home [friendly rivalry fanfic]
My second fic for @fr-fest! This was supposed to be much more focused on the prompt, but it kind of grew into...whatever it is now. Basically a post-canon one-shot of Kyung and Yeri and their eventful and yuriful evening together. It’s a lil bit rushed because I was trying to finish by the end of the month and the plot doesn’t really make any sense if you think about it too much but haha oh well. Thanks for reading <3
cw: brief description of attempted SA
~~~~~~~~~~
The first time the phone rang, Kyung ignored it. The second time, she declined the call, tossed the phone into her desk drawer, and hunched over her notes, hoping to regain her focus by staring intently at them. But when it continued to buzz—the dull rattle inside the desk like the mumbling of her insufferable classmates, who didn’t dare speak up lest they be caught having an opinion—she gritted her teeth and answered it.
“Kyung-yaaah.” The way the voice drew out the last syllable made Kyung’s skin prickle. “Why wouldn’t you pick up?”
“Ju Ye-ri?” As soon as she recognized the voice, Kyung stood abruptly, her free hand catching the desk chair before it fell over. “Whose number is this?”
“Aggh fuuuck.” There was a tearful note in Ye-ri’s voice that put Kyung on alert. “I should have used a pay phone.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m so stuuupid, Kyung-yah.”
Nothing pissed off Kyung more than Ye-ri underestimating herself—she was smarter than ninety percent of the stuck-up chaebol-baby wannabes at university—but worry eclipsed Kyung’s annoyance for the moment. “Stop that. Just tell me what’s going on. Did you lose your phone?”
On the other end, there was the clink of a hollow bottle striking something hard, like pavement. “It’s not…lost.”
“Ye-ri—are you drunk?”
“Shit. You can tell? I only had one soju…”
Ye-ri never drank. Something was definitely up.
“Where are you? What happened?” Around the hard knot of concern in her stomach, Kyung felt the swelling of something lighter and fiercer, and a bit dizzying. “Why call me?”
“I’m outside my building now. Can you come? I’m sorry—I know it’s late.”
“Give me thirty-five minutes. Under thirty if I catch the next train.” Kyung was already reaching for the shoe cabinet. “And don’t apologize, damn it.”
Kyung found Ye-ri sitting on the curb, shivering in the cold, alongside one soju bottle, cradling another in her hands.
“I got one more at 7-Eleven while I was waiting.” Ye-ri looked down into her lap as she spoke, rubbing her bare knees together. She raised the bottle without raising her head. “Saved half for you, cheers.”
“Where’s your coat? It’s freezing. Here, take mine.”
Ye-ri shook her head and did not budge.
“Don’t be stubborn.”
“I already made you come all the way out here.” There was that tremor in her voice again. “Don’t you realize how embarrassing this is?”
“Look.” Kyung unzipped her coat. “I’m wearing a sweater. I don’t need both. You’re taking one or the other. Which do you want?”
Ye-ri looked up, and Kyung felt relief. She had not known what to expect, but on the subway ride from her campus in Seodaemun to Ye-ri’s place in Seongdong, her mind had boiled over with possibilities. A part of her had been dreading bruises, a black eye. Ye-ri’s face, though, was unmarked except by blotchy eyeliner. Of course that didn’t mean that she was unharmed.
“Sweater,” Ye-ri said, averting her eyes.
She would choose the harder option.
“Hold this then.” Kyung shed her coat, handed it to Ye-ri, and pulled off her sweater. She was wearing an old unfashionable t-shirt underneath it—not that she would have spared her clothes a single thought had she been with anyone other than Ye-ri. Kyung took the coat back, tucked it under her arm, and held the sweater out in exchange. “Alright. Let’s put this on you.”
“I’m not that drunk.” Ye-ri set the bottle on the curb and rose to her feet, wobbling only slightly. “I think I can figure out which hole is which.”
She was able to find the big hole at the bottom, at least, and stick her head and arms into it. After that she required some assistance. Finally her head, wrapped in a cocoon of hair that gleamed like copper in the streetlights, wriggled through the hole at the top. A smile, half-visible through the frizz, split open her face, and they both laughed. Without thinking, Kyung brushed the hair away from her cheeks, nose, and lips.
