#izone fluff

“Oh! I used to have these in my grandma’s house,” Minju pointed at the school of goldfish, which weirdly, were in a very huge tank.

“I think everyone had a goldfish at least once in their life. I did,” you said, eyes still on the tank.

“That’s not true. Some people had hamsters.” Minju replied immediately.

“That’s worse.”

She scoffed, turning to look at you. “How is that worse?”

“They die really fast and in the most random ways.” you laughed just by thinking about those stupidly fragile creatures.

Minju laughed sharp and sudden, then clapped a hand over her mouth like she hadn’t meant to be that loud. “Right! My cousin had one back then. It died in shock after her dad sneezed too loud!”

You snorted despite yourself. “See? They’re so fragile. That’s why many people have goldfishes,”

“Pfft, whatever smarty pants.” She puffed. “How many did you have? I had three: Kim, Min, and Ju.” She giggled.

“Really? You just named them after your name?”

“Of course I did!” Minju said, feigning offense, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “It’s not like I could come up with better names at six years old. Besides, they fit them!”

You tilted your head, pretending to scrutinize the tiny fish darting through the water. Their scales glinted gold in the overhead light, little flashes of sunlight caught mid-swim, like coins tossed into a shallow fountain. “Could you even tell them apart? I only had two but I couldn’t even tell which is which so I just didn’t name them.”

Minju leaned closer, brushing her shoulder against yours. “Oh, come on, that’s lazy. Everyone can tell them apart if they try,” she said teasing you, eyes squinting like she knew she was getting under your skin, but not really.

You chuckled, letting your hand just brush with hers. “I tried. They all just looked like shiny little blobs swimming around.” But actually, you just couldn’t remember what you named those two orange blobs from your childhood.

She gasped dramatically, putting a hand on her chest. “Wow, you just called these cuties just shiny little blobs. Those two will be so disappointed in you.”

“Nah, they’re good. I mean, they’re dead… so…”

Minju huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes but nudging your side with her elbow. She glanced around and then grinned, wrapping her arm to yours. “Come on,”

You let her lead you through the dimly lit hallways to the curve of the glass tunnel. The overhead lights reflected off the water, casting shimmering patterns on the floor, walls, and the two of you. The distant bubbles made it feel like you’d stepped into another world. Well, not really because of the other people also walking around the tunnel.

Sharks swam, and schools of fish swirled around them. There were also stingrays that glided gracefully above the tunnel, wings rippling as if it was flying through water instead of swimming.

Minju slowed her steps, tugging your arm with her. “Okay, tell me that’s not cool,” she said, tilting her head back to watch a stingray glide above you. Its pale underside caught the light.

“It’s cool,” you admitted. “I’m not blind.”

She smiled smugly. “See? Aquarium dates are cool. You doubted me.”

Not that you were against going in an aquarium for a date, you just thought it wouldn’t be as enjoyable just looking at fishes in a bigger tank. But well, you didn’t really had much ideas to where would you go for this date so you just went on with her idea. She wouldn’t really stop talking about it for weeks now ever since she saw one IG reel of this place.

“I didn’t say anything,” you said, acting all innocent. “You’re the one who dragged me here.”

She scoffed, punching your arm. “Dragged you? You walked in on your own two feet.”

“Under protest.”

“Liar,” Minju said, glancing up again at the stingray that already drifted past, replaced by a scatter of silver fish that flashed and vanished like spilled light. “You’re enjoying this.” she sang, leaning into you closer. She slipped both arms around yours, clinging openly now, cheek nearly brushing your shoulder. “You’re so bad at lying. It’s cute.”

“You’re cute,” you said, playfully bumping her lightly.

“Iiiing…” Minju whined, stretching the sound as she squeezed your arm tighter, swaying a little side to side. “Don’t say it like that. You’re embarrassing me.” she pouted, squeezing her damn voice higher like a child.

“Now you’re the one embarrassing me,” you said, smiling as you leaned closer. “People are already looking.”

Minju narrowed her eyes at you, her pout faltering just before she smirked, letting out a soft, teasing giggle. “Hmph. You’re annoying,” she said, then suddenly her cutesy aegyoistic self coming back again, bouncing slightly on her heels. “Come on, you like it here! Admit it, admit it!” she squeaked, looking up at you with a grin, her whisker dimple digging on her cheek.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “Fine, fine… I like it. Happy now?”

“Tch… you only say that to shut me up.” that squeaky childish voice dropped deep, clearly unimpressed with your answer. She rolled her eyes as she freed herself from you, arms crossing trying to look away. Seriously, what even was the answer she wanted to hear? Everything would literally be a wrong answer for her.

You stopped walking, letting her pull ahead without you. She hasn’t even noticed as her focus was on the small goldfih following the bigger fih behind the glass. She was completely absorbed in the shimmer of the water, unaware that you were deliberately grinning behind her, watching her as she got a little far.

“Mingju,” you called softly, already recording her from your phone.

She froze mid-step, probably confused as why your call came from behind. You could see the imaginary question marks popping above her head as she turned side to side like a lost puppy, or perhaps a lost fox.

A smile formed on your lips, not to tease or annoy your girlfriend, you were simply just happy. She looked so pretty. How did you even manage to bag a solid 10/10 like Minju? Wait, more like a 1,000,000/10. About right? No, it was definitely more than that. You’d still choose her, love her till your next life, and the life after. You’d choose her eternally.

She turned a little more, scanning the tunnel with a faint frown, lips parted like she was about to ask something on someone. For a while, she genuinely looked misplaced, eyes drifting over strangers, fish, glass, anything but you. Then her gaze landed on that familiar figure with the familiar matching white shirt as hers.

“Yah!” she ran tiny hurried steps towards you, almost bumping on that little child that was wandering so carelessly unattended. And you were assaulted with a flurry of consecutive normal punches raining down your chest and shoulders. “You’re so annoying!”

“Minju,” you laughed, grabbing her wrists mid-swing before she could land another hit. “Calm down, that’s enough.”

She tried to tug free, still muttering complaints under her breath, but her glare softened when she noticed you weren’t laughing at her, just smiling like a complete idiot in love. Your eyes met, making her crack as she lose her character. “Yah, you’re so mean.” she whined, bottom lip jutting out.

“Sorry,” you murmured, leaning in to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Sorry,” you said again, followed by another kiss against the tip of her nose. “Sorry,” and finally, a peck on that ridiculous pout.

She blinked at the last kiss, pout melting into a flustered half-smile. “You think kisses solve everything?” Minju muttered, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, her fingers curled tighter into your shirt, tugging you closer.

“Most things,” you said lightly, dipping your head near her ear and whispered something. “Some things might require me to breed you—” you couldn’t even finish, Minju’s smack landed on your chest with more surprise than force. “YAH!” she yelped, swatting your chest with more shock than actual force, though her smile betrayed her.

You laughed it off, glancing down… then you dropped, one knee hitting the polished floor. Minju went still, completely, utterly still. “…What?” The word barely made it past her lips. Her eyes went wide, then wider. A woman walking past slowed. Someone behind Minju audibly gasped. The tunnel's fluorescent lights cast everything in harsh white, catching the shimmer forming at the corners of her eyes.

You looked up at her, not saying anything. Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes sparkling, cheeks floshed pink full of blood rushing up to her face. “Yah…” she squeaked, acting all excited, wobbling slightly on her feet as she stared down at you. “…Is this—?

You just let the silence hang, letting it stretch for a bit just to make her chest completely filled with butterflies. You held her gaze for a moment, letting the tension build, her smile creeping inuncontrollably, stretching so wide her eyes nearly disappeared. Then, just as dramatically, just as slowly, you reached into your pocket… then you pulled your hand out… and flashed a tiny finger heart.

“I love you.”

Beat.

“Your shoe’s untied.”

The bright and excited smile on her face was fast gone with yet the fourth? Or maybe the fifth frown of the day. “…Yah.” You watched realization crawl across her expression in real time, shock, confusion, then the slowest-building storm of indignation you'd ever seen, so you just worked on her lace before she could kick your balls off.

