ask her yourself. I think with everything that happened, its at least a start to finding out why.”

“I wish I just knew.”

“I wish so too,” Tzuyu flinched when Mina laced their fingers together, holding Tzuyu’s hand close to her chest, as if Tzuyu might also try to fade away if she let go. “You know,” Tzuyu tried again, “Some other philosophers had a different way to explain the absurd.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, that absurdism happens when reality and our perceptions don’t align.”

Mina scrunched her eyebrows. “Explain?”

“Remember when Jeongyeon was getting ready to start her job at the catering place?”

“Yeah, the one she’s still working at?”

Tzuyu hummed. “Remember on her first day, she had this whole plan for how she was going to introduce herself to her boss. Like…she wanted to go in confidently, all set to begin, and shake her boss's hand?”

Mina stifled a giggle. “Didn’t she slip over a banana peel?”

“She slipped over a banana peel,” Tzuyu confirmed, a small swell of warmth blooming in her chest to watch Mina’s features brighten, “And she would not stop talking about it. About how it wasn’t supposed to go that way, about how it was supposed to go so differently. And how she was scared she was going to get fired.”

“See, that was ridiculous,” Mina added in, giggling at the memory, “Or I guess, absurd in this case. Because what she imagined did not happen at all, in reality.”

“And that’s another great example of absurdism,” Tzuyu said pridefully. “But funny enough, Nagel points out that’s why life is so absurd.”

“Nagel?”

“Some philosopher,” Tzuyu briefed, “But basically, he said humans take themselves like…way too seriously.”

“Like Jeongyeon,” Mina mused, “Who always wants to have a plan. Even if it literally never goes her way. Ever.”

“Absurd,” Tzuyu smiled, “She’s absurd.”

“Insane,” Mina’s twinkle came back, ever so slightly, “She’s crazy is what she is.”

And it was true. Just how Chaeyoung was just like that…so was Jeongyeon. Maybe that’s why they got along so well, even as polar opposites. Perhaps in the same way Tzuyu and Mina were two sides of the same coin, they were just like that.

“So, if you think life is just so,” Mina searched for the right word, “Painful. Then, why do you continue to live it?”

“Well, do you think what you do right now will matter in a million years?”

“I don’t even think I’ll be remembered by tomorrow,” Mina admitted, “Or any future. I don’t see myself changing anyone’s life.”

Tzuyu frowned slightly. “I’ll remember you, from now till the moment I lose conscious for the final time.” Mina’s eyes widened slightly at Tzuyu’s revelation, but she chose to push through. “But in the case of this, if you think what you do won’t matter in the future…why do it?”

Mina frowned. “Because I have to?”

“Well yes, surely you have a life you’ve began,” Tzuyu mused, “A life with friends, basically family.”

“But what about the rest of it?”

“Well, why take medicine then?” Tzuyu pointed out, “Why take it if it won’t even matter a million years from now?”

“Meds? Well, I take them because I don’t think I want to be in pain.”

“That’s a pretty good reason,” Tzuyu complimented, “I also don’t like pains. And even if what I do may not matter in a million years, or even a hundred, or even maybe ten, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do nothing. I have things to do, don’t I?”

“I guess that’s true,” Mina contemplated, tilting her head slightly as if to absorb the words Tzuyu was spewing. “We can say, maybe there’s meaning to the things we give meaning to. I think its important to go to bed early, but you wouldn’t say the same.” Tzuyu pointed out, making it a point to give Mina a slight squeeze of reassurance.

Mina was warm beneath her grip, in her arms, Tzuyu made it a point to memorize the shape of how she felt. So comfortably beneath her, as Tzuyu towered over her, resting her chin on the top of Mina’s head once more, smelling her jasmine perfume she loved to wear during this season. How soft her hair felt, tickling her neck. It was comforting. Welcoming, from the cold winter the surrounded them, and the empty museum halls.

“So do you think there’s a point?” Mina asked quietly, again so quiet it was almost lost in the endlessness of the museum’s art, each piece carrying its own unique meaning, individual tales of experience and time. Tzuyu dared not to move from where they stood. “What do you want me to say?” Tzuyu breathed out, feeling Mina fiddle with her fingers, the tips so cold but her palms so warm.

“Tell me your honest thoughts,” Mina whispered, pulling away just enough to look up at Tzuyu, eyes twinkling like an infinite universe, her moles a permanent constellation, “I want to know you, Tzuyu.”

“My honest thoughts?” Tzuyu chuckled nervously, “Are that I really don’t want to say the wrong thing. I don’t want to make you feel helpless, or that nothing matters. I never mean it like that. I don’t think pure pain is the answer either you know?”

“Why would you be so scared Tzuyu?” Mina questioned gently, looking up with those damned angel eyes, so glittery and mesmerizing Tzuyu felt her throat dry up. “I’m scared to mess something up. Something that I’m not even sure has a meaning yet.” She swallowed the rest of her words, drowning them in her mind, when she saw the glint of realization behind those angel eyes. She always knew what Mina was feeling, no words needed. It was in her eyes, always so wondrously expressive. Just in the way Mina could always tell what Tzuyu was feeling, perhaps because they still held into each other’s embrace, two kindred spirits on a cold winter’s night. Feeling so small, yet like it was only them who existed within the confines of their universes.