Her lips. When Kyung realized she was touching them, she drew her hand back.
“Warmer?”
Ye-ri nodded, but didn’t speak.
“Now can you tell me what all of this is about?”
That was when Ye-ri started to cry. Kyung stood there wondering how to react for an eternity, and then Ye-ri’s arms were around her, Ye-ri’s face buried in her shoulder.
Kyung could do nothing to resist or return the embrace with her arms pinned and the coat still wedged under one of them. But she was oddly grateful. Would she have had the guts to hold Ye-ri like this on her own? Never. She would have stuttered, faltered, overthought…She was grateful for how quickly Ye-ri had done it, too, before Kyung could even put the coat back on. There were fewer layers between them this way. And Ye-ri was warmer than any coat, her breath hot on Kyung’s shoulder.
“I should have known,” Ye-ri sobbed. Hearing the misery in her voice, feeling her hot tears fall and turn cold, Kyung felt a stab of guilt. She had let her excitement carry her away too soon. “I should have known he didn’t just want to run lines. I don’t know why I thought that actors would be different—”
“He came over?”
Kyung knew who without having to ask. Ye-ri had been so excited. It was rare for a rookie like her to have an actor like him as a scene partner. Only for a scene or two, but still. Even Kyung knew who he was—and Kyung, as Ye-ri often reminded her, was as far out of the loop as a member of their generation could humanly be.
“He said we should practice together before we shoot, that it would help take the pressure off. I thought—I guess I thought he must know what he’s doing, everyone probably does it. I didn’t want to look like an amateur. Or to say no and then do a bad job and embarrass myself. I can’t believe I was so gullible. Ahh, he was such a fucking creep.”
Kyung’s hands curled, and her voice shook. “What did he do to you?”
“I could tell right away—he was so obvious about it. I tried…I kept trying to change the subject, to focus on the scene, but he wouldn’t quit flirting. We were on the couch, and I sat as far away as I could, but it was like, every time I blinked, he was closer somehow.” Ye-ri shuddered. “And right in the middle of my line, he just leaned over, all of a sudden, and…and I kind of hit him in the head with a three-kilo dumbbell.”
“You what?”
“Well, I’d been working out in the living room. It was right there, so I just grabbed it. I wasn’t really thinking.”
“Is he…?”
“I don’t know.” Ye-ri squeezed Kyung tightly. “He collapsed on the couch, and stopped moving, and I panicked.”
While Ye-ri trembled, Kyung tried to stay calm. She wanted to be something solid and steady that Ye-ri could hold onto. It wasn’t easy. Each pound of her fluttering heart summoned a new emotion. Righteous fury: that prick had gotten what he deserved. And…pride? Why else would she feel so elated by the image of Ye-ri cracking his skull? Terror: this could be really, really bad. And guilt, throbbing like the pulse in her throat that quickened the closer Ye-ri’s lips were to it. How was Kyung any better than him? Hadn’t she felt a thrill touching those lips?
Didn’t she want to do all the same things as that asshole?
Kyung shook her head, dislodging a thought that rose to the top. What Ye-ri needed now was a lawyer.
Little by little, like prying a cork out of a bottleneck, Kyung loosened Ye-ri’s grip until her arms were free enough to pat her on the back as gently and, she hoped, platonically as possible. Ye-ri lifted her face and Kyung locked eyes with her.
“Your phone. Where is it?”
“I didn’t want to be distracted.” Ye-ri sniffed. “I was trying to be professional…”
“Where did you leave it?”
“In my room. On the nightstand.”
“And you called me with his?”
Ye-ri nodded and withdrew the phone from her handbag. Classic Ye-ri. She might leave her phone behind, but her handbag? Never. “I shouldn’t have taken it. I just thought—in case they trace the call. Maybe I should call the police with his phone, instead of mine.”
“But he’s in your apartment, Ye-ri!” Kyung started to pace back and forth. “Did you ever think that might be a slightly bigger problem? And now my number’s in his phone, too…”
Ye-ri started crying again, and Kyung regretted the outburst.