“YAH—” she shrieked, too loud that the couple who’d stopped by flinched. Her hands instinctively flied to her mouth, bowing on the passersby with a small “sorry” along. They shuffled off quickly, already whispering at each other.

Minju turned back to you as you stood, and the look on her face could've killed a man. “Don’t you fucking scare me like that!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, shrugging your shoulders.

Minju stared at you like she was plotting some unspeakable things to you on the spot. “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, then jabbed your chest with her finger. “I actually thought you were serious. My heart—” she clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “You owe me.”

“For what?”

“For emotional trauma,”

You bit back a grin. "That's a stretch.”

“I hate you,” she muttered, but her arm was already slithering its way wrapping around yours. You stumbled after her as she marched slightly ahead of you, still grumbling to herself under her breath. “Next time you kneel, you better mean it. I almost embarrassed myself in front of strangers.” she said without turning to you.

“I just tied your shoe. You would have embarrassed yourself if you tripped so you’re welcome.” you said, still trying to play dumb with her. “Besides, you were already embarrassing,” you teased.

She whipped her head toward you. “What did you say?”

“Uhm, that you were embarrassing?”

“Say that again.”

"Em-bar-rass-ing.” you repeated each syllable slowly and annoyingly, and honestly, the look on her face made it worth whatever’s coming. She swatted, but you just dodged.

She tried swatting you and missed again, which made you hold back a laughter. And then, probably against her will, she started laughing too. Just a little at first, a sharp exhale through her nose, but it cracked her wide open. By the time you reached the vending machine near the tunnel exit, she was shaking her head at you like she couldn't believe she put up with this.

The machine hummed quietly. A few people milled around cylindrical glasses lined up in the darker room. Minju let go of you and stepped up to the machine, arms folding as she squinted at the rows of drinks inside.

“What do you want?” she asked, though you just watched her fingers as she punch two Milkis on the keypad without even waiting for you to answer.

“Why’d you even ask?”

A side eye followed by an eye roll is the only answer you got. She leaned down to grab the two cans clunked down into the dispenser. She straightened up with both cans in hand, holding one out to you like she was doing you a favor. But she pulled it back out of your reach before you could grab it, mouth curled up along with one eyebrow.

“So is that mine…?” you asked, darting your eyes to the can on her hand then back to hers.

MInju lifted her chin and turned her head slightly, her not floshed anymore cheeks facing you now. She didn’t say anything, maybe just letting you figure out what she was asking for yourself. You just stood there, though you’re not exactly clueless, you just want her to explicitly say what she wants. But well, Minju clearly wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction.

She tilted her head a little more, lips pressed together, eyes flicking pointedly to your mouth and then back to yours. Still stubbornly silent. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to laugh at her trying so hard to get a kiss.

You finally broke first, a quiet laugh slipping out as you shook your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you said. Minju’s eyes narrowed when you didn’t move, then clicking her tongue softly. Her stare grew more pointed, almost offended that you were enjoying this.

“Just ask what you want,” you laughed in between your words. But she’s still refusing to give in, so you just gave her the satisfaction and leaned in, planting one kiss on her cheek, then another, then another.

Her head turned fast with a wide grin on her face, no hints of any annoyance she was having just a second ago. “See? That wasn’t so hard was it?”

She popped open one of the cans, handed it over, then cracked open her own and took a long sip, eyes still on you the whole time. The cold fizz hit your tongue, sweet and sharp, and you downed half the can in one go just to give yourself something to do that wasn't staring at the way her throat moved when she swallowed.

Minju wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then grabbed your arm again, her favorite method of steering you around, apparently. "Come on. I want to see the seahorses."

"Seahorses?"

"Yeah." She tugged you forward, weaving between a family with a stroller and some guy taking a selfie with a tank full of neon tetras. "They're cute. And they mate for life you know."

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to imply something?"

She glanced at you over her shoulder. "I don’t know.”

The seahorse exhibit was tucked into a smaller alcove off the main tunnel, dimmer than the rest of the aquarium. The tanks here were tall and narrow, lit from within by soft blue and violet LEDs that made the water look almost unreal. Inside, delicate seahorses drifted vertically, tails curled around strands of kelp, their translucent bodies catching the light in shimmering pulses.

You stepped up behind her, your chest brushing her back and peered over her shoulder. The seahorses moved in slow spirals, their tiny fins fluttering so fast they blurred. One of them was bright yellow, hovered near the front of the tank, bobbing gently.

You leaned a little closer, eyes drifting past the bright yellow one, then you spotted two seahorses near the back of the tank. Their tails were wrapped tight around the same strand of kelp… and around each other, moving slowly, suspiciously close. A smirk tugged at your mouth.

“Minju,” you said amused. “Look at those two.”

She followed your gaze, squinting at first. “Which— oh.” Her words stalled. “…Oh.”

The two seahorses swam together, bodies brushing, tails still linked like they had no intention of letting go. You bit the inside of your cheek, already losing the battle against your grin.

“Yah,” she whispered, then immediately slapped your arm. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, already laughing under your breath. “They’re the ones doing all the work.”

“Why are you laug—” Minju cracked as her eyes met yours. Minju wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then grabbed your arm again, her favorite method of steering you around, apparently. "Come on. I want to see the seahorses."

"Seahorses?"

"Yeah." She tugged you forward, weaving between a family with a stroller and some guy taking a selfie with a tank full of neon tetras. "They're cute. And they mate for life you know."

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to imply something?"

She glanced at you over her shoulder. "I don’t know.”

The seahorse exhibit was tucked into a smaller alcove off the main tunnel, dimmer than the rest of the aquarium. The tanks here were tall and narrow, lit from within by soft blue and violet LEDs that made the water look almost unreal. Inside, delicate seahorses drifted vertically, tails curled around strands of kelp, their translucent bodies catching the light in shimmering pulses.

You stepped up behind Minju, your chest brushing her back and peered over her shoulder. The seahorses moved together, their tiny fins fluttering. One of them was bright yellow, hovered near the front of the tank, bobbing gently.

You leaned a little closer, eyes drifting past the bright yellow one, then you spotted two seahorses near the back of the tank. Their tails were wrapped tight around the same strand of kelp… and around each other, moving slowly, suspiciously close. A smirk tugged at your mouth. “Minju, look.” you said amused.

She followed your gaze, squinting at first. “Which—… oh.” Her words stalled.

The two seahorses swam together, bodies brushing, tails still linked like they had no intention of letting go. You bit the inside of your cheek, already losing the battle against your grin.

“Yah,” she whispered, then immediately slapped your arm. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, already laughing under your breath. “They’re the ones doing all the work.”

“Why are you laug—” Minju cracked as her eyes met yours. She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. "Cut that stupid smirk off your face."

“Come on, you’re literally the one making it weird. I just told you to look at them.”

Minju tried to hold it together, but the more she looked at them, the worse it got. She pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking, but she lost it and buried her face in your arm. “Stop looking at me like that,” she mumbled, laughing.

“You’re the one who dragged me to the seahorses,” you reminded her.

She straightened up, eyes glinting with mischief now that she’d recovered. “Well,” she said, folding her arms, “you know in seahorses the male carries the babies.”

“So?”

She leaned in closer, grin spreading. “So technically,” she said sweetly, poking your chest, “if we were seahorses, you’d be the one getting pregnant.”

“Well thank God we’re not seahorses then.”

"Aw, what?" Minju pouted, tilting her head with disappointment. "You don't want to carry my babies?”

You stared at her for a beat, then let your gaze drift deliberately down to her stomach, then back up to meet her eyes. "Pretty sure that's not how it works for us."

”Pshh, you’re boring.” her grin faltered.

"In fact," you continued, stepping closer until she had to tilt her head back to keep eye contact, "I'm pretty sure if anyone's carrying babies, it's gonna be you."

The smugness drained from her face in real time. "I—that's not—"

"What?" You tilted your head, copying her earlier tone. "You don't want to carry my babies?"

"That's different.” Minju's eyes darted to the side, to the seahorses, then back to you. Her face was already flushing.

“What’s different?”

She tried to say something, but couldn’t form it in words, so she just kept herself silent, shaking her head. “Why can’t I win any argument with you?”