“I’m still here,” Mina assured and only Tzuyu knew the weight behind those words, “I’m not leaving. You haven’t messed anything up at all.”

Tzuyu gave a small smile, her lips pulling up. “Walk with me?” She offered, this time fully breaking the embrace, only to put her hand out again, watching the sparkle dance in Mina’s eyes. She was always dancing, so gracefully.

Mina silently slid her hand back into Tzuyu’s, carefully allowing their fingers to meet, lacing together in a confusing nervous dance. “Lead the way,” Mina smiled her soft smile, the one that made Tzuyu feel only a little dizzy.

So, they walked. They walked aimlessly, in a mutual silence. Peacefully, their shoulders still touching, cotton and leather. With their hands meeting halfway, and while Tzuyu focused ahead, she could vaguely sense Mina’s presence beside her, her eyes never leaving Tzuyu’s face. But perhaps Tzuyu wasn’t ready to look back, to look at the universe head on like that. Rather, she garnered her thoughts, gathering the most coherent statements. What did she believe in? What could possibly be the meaning of life? Was there even a proper answer? Tzuyu could assume, centuries worth of philosophers, western and eastern alike, all shared the same sentiment. People who actually had a better grasp and understanding in this confusing theory than Tzuyu did.

Then again, Dahyun had no experience in this, and seemingly found her own thoughts in it. Tzuyu thought of the bright woman, with passion and life, having lost it some time ago. She could only hope one day Dahyun could get it back, Tzuyu swore to the ends of the earth she’d do anything in her power to protect her from the horrors of the world. She had enough of it as was.

She thought of Mina. The only true good she could view in this world. Surely, Sana and Momo and the rest of her friends were also good. At least to Tzuyu, they were good. Morally, and everything in between. But the way Mina smiled, the way she stared in such admiration at the stars as if she didn’t already carry them in her soul, in her eyes. She was good. Purely good, that was perhaps emotive, but Tzuyu believed it to be a truth.

Before she knew it, they had circled the entirety of the museum. Not once, but twice. Twice. Till they reached the same spot they had found themselves in when they first arrived. Before a large painting, and for the first time since arriving, Tzuyu made it a point to read the title of the work.

‘Yun Hyong-keun. Burnt Umber & Ultramarine Blue.’

“You know,” Tzuyu finally disrupted the peace, their hands still entangled, their shoulder still touching, “I actually learned about this guy in my art history class.”

“Oh?” Mina perked up, “Perhaps Chaeyoung isn’t the only connoisseur,” She nudged Tzuyu gently, remaining close inn Tzuyu’s proximity. Tzuyu blushed, feeling the smile curl along her lips, before continuing.

“Yun Hyong-keun, his art was considered to be a part of South Korea’s Dansaekhwa art movement.”

“Which is…?”

“When monochromatic colors got really popular,” Tzuyu shrugged, trying to remember what her kind of boring professor had talked about in her class from a semester ago. “He actually kind of had a shitty life.”

“Elaborate.”

“He got caught up in protests in his university, back in the 1940s,” Tzuyu recalled, “he was beaten and tortured. And it just kept happening. Pain and suffering for doing what he thought was right, what he saw as the right thing.”

Mina stared back at the art piece, a different expression gracing her features as she observed the strokes and burnt canvas. “Why’d he keep doing the same thing again?”

“Maybe because he found it meaningful,” Tzuyu shrugged, “We’re not mind readers. Nor can we communicate with the dead.”

“I know a lot of people bring up his brush strokes,” Tzuyu pointed to the lines, the thick same lines that flowed through the dark patches. Mina squinted, following the same flow. “What about them?”

“They’re the same. They don’t lead to anything grander than what we are witnessing.”

“So it just…repeats?” Mina asked, a bit incredulous as she searched the whole piece, the entirety of the canvas, from its very bottom to the top of the piece, her universal eyes trying to enter into the world of the artist whom did not live within their time.

“They’re repetitive,” Tzuyu confirmed, “Perhaps a bit like life.”

“Life…is repetitive?” Mina seemed confused and skeptical, as if she could not understand where Tzuyu was going with that statement. Tzuyu didn’t really know where she was going with it either.

“Yeah,” Tzuyu articulated carefully every word that left her mouth, “Life is repetitive. Some might say it’s the repetitiveness that makes its absurd. In fact, you only really start questioning life after you get into the habit of living it.”

Mina watched the brushstrokes. Tzuyu felt Mina’s thumb gently rub circles over Tzuyu’s hand. Repetitive. She closed her eyes, embracing the pattern for as it was.