“Hey. Sorry.” The words sounded frigid in the winter air. Was that really the best that she could do? “It’s not your fault,” she added, “it’s his.” As if that weren’t obvious. Kyung wanted to do something suave, to reach out and wipe the tears away, like some dumb pretty boy K-drama star. Preferably one who wasn’t a hateful pest.
Instead, Kyung watched as Ye-ri wiped away her own tears, the phone still in her hand. She bumped something and the screen flashed.
“Wait.” Kyung eyed the phone. “How were you going to call the police? How did you call me?”
“Oh.” Was that a tiny smile? “Well, he was getting messages all night. Probably from other girls. I don’t know how many times I watched him put in the passcode. No way I was just going to ignore that.”
“Ye-ri.”
“I was hoping he would go to the bathroom or something and leave it behind so I could read them all.”
“Ye-ri—you genius!” Kyung struck her palm with a fist. She wanted to lift Ye-ri into the air and kiss her. Fuck. Stop. Now was not the time. Instead, she put on her coat, picked up the half-empty soju bottle, and took a long gulp. She needed the courage. “I’ll go up and check on him, okay? Don’t go anywhere. I’ll get you out of this, promise.”
“Wait.” Ye-ri took the bottle from Kyung and downed the rest. “Let me come with you.”
Kyung would have preferred to work alone. She was acting almost on pure instinct, and there was a strong chance she had no idea what she was doing. “Are you sure?”
Ye-ri waved the bottle and made a face that either meant ew, gross or that she was nauseous. Or a little of both. “You think I want to be alone down here?”
They rode the elevator in silence. Kyung bit the insides of her cheeks whenever she felt the urge to look at Ye-ri, which was about every two seconds. Her hand, a voice in her head insisted. Just hold it, you coward.
Another voice protested: She almost got assaulted tonight, you sick freak!
Then ask her first.
But that’s—
That’s what? Scary? Coward.
Arrgghh shut up shut up shut up.
Kyung opened her mouth, and just then the elevator doors opened. “Um—after you,” she said, with a gesture like something out of a black-and-white foreign film, some ridiculous parody of chivalry.
Naturally. You miss your chance, and still make a fool out of yourself.
Shut up.
Outside the door, they turned to each other. “I’ll go in first,” Kyung said. “Make sure it’s safe.”
“Take this.” Ye-ri handed Kyung the empty bottle. “As a weapon. Just in case.”
Kyung gripped the bottle by the bottom so their fingers wouldn’t touch. Ye-ri glanced down, her expression unreadable, then met Kyung’s eyes. “Be careful, okay?”
Kyung had visited the apartment before and knew the layout; she could have found the man within seconds. Once inside, though, she felt compelled to move slowly, reverently, through the few modest rooms that were so precious to Ye-ri.
Ye-ri had been so proud of the place when she first moved in—a home of her own, in a neighborhood of her choosing, paid for with her own money. It was less posh and certainly less spacious than the penthouse she’d lived in during her high school years, but it was a palace compared to the public bathhouse, and a step up from the goshiwon where she’d stayed after finding a stable job. She’d been so delighted by the smallest things back then: the washing machine and kitchenware, the shops and cafes nearby, the lacy curtains she’d bought to replace the ugly ones, the view of Seoul Forest from the ninth floor. Kyung had been humbled. When in her life had she ever been sincerely grateful for such things?
Now she admired even the tackiest of Ye-ri’s personal touches: the gold fixtures she’d installed because they looked expensive, the decorative mirrors and luxurious rugs. The photos of the two of them, developed the old-fashioned way, she had hung on the wall.
It filled Kyung with unspeakable rage to think that some arrogant bastard had waltzed in here thinking he was owed something, running his grimy hands over everything Ye-ri had poured her heart and soul into, as if he had the right. Smashing her peace and safety like a porcelain plate.
He was still on the couch, presumably where Ye-ri had left him. Kyung raised the bottle with one hand, and with the other hand checked his pulse.
Murmuring a mantra of gratitude, she went to Ye-ri’s bedroom to find her phone.
“He’s unconscious but alive.” Kyung closed the door behind her and handed the phone over to Ye-ri. “We should call an ambulance. This will get a lot more complicated if he dies on us.”