You stepped closer, holding her face, her fingers intertwined as she wrapped her arms around your back. “Don’t worry, I still love you even if you’re like that. My Minjugattoo,” you leaned in and kissed her softly, breaking with a warm smile from her.

“I love you too.”

You lingered close, your forehead brushing hers while the low hum of the tank filled the quiet space. The seahorses drifted behind her shoulder, tails still curled together, unaware of the chaos they’d started.

Your eyes flicked past her for a second, then back to her ear as you leaned in. “We should try that position when we get home,” you whispered.

Minju froze, smacking your chest, eyes wide and burning. “Yah,” she hissed, trying not to laugh. “We’re still in public!”

A couple walking past slowed down, glancing at the two of you laughing quietly at a tank full of tiny drifting seahorses. Minju noticed and got off you, trying to look composed, only for her eyes to meet yours again, and she cracked up all over again, her laugh blending with the low hum of the aquarium around you.

“Let’s go.”

.

You followed Minju along the stone path that curved away from the tanks and toward the open river area. It had a much cooler air there, carrying the faint smell of the river’s fresh water. It wasn’t too sunny so it was a good weather for a picnic. Besides, there are others who were already sat down the grass as well.

“Here,” she said, pointing to a patch of grass nearby the riverbank where a line of short trees cast soft shade. The water moved slow and steady beside the stone edge, catching bits of light that slipped through the leaves.

She set her basket bag down, you took the thin blanket and spread it out, pressing the corners flat with both hands so it wouldn’t bunch up. A few families and couples sat farther down the river. There were kids by the small dock, throwing crumbs to the fishes that gathered close by. A few ducks paddling near the makeshift pond in the middle of the park.

Minju dropped onto her knees and reached for the bento box with a small, proud smile. “I woke up early for this,” she said, tapping the lid twice before opening it. There was a carefully but cutely placed small octopus in between the sliced fruits and veggies and rice that had cute small fishes like they’re swimming.

You just raised both your eyebrows, nodding at her statement. ”If you say so,”

Wrong answer, she smacked your arm with darting eyes. “Yah, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You can barely follow a kimchi fried rice recipe without adding something else. One time you started frying with the fire off. So yeah sure.”

“That was one time, I was experimenting*.*” Minju defended as she took the chopsticks on the bag.

You snorted at the memory of that disastrous dish. It didn’t taste bad though, but not really as impressive. “The egg on the top was talking. That was quite an experiment.”

She took a small tentacle from her bento, but she moved her hand towards your face. “Ah,” you just surrendered and opened your mouth, taking the food and chewing it carefully. “Oh… It’s good!” you said, flashing two thumbs up of approval.

“Eunbi unnie helped me with this.” Minju smiled before taking a bite of her own.

“She helped you or you helped her?”

Minju’s eyes snapped up at you, already defensive. “I cooked,” she insisted, pointing her chopsticks at your face, probably wanting to stab you too. “She helped me.”

You stared at her for a second, then leaned back on your palms, the realization settling in. “Ah,” you said slowly. “So that’s why you suddenly had a sleepover at Eunbi’s place.”

She tried to hold onto the serious face, but it slipped. “Yes, so just shut up and eat.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She kicked your shin, but she was smiling now. You took another bite, the sweet carrot and rice mixing with the faint coolness from the park air. Minju watched you chew like she was waiting for a final verdict, pretending she didn’t care while inching closer until your shoulders pressed together again. You swallowed, then gave a small nod. And she’s already satisfied with that reaction.

The two of you settled into a comfortable rhythm, trading bites, pointing out ducks, watching a kid nearly fall off the dock before his dad caught him. Minju laughed at that, and you realized you'd been smiling unconsciously.

Minju had moved on from the bento to a bag of chips, crunching loudly while she stared out at the river. The orange dust was already collecting on her fingers. She'd pop one in her mouth, chew, then immediately reach for another. You watched her for a moment, the way the breeze kept pulling strands of hair across her face, the way she'd scrunch her nose every time she had to brush them away with the back of her hand. She looked happy, and so were you.

Your hand drifted to your pocket. The small box pressed against your palm through the fabric, a weight you'd been carrying all day. You'd planned this weeks ago, texted Eunbi, coordinated with the aquarium staff, arranged everything down to the last detail. The fake proposal earlier had been part of it too, a way to throw her off, make her think you were just messing around. But now, sitting here in the dappled shade with chip crumbs on the blanket and her shoulder against yours, you felt your pulse kick up. You should do it now.

“Minju…”

“Mm?” she hummed, turning towards you.

“I’m gonna get us some sweets.”

“Mkay. Don’t take too long.”

You stood, brushing off your pants, and headed toward the small vendor cart you'd spotted earlier near the aquarium entrance. Your heart was hammering now, this is it, this is the moment, your moment. The vendor, a middle-aged woman who'd been briefed ahead of time, gave you a knowing smile when you approached. "The special order?" she asked quietly.

You nodded. She disappeared into the back of the cart and returned with two popsicles. One was normal, bright blue and already starting to sweat in the heat. The other looked identical from the outside, but you knew what was frozen inside, a small silver ring wrapped in a smaller plastic film so it won’t get sticky, just something simple and clean, exactly the kind Minju would like. You'd spent hours picking it out. Weeks, really, if you counted all the times you'd scrolled through jewelry sites pretending you were just browsing. You really owed Eunbi one for helping you out with picking the best one. "Good luck," the vendor said, handing them over.

You managed a tight smile. "Thanks.”

The walk back felt longer than it should have. Minju was right where you left her, chip bag now gone, legs stretched out in front of her, scrolling on her phone quietly. She looked up when you approached, eyes lighting up at the sight of the popsicles.

"Ooh, blue!" She reached for the one in your right hand, the normal one, but you pulled it back.

"This one's mine," you said, handing her the other. "Yours is this one.”

Her lips curled, glaring at you. “Pshh, what’s the difference? It’s literally just the same one.”

“Just take it, gosh.”

She huffed but accepted it anyway, tearing open the wrapper with her teeth. You sat back down beside her, your own popsicle forgotten in your hand as you watched her bring it to her lips. She took the first bite, or tried to. Her teeth hit something hard. “Ow— what’s that?” she pulled back, frowning at the popsicle.

Your throat went dry. "Why?”

"Is that a coin or something?" She bit down again, more carefully this time, and her expression shifted. She was confused at first, then her eyes went wide. She pulled the popsicle away from her mouth and stared at it. The ring was visible now, partially exposed in the melting ice. “What…”

You set your own popsicle down on the blanket and shifted, turning to face her fully. Her gaze snapped to you, and you watched the exact moment it clicked, her puppy eyes got redder, tears started to form slowly as she realized what that was.

“Minju,”

She didn't move, didn't speak, she just stared at you with those wide and disbelieving eyes, letting you speak your moment. You reached over and carefully took the popsicle from her hand, then worked the ring free from the melting ice. It came loose easily, cold and wet on your fingers. You teared the plastic film and held it up between you.

"I know I kinda faked a proposal earlier," you started, more sincere now. "And I know you probably think this is another joke, but well it's not.”

Minju just let you speak, a single teardrop fell from her left eye, already realized that it’s real this time.

"I've been thinking about this for a while," you continued. "Longer than I probably should've waited. And I know we're young, and maybe people will think it's too soon, but so what? I don’t care about them." You took a breath. "I love you. I've loved you since the moment I saw your beautiful smile. I love the way your whisker dimple appears whenever I make you smile. I love how you try to act cute when you’re embarrassed. I love how we love hating each other and be sweet the next second. I love that you dragged me wherever you go so we could see everything together. ”

She laughed, or maybe it was a sob. Her eyes were shimmering now, wet and bright.

"And I don't want to wait anymore, let me be the one to drag you now, into a future where we could be together." you said. "I don't want hypotheticals or someday or maybes. I just want you. Forever. Officially.” You shifted onto one knee on the blanket, and her breath hitched.

"Kim Minju," you said, holding up the ring. "Will you marry me?"