“I don’t believe in eternity. I don’t believe in an afterlife. I think life has an…uneven…distribution of pain and pleasure. I think life can sometimes be really painful. But, I’ve long since accepted those ideals, because thinking of forever is terrifying. Thinking that my choices may give me eternal pain is also terrifying. But I’ve accepted what I believe in. Maybe it’s a little drab, maybe a little sad. But maybe that’s just how life is, a bit painful, but wholly still worth existing over. I can’t help but think, even in all our pain, in your pain, in my pain, there has been good. Our movie nights with everyone, how Chaeyoung made all of us her muses. How beautifully Dahyun plays piano. How Momo dances and how Sana laughs. How Nayeon jokingly flirts and how Jeongyeon wants to plan for everything. How Jihyo smiles. How just being in your presence feels like a universal reward for all the awful things I’ve gone through. There’s still meaning to the things I’ve decided have meaning. Some might think…how drab. How boring. Or...what’s the real meaning though? I say, maybe there isn’t some grander expectation. I think most people think they want to feel bigger in the universe than we actually might be. I think…I think I’m okay with my own universe, where the people I love are in the center of it. I’m okay not being the main character, with a grand arc and ultimate meaning. Its…Its absurd to think of it like that, you know?”

Tzuyu cannot recall when Mina stopped observing the brushstrokes. She cannot recall when the universe decided just for a moment, Tzuyu should be the center of it. Because that’s exactly how she felt, watching Mina’s eyes bore into her own, as if she was reading every single thought Tzuyu ever had since she first developed conscious thought. As her black hair fell just so perfectly over her face, strands framing it so perfectly, like the paintings they were surrounded by, except Tzuyu saw Mina to be the grandest piece by far. As her moles created the perfect constellation to match the center of Tzuyu’s universe. Sometimes, patterns were good. Tzuyu fell into a trance, a silent trance, as Mina’s hands found Tzuyu’s all over again, her fingertips still freezing and her palms still warm. Their hands did the same unfamiliar, yet a bit more practiced, dance, lacing together. It made Tzuyu’s heart pound beneath her chest. And Mina stared, so intensely Tzuyu felt as if she might burn.

Then, she stared no more. Mina’s eyes tore away, looking back at the piece that started it all. Hands still held, bodies still close. Mina observed. “I guess maybe I wanted a grand feeling as well,” She admitted, her face not quite disappointed, but maybe something similar, “I wanted a big feeling to make me feel like what I was asking was purposeful.”

“I find everything you do to be meaningful,” Tzuyu said. Mina’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, barely noticeable if you weren’t Chou Tzuyu who noticed everything about Myoui Mina. “I find you to give me more meaning,” Mina admitted softly.

Tzuyu merely smiled. “What do you feel then, now?” Tzuyu asked, looking away from the grand piece of art to look at the brushstrokes against the canvas, “Are you feeling something now?”

Mina was thoughtful. Tzuyu so desperately wanted to immerse herself in that undiscovered world. The only unknown she would gladly dive headfirst into if she could. If Mina allowed it. Instead, at this moment, she just watched the shine in Mina’s eyes, endlessly glittering.

“Honestly?” Mina smiled a bit strained, “I feel a bit smaller than I thought I would. Like the universe is endless and I repeat life. Over and over. But at the same time,” She turned to look back into Tzuyu’s eyes, “A bit relieved. As if a pressure had been weighing on me and I didn’t realize. But I don’t even know why I had that pressure to begin with.”

“We do always take ourselves a bit more seriously, don’t we?” Tzuyu gave into the bittersweet sentiment. “I guess we do,” Mina chuckled a bit, no malice in her tone. “Its weird. I’ve never thought maybe life is just that. A bit less of a bigger meaning. But meaningful, still.”

“As long as you see it fit to be meaningful.”

“I think,” Mina gave Tzuyu’s hands a gentle squeeze, “I feel a bit lighter. A bit different. But at the same time, just a bit smaller, just a bit lonelier.”

Tzuyu nodded, knowing exactly what Mina expressed, knowing exactly how heavy her words may have been, but it was her universe, and she was slowly letting Mina in. if she wanted to, of course. “A bit lonely,” Tzuyu repeated, turning to look at the canvas once more, “A bit lonely, but never alone.”

“I don’t think you’d ever let me,” Mina said lightly, tugging Tzuyu by her hands, gently guiding the younger woman to wrap her arms around her. Tzuyu complied, letting her arms find their way around Mina’s shoulders, around her neck gently, letting her fingers get lost in her black hair. She felt Mina’s arms push past her coat, wrapping around her waist, holding her tightly, resting her head along Tzuyu’s shoulder tiredly. Tzuyu took in the moment, memorizing how easily Mina melted into her touch, how well they fit into the embrace, like pieces of a puzzle no one even knew belonged together. But it made everything make a little more sense.

Slowly, Tzuyu rested her chin again, feeling her heart beat to the pace of Mina’s breathing. “I think,” Mina finally spoke up again, shifting her head to stare at the art, her strands tickling Tzuyu’s neck, but Tzuyu dared not move from their position, “I think, maybe this piece does make me feel something more.”

“Maybe because we finally gave it a bit more meaning,” Tzuyu mumbled, running her fingers down cascading black waterfalls.

“Its beautiful,” Mina ultimately decided, “Its beautiful if not a bit sad. But I think the sadness makes it a bit more beautiful.”

“That’s life, is it not Mina?”

“Maybe it is Tzuyu, maybe it is.”