“Do you think…I have a case?” Ye-ri was a bit tipsy for information so heavy with implications. Her brow furrowed in concentration. “I mean, it was self-defense, right? If he doesn’t—”
“The problem isn’t that you don’t have a case. The problem is he’s famous. If he survives and presses charges, he’ll have the best lawyers, and public opinion, and swimming pools of money on his side. He would do everything in his power to make your life a living hell. That’s not to say that he will, but—”
“He doesn’t even have to press charges.” Ye-ri threw an arm across her face—a dramatic gesture she must have picked up in acting class—and with her back pressed against the wall slid to the floor. “I’m on his blacklist now. He’ll talk shit about me to everyone in the industry. I’m finished.”
“Well, yes, that’s probably what he would do.” Kyung sat next to Ye-ri on the floor of the corridor. “If you weren’t Ju Ye-ri.”
Ye-ri peeked around her arm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Aren’t you the queen of blackmail?”
Ye-ri’s eyes widened and she straightened up at once. “Shit. His phone. How did I not think of that?” She moaned and pounded her forehead with both wrists. “Ye-riii, baby, you’re losing your touch.”
“Check his phone for dirt. Whatever you find, send it to both of us. There’s bound to be something on there. No way that man is clean. I’ll call 119.”
“Wait. What’s our story?”
“Is there a stairwell in your building?” Ye-ri nodded. “Then he fell and hit his head on the stairs. After he left your place. You didn’t see it happen. I was coming over to visit you, and I saw him collapsed in the stairwell.”
“Why were you in the stairwell?”
“I’m...terrified of elevators,” Kyung improvised.
“But he’s not in the stairwell.”
“Not yet.” Kyung glanced around the corridor. “Good thing it’s late. Best to get him as far away from the blunt instrument as we can.”
“You mean…?” Ye-ri winced. “All the way to the stairs?”
“He can’t weigh that much.” Kyung smiled weakly. “Besides, haven’t you been working out?”
The next hour passed in a daze. They were both exhausted, a bit drunk, and doing things that even the well-rested and sober would have been crazy to be doing. Kyung felt as though she were floating outside her body, watching one of those amateur short films they screened on campus where all the cuts were jarring and the plot made no sense. The things Ye-ri found on his phone…they couldn’t be real. The message they sent him, Ye-ri feverishly typing in bold as Kyung offered suggestions over her shoulder—IF WE HEAR THAT YOU HAVE SO MUCH AS LOOKED AT ANOTHER WOMAN YOU WILL PRAY TO GOD AND THE BUDDHA TO SEND YOUR WRETCHED SOUL TO HELL BECAUSE IT WILL BE A FUCKING PARADISE COMPARED TO WHAT’S COMING FOR YOUR ASS—had they really written that? Had Kyung actually called the ambulance as they dragged his body down the corridor?
Had he really groaned, his eyes flickering open, as they pushed him down the stairs?
Afterwards they caught the last subway to Seodaemun District together. Kyung had offered to spend the night with Ye-ri at her place, but Ye-ri had wanted to get away, to be elsewhere. She had been chatty all throughout the night’s madness, but on the train she fell silent, and soon Kyung felt her head on her shoulder.
Good. She needed the rest. Kyung herself was so tired that even the butterflies in her stomach had finally settled down for the night.
“Why are you the only person in the world with any fucking integrity?”
Except Ye-ri wasn’t asleep.
And now neither were the butterflies.
“You think I have integrity?” Kyung snorted. “After what we did tonight?”
“Oh, come on. It was for a good cause.”
Was this happening? Was Ye-ri snuggling closer? Kyung closed her eyes and swallowed. She was still stuck in unreality. The amateur movie hadn’t ended. She was co-starring all night long, apparently.
“I’m not who you think I am,” Kyung said, and immediately wanted to find a tall building and jump off it.
“I knew you were the only person I could call,” Ye-ri murmured. “And you were. No one else would have stuck their neck out for me like that.”
Kyung felt her face flush.
But Ye-ri thought she had done all that purely out of the goodness of her heart.
By the time they stumbled into the dorm room, they were crashing hard after the rush, more silly from lack of sleep than drunk.
“Where’s your roommate?” said Ye-ri, rubbing her eyes and kicking off her shoes.