For a long moment, she didn't move. Just stared at you with her hand pressed to her mouth, tears spilling over now, tracking down her cheeks. The river moved behind her. A duck quacked. Somewhere nearby, a kid laughed. People gathering around now to witness this moment, the couple from earlier stood there too.

Then she nodded. Once, twice, fast and frantic like she couldn't get the words out.

"Yes," she finally choked out. "Yes, you idiot, yes—"

You barely got the ring on her finger before she launched herself at you, knocking you backward onto the blanket. She kissed you hard, messy, tasting like salt and melting popsicle and something sweeter underneath. Her hands were in your hair, on your face, everywhere at once. The people around started clapping.

When she finally pulled back, she was crying and laughing at the same time, wiping at her face with the back of her hand.

"You—" she started, then stopped, shaking her head. "You hid it in a popsicle? You’re so weird."

"I thought it was clever."

"It's ridiculous." But she was smiling so wide it looked like it hurt, staring down at the ring on her finger like she couldn't quite believe it was real.

"So is that a yes?" you asked, grinning up at her.

She hit your chest. "I already said yes, dumbass."

She kissed you again, softer this time, and when she pulled back her forehead rested against yours. "I can't believe you made me think it was a joke earlier.”

"Had to throw you off."

"I'm gonna kill you for that later."

"Sure you are."

She laughed, burrying her face in your neck. You wrapped your arms around her and held on, feeling her heartbeat against your chest, fast and strong and real.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too."

She pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes still shining. "Forever?"

"Forever."

••••••••••

“It's not gonna kill you,” you mutter into the speaker phone, hollowly satisfied at your own attempt to hide the worry in your voice. The light blinks red on and off, all the while other cars zip past in front of yours in blur after blur after blur. “Hold tight, okay? Throw up if you need to. Please.”

“Hurry, I'm getting too dizzy,” the voice on the other end of the line confesses, “I need to find a place to sit down. I can't see straight anymore.”

“Just find some security guard near the lobby. I'll be five minutes at most.” You keep the façade up for a little while longer, and you console yourself that the act is helping Yuri feel better than otherwise—even if a bit self-absorbed of you.

The light turns green and your engine roars to life again. You'd end the call if you could, but Yuri threatening to topple over and pass out keeps you on the line. Instead, you settle for just driving as carefully as the situation allows, your nervousness be damned. You hold the gearshift a bit too tight before you notice and ease off.

“Do you have—urk” she attempts before cutting herself off to stifle a gag, “fuck, hurry.”

You shift another gear up, recalling your route by the seat of your pants if any speed limits are on the way. “Yeah, I have water. I can't stop now for anything else you might need but we can drop by a convenience store on the way back.” Your heart thumps against the inside of your ribcage, sending the beating sensation up your neck, trying to dislodge the lump in your throat. “You still there?”

And silence. It unnerves you even more hearing nothing but muted and muffled sounds from the background, not knowing what could've ever happened to Yuri herself. You fight down the panic and keep your wits about you: she needs her manager, and her manager is on the way. Her manager can't help if her manager gets into an accident, and with that thought you ease off the gas just enough.

From the other end of the line, a different voice: “Oppa…?” followed by a shuffling sound then a clearer line, “Oppa, this is Yujin. Unnie's okay, but she had to lie down.”

“Oh, thank God. Please stay with her, Yujinnie.”

“I'll do my best, but I can't stay for long… Where are you? Why did you leave her?”

“She said she'd be alright, and that she'd just get a driver from the organizers to take her back to the hotel…” 

“And you were okay with that?”

Even sounding it out now, it didn't look good; it was a lapse in judgment at best, and a terminable offense and more at worst. In reality, anything could have happened to Yuri: passed out by the stairwell, throwing up her guts in some bathroom, and other things you can't afford to consider right now. It surprises you that you have enough space in the frazzled environment that is your mind at all for guilt, “Look, I'm sorry, alright? We agreed—”

“No, Oppa, it's okay. I get it. This must have been tough for her.”

It throws a wrench into your thought process for just a tiny second. “What? What do you mean, ‘tough for her?’ Is something wrong?”

“It's,” and Yujin hesitates. She spends a few seconds radio-silent, and worry creeps back up your chest. “It's… best to hear it from her. Trust me.”

“Yujin, what does that mean—”

“I have to go, Oppa. Unnie will be fine here. I'm sorry, I have to go.” The line cuts.

~~

“She's through here,” Youngji says as she leads the way through the maze of corridors. It's dizzying even without alcohol: the sheer number of greenrooms, the people whizzing back and forth and all around, the red tape you had to tear through to be let in like this. Make a mental note, remember to buy Youngji a soju when you have the chance. If not for her, you'd never have made it this far past every bit of flimsy security between her and anyone willing to put half an ounce of effort into taking advantage of her. So, as you both shove past every other manager and staff member fetching their own idols their things, the stress mounts that yours might not be okay after all, and you start rambling.

"What did she drink? Didn't anyone stop her? Where's Yujin?"

"Oppa, now's not the time for any of that. I'm the one panicking. You have to keep a cool head."

She stops in front of some nondescript door, and in one and a half swift motions, she reaches and turns the knob. You rush in even before Youngji opens it all the way, and in the dressing room you find Yuri, red in the face as can be, with watery eyes to match. She lies on her side, her arm dangling off the edge of the sofa, and gagging lightly every few seconds—and you swear you've never seen her in worse condition.

"Fuck," you gasp under your breath, and you try waking her. She stirs lightly, but falls back again and again into unconsciousness. You knew she could take her alcohol, but only so much, and by the looks of it, Yuri's fighting for her life.

"I'll leave you to her. Take care of her, Oppa. Yujin's really worried." You hear Youngji from behind but can't afford to turn and face her. Instead, all you hear is the door creak as she abandons it, while a draft invades the room and sends shivers through Yuri's vulnerable form.

You take her into your arms, spending half a second contemplating how she's so heavy and light at the same time. You know full-well how complicated she can be, and there were always these moments you didn't exactly see eye to eye, but you never needed to; you were only doing your job, she was doing hers, and God forbid you got too close—the both of you made sure you never did.

"Oppa…?" Yuri finally says. Pity grows in your chest: the world is spinning around her and what she wakes up to is being shaken up and down with every footstep you take zipping back to the car. Her grip tightens on your jacket as she buries her face in your neck, and you feel a wetness forming on your collar from her tears or saliva or whatever else you can't afford to let distract you.

"We're almost at the car, Yuri. I'll drive gentle on the way back, okay? I promise."

"It's not that—urk—I'm having a hard… time…"

"I know, I know. I'm so sorry. I won't ever leave you again."

"You're… not listening," she says in between sobs. She wipes her tears on your shoulder, and it only makes you feel worse. You can't tell her what she wants to hear: that everything will be okay, that things will settle themselves, that she's going to be fine eventually. You can't promise any of that without breaking down the false heaven of barriers and walls between a manager and idol.

"No skinship, I know that, but can't we make an exception just this once?" You fail to hide the desperation in your voice; it betrays your feeble attempt at keeping stoic and reliable like she knows you to be, like she needs you to be right now.

"No, we can't… I—" and she gags again, a bad one this time, and you stop in your tracks. You set her down easy right up against a pillar, but she never lets go of you. She folds in half, trying her hardest at either keeping the contents of her gut or pushing it out, you can't tell. At this moment you couldn't care less about the vomit about to wash out of the front of your clothes—she has to be okay.

Yuri fights it back down though, and once she does, she unfolds herself and leans with her back flat against the cold, rough concrete pillar. She breathes heavy, and her face is even redder now; you take your handkerchief and start blotting the sweat from her forehead, cheeks, neck, shoulders. Her eyes are shut tight again, after a moment of silence and you trying your best not to do anything else wrong.

"Oppa, just… take me home. I don't want to spend any more time…"

"Alright, let's go. Don't walk. I got you." You pick her up again, draping her against your front so she stays upright.

"You're too much, Oppa… Thank you." She sinks down to your shoulder, so you let her breathe. You bet she doesn't even notice you plopping her into the passenger seat and buckling her up, nor starting the car and driving off into the night. Thank God she's resting.

~~

You always did find this song cheesy, but it's the one thing you can let yourself play on the radio without her waking up nor you nodding off right beside her. She breathes slow and deep through her nose, eyes shut like the world would steady around her if she waited long enough. Every so often, she'd take a glance out the window—your side’s window—trying to make sense of the way things are and how she got herself in a situation like this. And you can't really blame her. 

“Yujin told me you were having a hard time?” You shift a gear lower, with much less force and grip, and it's funny how you only notice these things when she does. She stares at your hand wrapped loosely around the gearshift, and the radio playing that stupid song she looks like she hates too.

It's unlike anything you've ever heard her sing, “If I lay here… if I just lay here.” She fiddles with her seatbelt, forcing back a gag every once in a while. Put a hand on hers, and she wraps the other one over yours. “I'm okay, Oppa,” Yuri breezes as if saying it like that will make it true, but you know better. It's the way she doesn't meet your eyes, how her hands try to busy themselves without her noticing, how she turns away from you without anywhere or anything else to pretend to be distracted by. Plus, she never was a good liar, especially not with the contents of her stomach threatening her every five seconds.

But, all things said and done, believe her anyway. “Alright,” you turn the car right, “just take it easy.” Her fingers wrap around yours tighter as the car sways, as the sky shifts above her, as the star that she chose to anchor her slides across the inky black above. Her head spins and sways along with the car, and her stomach decides it was too much.

Yuri’s hand zips to your knee, “Pull over, please,” suddenly folding forward as a furious grumble sounds out from her gut. A burp escapes her, and instead of the odor of digested food like you expect, it's the sharp stench of a stomach full of nothing but acid. Fuck.

You swerve to the right, nearly sending your car right off the asphalt, and halting just in the nick of time before it skids off the road. You unlock the passenger side door just as she reaches to tear off the handle, and once it flies open, she lets out a horrid retching out the side of the car. Your own door swings open and you rush over to her side, keeping an eye on her as close as you can. She gags repeatedly in a sinister sort of rhythm, while her last five hours’ worth of food and drink escapes her the wrong way—and it's not much food.

She tries sitting back up, catching her breath while clutching her stomach and placing a hand on her chest. Her forehead and shoulders are dotted with beads of sweat while she wheezes and fights back more of her vomit. Yuri's face seemingly can't decide between flushing and paling, attempting and failing at both. Her eyes are shut as tight as possible to steady the world spinning around her, but with her fatigue and her dismal state of non-sobriety, it only does so much.

“Okay, done? Let it all out if you're not.” You place a reassuring hand on her wrist now, but immediately you feel she's cold to the touch. Yuri's hand is moist with sweat, and with the way her head lolls to the side, she looks like she's either seen a ghost or is halfway to being one.

“Just… drive…” she mutters, fighting back every other gag from reaching farther up her throat, “don't worry… about the cleaning fee…”

“You know I'm not worried about that.” Take her in your arms, carry her into the back seat. It's not much, but the jacket you hurriedly take off is the closest thing to a pillow you can muster. Place it gently underneath her head, and pat her hair to try and get her to calm down. It's at this moment you think what you'd give to just take all her pain away right now, to stand in her place so she just gets a break from anything and everything that haunts her.

“Throw up if you want. You're right; company handles the cleaning fee. Just don't keep it in. Anything but that.” You're not exactly sure if she heard—her labored breathing and tiny jerks as she fights back hard against her dizziness are probably the only things she can pay attention to right now.

You realize too late, much too late, that she's crying; a sniffle escapes her while you notice she's wiping her forehead less than her eyes. A different kind of concern rises in your chest, and an ugly sort of fear to go along with it. What's wrong with her, how could you not notice everything she's been keeping hidden?

“Are you okay, Yuri? What happened? Tell me,” you beg desperately, kneeling on the ground next to her and patting her head while she tries getting her breathing under control in the back seat. For a while, the only things that fill the silence are the steady ticking of the hazard lights and Yuri's weak sobs. You sit there with her, water bottle ready for when she is, just letting time pass you both by.

After an unknowable number of minutes or hours, and almost dozing off yourself, Yuri finally places a hand over yours as your fingers comb gently through her hair. She holds it as tight as she can, politely siphoning the leftover warmth from them, and she finally meets your eyes. They're puffy and red and much too unfocused to count on a proper conversation with her, and in that instant you consider rushing her to the emergency room above all else.

She interrupts your thoughts between her own sniffles, “I know what you're thinking—don’t. ER ends bad for the both of us. I’m… fine.”

“Whatever, just tell me what's wrong. What can I do to help?”

“You can—” she stops, and then she giggles like it's the funniest joke in the world. “You can quit, Oppa. Get out of my life, forget all about me, wish you never met this heaping mess of a girl you've been the unluckiest person ever to get involved with. Can you do that, please?” A pained smile takes over her face, and while the sweat seems to have faded away and left her shivering, the dried tears stay pocked all over her features. She runs her fingers over your cheek like she’s careful not to hurt you or scare you away.

“Yep, you're so fucking sick right now. Emergency room it is,” you say with less urgency than you really have. But instead of rushing back to the driver's seat, you stay a little longer with her for no other reason than just letting her say her goodbyes—what goodbyes? What are you doing?

“For whatever it's worth, Oppa,” she says, and the shaking in her voice betrays the floodgates about to burst open, “I love you,” and the tears are closer than ever to the surface now, “Ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?”

And one after the other, it all slowly starts to make sense—as she steals more and more warmth from your face, the newest tear from hundreds of heartaches streams down her cheek. Her eyes well up again, but her smile confesses everything and then more:

"I was hoping you'd be less dense than this—or maybe more? I really don't know," she says between more tiny sobs, "I don't know anything when it comes to you." Her thumb caresses your cheek again, and you feel by her touch that she wants to do more: to pull you closer, hold you tighter, hide you away for herself. It breaks your heart seeing her like this; a mess that you can't even offer to help clean up because you're exactly why she's like this in the first place.

Your eyes drift down to the dirt between your shoes, and Yuri lies flat on her back as the cheap leather seat saps her hard-earned heat from the skin of her nape and shoulders. She breathes slow and deep, no longer the forced and urgent gasps from earlier, and you can tell she's starting to calm down. It eases your mind just enough, and your heart a bit more than you expected.

"Are you still having a hard time?" you ask as the gravel shifts beneath your soles. She takes a moment before answering, "Yeah, but for the same old reasons again. I think I'm sober now," and as you look over to her, you find her hands peacefully placed on her tummy, fingers interlaced as if keeping everything in again.

"Wanna tell me what that was about, then?"

“No, not really, that was the whole point of getting wasted," she giggles one last time in defeat. "But I guess I don't have a choice now, do I?"

You sit in silence for a few seconds, thinking of something to say in reply. It's not like her to be as quiet as this, and you thought you'd appreciate when the day came that she finally ran out of things to nag or tease you about—now that it's here, you'd trade anything for her old yapping self back. You want nothing more than to just wrap her in your arms again, to comfort her and tell her it'll be okay eventually. 

Yuri composes herself with a sigh, and then starts, "I don't know. You're the most constant thing I have. You're there every morning with a coffee you never let me have a sip of, and every night you drive me wherever it is I'm supposed to sleep, acting all grumpy like you hate it. I can count on you to tell me off when I misbehave, and you let me get away with it exactly twice a month. It's like I have a punch card," she ends with a dry wheeze. 

"And, well," she follows, and something in her tone tells you it's the last thing she might ever have the strength to be honest with you about, "between everything this crazy three—four?—years has shown me, I could always count on you for whatever. So, is it so strange that you're the stability I want more and more in this hectic life of mine?"

"Come on, it's like you've never had managers before."

Managers that come and go," she clarifies.

"Touché. And this made you… What's the word you used? Love me?" You turn away in the nick of time, trying in vain to hide the blush that spreads across your cheeks.

"Heh, yeah, though you make it pretty hard some days." She takes your cheek again, her eyes meet yours as she pulls you back, and her hand is considerably warmer now. You have no way to hide the redness in your face anymore, but if Yuri noticed, then she never mentioned it. "I'd like to get away with more, for starters. Can we up the exemptions to four per month? Once a week, maybe?"