“Boyfriend’s place.” Kyung had been a little jealous of her roommate at first, until she had met the guy. He was enough to put someone off the concept of boyfriends semi-permanently. And in fact over the past year, every time Kyung had met a classmate’s boyfriend, she’d found herself jealous in a way that was new to her. Him? Really? With a woman like that? What did these men have that Kyung didn’t? “She’s always over there. You can have her bed. She won’t even notice you were here.”
Ye-ri flopped onto Kyung’s bed and stretched out as if she were making a snow angel. “I’ll take this one.”
“That one’s mine.”
“I know.” Ye-ri grinned. She sat up, drew her arms in through the arm-holes of the sweater, and twisted in place. “Kyung-yahh,” she pouted. “I’m stuck. Help me.”
“You are not.”
Kyung knelt on the bed and tugged on the sweater until, with a crackle of electricity, it came off like an orange peel. Ye-ri fell over, laughing, and Kyung collapsed alongside her. They lay that way until their laughter subsided, studying each other’s faces, their smiles refusing to fade.
“My poor hair.” With one hand Ye-ri tried to flatten her halo of flyaways. “I must look like a wreck.”
“A gorgeous wreck.”
The words slipped out of Kyung’s mouth before she knew what she was saying, and then the only sound was her tempestuous heartbeat.
“Do you think so?” Ye-ri didn’t ask it in a teasing way, batting her eyelashes, like she did with other friends of hers. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “Choi Kyung.”
“Well, I mean—” Kyung stammered, eyes darting, searching for an exit, a way to make it sound like it had meant nothing. “—I mean, come on, just look at you.”
“Then look at me.” Ye-ri took Kyung’s trembling hand in hers. “For real, okay? No playing.”
Kyung gulped and obeyed. How could she deny that voice anything? Ye-ri’s gaze held no scorn or judgement. Her eyes were kind. And yet Kyung felt pierced through by them, stripped naked. Her cheeks burned.
“What would you do,” Ye-ri said slowly, “if I asked you to keep undressing me.”
The words were in another language. Kyung had to break them into digestible bits of grammar and piece the meaning back together, as if she were in English class. “Are you…asking me?”
“I’m asking what you would do. What you would think.” Ye-ri squeezed her hand. “Would you think I’m weird?”
“No. Never.”
Was it possible that Ye-ri had been having the same thoughts, wanting the same things? It couldn’t be true. But what was one more impossible thing tonight?
Yes. What was one more impossible thing?
Kyung leaned closer until their noses were almost touching. “I would kiss you first,” she said, and brushed Ye-ri’s cheek with a hand. She added in a half-whisper, “Would you want me to?”
“I would want that,” Ye-ri said.
When their lips finally separated, Ye-ri was smiling again, pleased with herself. “Good to know,” she said, “for future reference,” and she rolled over onto her other side.
“What?”
“It’s after two-thirty. If we did anything else tonight, I’d fall asleep in the middle of it.”
“Ju Ye-ri.” Kyung rolled onto her back and addressed the ceiling. “You are a very bad girl.”
“And you’re a big dork. Shut up and spoon me already.”
As Ye-ri drew Kyung’s arm around her, and as Kyung molded herself into the shape that Ye-ri’s body made, Kyung hoped that her heartbeat did not betray how ecstatic she felt, how long she had dreamt of this. (But what if it did? Was it more exciting if Ye-ri knew?) She had imagined doing more, but nothing in her lurid imagination could compare to the way their bodies fit together, the wonder of feeling the air move in her lungs when she breathed.
“Hold me really tight, okay? I want to feel you around me.”
Kyung needed no further encouragement.
After giving up trying to close the last few stubborn gaps of space between them, they lay in silence for a while, fingers interlaced. Kyung said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You were so happy about that role. I’m sorry he ruined all that for you. And I know that place meant so much to you. I’m sorry that he tainted your home.”
“Kyung-yahh.” It was halfway between a laugh and a long contented sigh. “You’re so stupid sometimes. That wasn’t my home.”
“What do you mean? You worked so hard for it.”
But no answer came. On Kyung’s cheap dormitory mattress, without a pillow under her head, Ye-ri had fallen asleep.

