"Didn't you just ask me to quit? Where'd that go?" you joke dryly. The shine in her eyes is back, and it betrays everything she's said so far: half of her is trying to open herself up more and more while the other half tries pulling away.

"Yeah… Like I said, I don't know anything when it comes to you."

"Let's start now then, before I quit, of course." You scoop up your legs and sit fully on the car floor right beside her head, "What do you want right now? No holds barred, wildest dreams type of beat."

"Really? Like, really really?"

You nod.

"Let's see…" and she brings a finger to her chin, feigning being deep in thought when you know so well she already has an answer. In the last second, she sighs, abandons it, and comes clean: "A kiss…? Something takes the edge off, scratches that itch in the back of my mind that there's this one-in-a-hundred-trillion-blue-moons chance the two of us might actually work. That cool?" Her smile is one of amusement of herself more than anything else, as if she can't believe she said that with her voice. You, on the other hand, welcome the sight; you take it to mean she's getting better, and it eases you even more.

"This isn't the time for jokes, Yuri," you chuckle even though it's plain as day she's being nothing but honest. 

"Fine, then can you promise me you'll stay forever, and take care of me like I'm the only one you'll ever look after the way you do?" She waits for an answer, but it comes only in the form of crickets and a night breeze blowing the moonlight around you. So, she breaks the ice, "See? I knew you wouldn't. So here's the next best thing."

"Is it really the next best thing though?" She's right, managers do come and go, and you won't be an exception. You were never allowed that skinship—as professionals, of course—even though the yearning got the better of you sometimes. Like today. 

"You asked, I answered. Deal with it," she replies with a shrug, yet her expression is anything but simple. It's one baring of her heart after another, all the while you walk with her as she navigates her own feelings about it. Neither of you know where this is heading, but something tells you it'll be okay anyway. "Besides," she continues, "is a kiss really so bad? No one else is around, no way for us to get in trouble. And you can bet I won't tell a soul. Not that I'll brag about it to anyone, but…" Even though the yearning got the better of her sometimes.

You swipe at the chance to talk in the midst of a silence that demands to be filled. "No, I get it. Can you just promise me it's what you need to feel better?" What you say sounds more like a plea than you're comfortable with, but you figured with her finally showing you the vulnerable side you always thought was hiding right under her bright, bubbly, and bratty exterior, you may as well meet her where she is.

“… Yeah, I promise, Oppa. Then I'll never bother you with it ever again."

Satisfied, albeit a little melancholic, you decide like an idiot to indulge her. Sit her upright, take the seat next to her, look into her exhausted eyes. You've been close to her so many times, and even closer than this in a few situations here and there, but never like this: defenseless against her overpowering vulnerability. You're without your iPad to type out reports, nor your phone to get news on her schedule. Now, it's plain as ever—just Yuri—and there's nowhere for either of you to hide.

Try to read her expression, find nothing hidden in her eyes but brutal yet gentle honesty. Her gaze is quiet, and you could even say respectful: she knows this is a monumental favor to ask of you, and yet she knows there's no other way to put her feelings to rest.

A hand on her cheek, her hand reciprocating. You find the brightest of galaxies in her eyes while she finds back holes in yours, as if sapping every ounce of her fear for yourself and leaving her with nothing but hope and relief—never mind that it burns you like a million cruel summers, you'll bear the brunt of her yearning yourself.

So you drift closer and closer, as if the gravity of your lips pulls you together, as if it was meant to be, as if there was no other way. You watch her eyes flutter shut, how her lashes sway light as a breeze as she surrenders to the howling gusts of her heart. Her head tilts slightly to the left as her lips finally part, expecting you any minute, second, moment—

Like a star being born. Your lips meet in a flash of hot white, and you lean and fall deeper into the kiss. You mind the way you take her: nothing but respectful and ready to back off at a moment’s notice. And yet, that moment never comes, and she follows you, falling deeper herself. In return she’s nothing but honest, and raring to chase you to the ends of the universe. 

Her hand falls on your cheek, your hand on the side of her neck. You share heat with her, and despite everything telling you it's wrong, there's nowhere you'd rather be. Her shivers die down as well, and the warmth on her cheeks grows steadily, slowly higher. 

You finally pull away, same time as Yuri does, and find her red in the face, her eyes are focused and sharp on you. She pants lightly through semi-parted lips, reining back control of her breath, and you notice yourself doing the same. Silence fills the air again, but a different kind: unlike the empty lack of things to say earlier, it's now an air around you abuzz with things wishing to be said. 

“... I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry?” She giggles at herself, like music to your ears, finally she's feeling better. You take her hand again, but this time it's her letting you in—allowing you space in her heart that she tried so hard to keep from you. She rubs her thumb on the back of your hand, holding only as tight as she could ever hold you, and you hold her right back. Your fingers tangle with hers, noticing how her glossy nails reflect streaks of light when she always wanted them bare, how her fingers are so tiny yet have signed hundreds of albums and flipped hundreds of pages of scripts. 

She's an idol, you have to remember, and this sort of relationship would get you booted and worse. Never mind that you'd get fired and blacklisted, her career would crash and burn. Her reputation would crumble if word got out, people would doubt her and how long she would've been with you regardless of whatever's true. 

But she breaks the ice again, “Thinking what I'm thinking?” It's that same knowing smile, showing you her signature teasing. “Would it really be so bad?”

“You're due for a contract extension, please don't do this to me,” you chuckle back. “Seven more years of hiding, please. I’m not exactly keen on switching teams so soon.”

“Well maybe I won't renew, have you ever thought about that? Selfish ass,” Yuri remarks in the only way Jo Yuri can: haughty, playful, unashamed. It's a terrible thing to joke about, but jokes always were about timing. 

It catches you offguard, not thinking you’d ever have to consider the day she doesn’t come in to see you in the morning, or nag at you to take her to eat somewhere nice at the end of the day. It scares you somewhat, knowing that that day is going to come sooner rather than later. 

“So… ready to go?” you prod gently, whispering like it’s a sin to be talking to her like this right now. You have to be careful now—you can’t unkiss her, she can’t unlove you. But the way things are, when you’ve all but said your farewells for now, the air feels so much lighter, like the million pounds of air is finally off your shoulders and underneath you as you take your first deep breath in forever. 

She rights herself, takes a deep breath of her own, wipes away tears that have long since dried away. Touches her forehead to yours, takes your cheeks in her hands, closes her eyes ever so lightly. Plants a peck on your top lip, sighs an exhale, takes your bottom lip gently between her teeth. And all the while, you let her love you—or, what you’d never have admitted to yourself otherwise—you receive her love. 

“Mm, you have to stop me sometime, Oppa,” she giggles right against your lips, and she slips her tongue swiftly into your mouth before pulling away just as fast. “There could be cameras,” another peck, “or a traffic guy,” yet another, “or maybe—”

Push her slowly onto the leather backrest, but this time she doesn’t shiver. She keeps her hands on your cheeks, freely giving up heat where she used to need every single ounce of warmth: to the backrest that steals it so well, to the dress that’s supposed to be keeping it in. You find your eyes closed too, foreheads touching, lips still on hers and putting all the heartache to rest. 

After a long while, you pull back, and your eyes open at the same time as hers; her face flushed, eyes shaking, breath short. You take a moment with her, just plain existing, and Yuri does the same. Her thumbs caress the skin of your cheeks, her pupils drift around to your features. She nibbles at her lower lip as if trying to make sure that what just happened was real, and for a second, a doubt creeps into the back of your mind that this might be a dream too. 

But it snaps you both out of it: a grumble in the pit of her stomach brings you two back to reality. “Fucking—” Yuri laughs, and it’s just as beautiful as you remember it to be, “okay, Mister Blacklisted-From-The-Industry, your idol really needs dinner now.”

You look up, grinning like an idiot, but you’re sure she sees you differently. 

But her hands linger on your face, a small smile plays on her lips like you never left. Her fingertips are light on your temples, nosebridge, eyebrows. You have to quip, “I’m real, Yuri, don’t worry,” and with one last giggle she finally lets you go. With your offered hand, she leaves the backseat and slides smoothly back into the passenger, and the engine roars to life once more. 

And as if by the universe calling back to the both of you, the radio sings, “I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you…”

~~~

“By the way…” she sighs, settling under her covers, “it should be obvious now why I picked that song.” 

“Yeah, I wasn’t born yesterday, Jo Yuri.” You tuck her back in, mindful of how she might escape from the blankets and back into your personal space. But she never tries, instead letting you set her down easy. She still looks up at you with those big doe eyes she shows you when she wants something, but the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth tells you she already got it. 

“I wanna be corny. Can I be corny? Would you still put up with me if I was?”

“If I wouldn’t, I’d have quit a long time ago.”

“Fair. Here goes…” she takes a deep breath, making an indent for her head into the fluffy pillow, “My love for you will truly become my downfall, I just know it.”

Chuckling, “One of your song ideas?” you pat her hair, and the quiet hum of the air conditioner fades away into the background of nothing at all. Her eyes grow heavy with the repeated soothing motion, still taking warmth from your skin. But you’d gladly give it to her, making up for all the lost time you and she never allowed yourselves to be this close in. 

“Mhm, I think it’d be a great song. You’d love it.”

“I love all your songs.”

“I’ll make you hate one. Maybe two.”

“Good fucking luck, Jo Yuri.”

She’s out of that dress that showed off her neck and shoulders, her hair let down to hide them right back. She’s bundled up in fluffy blankets and your warm hoodie and hums of air conditioners, but she’s never been more vulnerable and bare before you. And as you pat her head, reassuring her for the millionth time that you’d be there with your coffee in the morning that she can’t have because her tummy aches, considering that punch card idea just for your little funsies, as this cruel summer finally draws to a close, you think this autumn the wind might blow leaves a different way this time around. 

If only you could help, in any other way than just this.

Pull her closer, hug her tighter, squeeze out all the tears she's keeping deep inside. She grips you right back, wrapping her arms so tight around you like you'll slip away if she loosens. She takes fistfuls of your clothes in her hands all the while her face stays buried in your chest, breathing heavy and pushing out all the negative energy like she always does when she's upset. 

You don't need any more words, only the sobs that finally come as she tears off her professional mask and breaks down. Her sniffles accompany the far-off ticking of the clock in the other room and the silence that lets you hear it—only you.

As if it wasn’t enough that traffic was bad and she was an hour late to the set. Raining, tech issues, and all manners of delays came and went, and the whole team’s lunch hour flitted by and away like the tiny flame on her birthday candle atop the measly cupcake. Low spirits, empty stomach, and every loud “cut” in the director’s nagging voice still ringing in her ears, and the first thing she does as she walks through the door is call out for you.

So you meet her where she is—exhausted, overwhelmed, hanging by a thread—and you hug her back together. Wrap your arms tight around her stiff shoulders and the small of her back, plant kisses on the top of her head while trying to ignore the spent hairspray that starts to coat your lips. You start making mental notes of what you need for the next time the sun blazes high in the sky: detergent, wool balls, and clothespins, as well as ask her what brand of micellar water she uses. 

Yuri pulls away, still sniffling but breathing so much better, makeup unceremoniously torn away from her face like it should be after a rough day. You pat her hair down, and she takes your hands to cup her own cheeks with; your thumbs wipe away the tears that streak inky blackness down the sides of her cheeks, taking the stains anyway, and in that moment, she's as beautiful as she's ever been. Her eyes shine with a quiet flame behind them, heart willing to brave the blows of a universe that never seems to stop issuing her challenge after challenge. Her voice comes in melodious rasps in protest at how the world treated her this day, wanting to pay it back. Her lip trembles with an adamant weakness that has never known surrender, especially not next to someone who's only ever seen her like this and stayed. 

You voice it carefully, “I know, I know. Go,” as you usher her up towards the respectfully awaiting bed. She takes two steps up the stairs before looking back, only to find you waving her off to rest, and she knows you're excited and looking forward to falling in love with her all over again. “Yeah, I got it. 2 a.m., I’ll set your alarm when I come up.” And in that one shining moment, when her lips curl into the sweetest smile you could never, ever get tired of, you fall just a little bit deeper in love with everything she is. 

~~~

The door swings open without so much as a breezing creak, and peeking in you find Yuri already sitting on the edge of the bed and fighting for her life against nodding back off. Come in carefully, keep the breakfast tray balanced despite messing up the arrangement and presentation you've so painstakingly implemented for reasons you can't remember anymore. She looks up in annoyance yet with the slightest hint of curiosity, “You said you'd stay…” as she extends both arms toward you, trying to wrangle you back into her personal space. 

“You're supposed to still be asleep,” allowing yourself in, like she wants. You set the tray down easy on the bedside table, somehow successfully managing not to spill even a drop of her lemon black tea. Her arms wrap around your neck, and she takes a deep breath as soon as your neck is in range for all the sniffing she wants. She tightens her grip around you, making known how upset she is at waking up alone, telling you silently what it'll take to make up for it: she takes in your scent in breaths that reach the very bottom of her lungs, she nuzzles her face into your chest like leaving her scent on your shirt, she holds you tight so you never leave her again. 

She grunts back, “The deal was you stay until I wake up,” her hold tightens and threatens to rip your shirt clean off your back. But she relaxes almost right away, knowing even if the world was ending and everything she knew was wrong, the one thing you’d never, ever do was leave her alone. 

“No, the deal was we beat your alarm together—” before you decide it isn’t worth arguing when she’s being this needy. Luckily, you know exactly what to do instead: sit next to her on the bed, let her do her thing. She sniffs and sniffs and sniffs, moving to a new spot on you each time. It still tickles sometimes, when her hair gets in the way of the kisses she tries planting on wherever she decides to plant them, and especially when stray strands make their way against your nose. But you let her all the same, because you know like it's the simplest thing—because it is—that all she wants is you. 

The silence breaks, and both of you are reminded by your actual deal: her phone buzzes and rings with a soothing alarm, and you reach for it to turn off, fumbling around the bedside table in the process only because Yuri absolutely refuses to let go. “Alright, get up,” you chide, pulling her up by the underarms as she continues to insist on clinging to you. She shares warmth, knowing you love when it’s hers and you’d never turn her away, and it works just a little bit too well. 

“Five more minutes…” she mumbles into your neck, and honestly, how could you refuse? She stays quiet and still, plainly refusing to participate in the grand scheme of things and choosing instead, you. She makes small nibbles on your jaw, leaving light trails of kisses and saliva where she drifts over. And of course you'd want nothing more to indulge her, but not right now; she'll be late. 

“Yuri, please. Let's have breakfast, and when you get home tonight—” but she’s tugging you back down, and before you know it, you’re lying with her against your fluffy pillows and cotton sheets again. She keeps her eyes shut, knowing full well that she’ll fall right back asleep, and you have to shake her awake, to no avail. “You can’t be late again, sweetheart. Please, for me?”

You can feel her animosity at your reminder of her other commitments than you, and she peeks at you with only one eye before making a scene out of turning away from you with an adorable grunt. “You never listen to me,” she huffs, and you can sense even just looking at the back of her head that she’s crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at you already. God, you love her. 

Wrap your arms around her waist, pull her close to you. Her back meets your chest, her hair covers your face, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your thumbs rub against her sides, and you feel her hands drift on top of yours. She doesn’t fuss, doesn’t complain, doesn’t even move past snaking her fingers between yours. Gone is the tension that used to coat every single thing she did to get close to you, replaced with… nothing. Her hold on you is light and graceful, not at all like her gripping your shirt and keeping you still to get what she wants. There’s no urgency in the way she fixes her hair away from her neck to ask you for more of the kisses she could never get enough of, nor is there any hurry when she reaches behind and feels for your cheek to lead you where she needs you most. 

And Yuri knows you won’t refuse her like this, not when she’s being so cute about it. She pulls you closer by the cheek, still facing away, until your lips meet the pulse beating on her neck right where it meets her jaw. Like they always do, your kisses bring her giggles to the surface as you kiss her neck, and the last thing she wants to do is move, and making you stop only coming up as a very close second. 

So you stay with her, only if to make up for allegedly failing to hold up your end of the deal. You stay with her as she reorients herself to slip back into the world full of noise and stress and all things she could probably do without. And yet, she’s gracious when it comes to your apologies, “You owe me when I get back tomorrow,” she mumbles, and you can feel against your palm the gentle in-and-out of her belly as she talks and breathes and giggles. Yuri keeps your hand against her skin, right under her shirt, as if she’s trying to tempt you into another two hours of sleep, but you know by now she’s not. 

“I know, Jo Yuri. I’d do anything for you,” you promise, just as the alarm goes off again. She reaches for it herself this time, showing you 2:05 a.m. where she needs to be ready for her hair and makeup at 2:30, “I wish we could’ve seen the sunrise today,” and you plant one last kiss on her cheek before finally giving in to what she wants…

She turns to you, still keeping your hand securely under her shirt, now resting on the dip of her waist, “We have a million sunrises we can see. I’d rather miss one of those than a second with you.” Her fingers trace the outline of your face, drawing a line gently down your cheek as she feels you under her fingertip. “Are you even real? How did I get so lucky to get you to fall for me?” 

You can only chuckle back. “Whatever heroic benevolent deed I did in my past life, I wish I could do it again just to get you back the next time through.” 

“Just take care of me now, please? I’ll do anything I can to find you again in the next life.”

“Deal.”

Yuri scooches closer, up until her forehead is right against yours. She keeps her hand on your cheek, making sure you don’t get to look anywhere else, as if you’d ever want to. She caresses your temples with her thumb, plays with your hair, boops your nose just to watch you feign a blink. Above all else, she stays with you as you stay with her, letting the time pass. 

The breakfast gets colder, the bed gets comfier, and the moon covers more distance across the sky. In a few hours, she’ll be in some car, getting whisked too far away from you to be able to bear, off to the wide and wonderful world that sees the rising starlet Jo Yuri making a name for herself. You knew from the start that she’d always be destined for great things, and you were fine with not being a part of any of it at all. But when she asks that you stay, demands you spend time with her, begs to slow down and let the world spin without her, you start to come to terms with the fact that the million sunrises just about coming your way can wait, while she lets the moon stroll a little slower across the sky of the rest of your lives. 

It was golden. The afternoon was dispersing rays of honey through the café blinds — warm light cutting into the cold, brushing against your skin like a memory you didn’t ask for, but secretly needed. The kind of coziness that wraps around your chest and makes you forget that you’re older now. That things aren’t the same.

"Okay..." You tapped your fork against the table, eyes wide, dramatic. "...Tell me this isn’t one of the best chocolate cakes we’ve ever tasted?" You made a face so exaggerated it would’ve made Willy Wonka proud.

Across from you sat Kim Minju — your childhood best friend, your constant.

"The one from that old lady back on our street still wins," she said, already smiling before the memory could finish replaying.

"Ah, but they went out of business, right?" you asked, turning to her, that usual sparkle in your eyes.

"Yeah, unfortunately..." Her voice dipped slightly, softer now. She looked down at the chocolate cake and took a bite. "...But yeah, this one’s decent. There’s this café near campus too — their desserts are really good."

"Oh, really?" you perked up, voice full of that gentle, boyish giddiness that still felt like middle school sometimes. "My girlfriend would love that. I should take her. What do you think?"

And just like that — Minju’s smile faded.

It was the smallest shift — a twitch at the corner of her lips, a pause in her hand — but it was there. That soft, traitorous ache behind her ribs. That name again. That reminder again.

Your girlfriend. Not her. Never her.

But who cares? She’s just a friend. A long-time one. The one who knows your coffee orders, your ugly crying face, your worst haircut in 7th grade. And maybe that’s all she was ever supposed to be.

"Yeah…" she forced the smile back onto her face, careful, gentle. "She’ll like that for sure."

Then she zoned out. Your voice drifted off, became background noise, like rain on a window. Her eyes stayed on the cake but her thoughts ran elsewhere. Somewhere blurrier. Somewhere quieter.

"Hey, Minju? Are you listening?" Your hand waved in front of her, snapping her back.

"Yeah. Sorry…" She smiled again — smaller this time, like she was using the last of it.

You tilted your head. "You can have the rest. I’m not into sweets that much anymore." You slid the plate toward her, the cake now half-finished and slightly melting under the warmth.

THE NEXT DAY.

It was that sweet spot between classes, not quite lunch, not quite dismissal. The golden hour hadn’t arrived yet, but the light was already shifting. Warm and gentle, it made everything feel softer than it really was.

Minju sat beneath the old acacia tree near the west side of the courtyard. It was the usual spot, a little slope of grass with enough shade to keep her bento from turning into soup. Around her, a few friends lazed with their legs stretched out, backpacks half-zipped, laughter drifting with the breeze.

Yuna was lying flat on her stomach, giggling over a guy from her lab class. Chaewon sat cross-legged, editing a TikTok with serious concentration, the phone close to her face. Minju, meanwhile, hadn't touched her food.

She was staring, unfocused, past the crowd.

Not at the buildings. Not at the fountain. But at you.

You were sitting on the stone bench by the café steps, the one with the faint crack running through the middle. You always called it the lucky bench, because it was where you once passed a midterm you swore you’d fail.

Now you were sitting there with your girlfriend. Her head rested on your shoulder, and your fingers were lazily interlaced. You were laughing at something she said, that familiar laugh Minju had known since the fifth grade. The kind of laugh that crinkled your nose and made strangers glance up.

And you looked happy.

"Earth to Minju." Yuna waved a spoon in front of her face. "You’ve been staring into space for the past ten minutes. What’s up?"

Minju blinked, startled. "Nothing. Just zoned out." She smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Chaewon followed her gaze and smirked. "Oh. The legendary best friend and his dreamy girlfriend." She stretched her arms overhead. "They look like a Pinterest board."

"Yeah," Minju said, trying not to sound as flat as she felt. "They’re cute."

Yuna gave her a side glance. "Weren’t you lowkey in love with him back in high school?"

Minju didn’t flinch. She’d practiced this.

"That was years ago," she replied, casually opening her lunch box. "I don’t even remember."

But she remembered everything. How you used to sneak her gummy bears during math class. How you waited with her under the rain because she forgot her umbrella. How you’d text her dumb jokes at 3AM because only she would get them.

Minju picked at her rice without tasting it. The wind brushed a few loose petals from the tree above. One landed in her lap, then fell to the grass.

Across the courtyard, your girlfriend playfully smacked your arm. You leaned into her, your cheeks flushed with laughter.

And something in Minju’s chest curled up.

A quiet late morning in the main hallway of the university’s arts building. It’s not crowded yet — just scattered students walking with half-finished coffee cups, tote bags, and sleepy eyes. The tiles echo lightly under every step.

"You’re late."

Minju raised an eyebrow as you jogged toward her, backpack lopsided, a piece of toast comically sticking out of your mouth.

"Not true," you said, words muffled as you took the toast out. "I’m fashionably on time. There’s a difference."

She sighed, crossing her arms. "Class starts in five minutes."

You held up two fingers. "Still time to grab an iced americano."

"You don’t even drink coffee," she said, deadpan.

"Yeah, but I wanna look cool holding one."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. This was the version of you she always loved best — the idiot, the goof, the boy who made even waiting outside a lecture hall feel like a sitcom scene.

You walked side by side down the hall, your shoulder brushing hers every now and then. Students passed by, some nodding, some whispering. The two of you had been "those two" since freshman year — always together, always bantering.

"Did you study for the quiz?" she asked.

"Define study."

"Don’t tell me you’re winging it again."

You shrugged. "I remember stuff better under pressure."

She scoffed. "You remembered Pi as '3.14159 Hotdog' last time."

"Hey," you said, grinning, "it worked, didn’t it?"

Minju rolled her eyes again, but her laugh was real. The kind of laugh that slips out before you can think, the one that makes the back of her hand lightly smack your arm.

You opened the classroom door for her like you always did, bowing dramatically. "M’lady."

"Please disappear," she muttered, but she was already walking in, cheeks slightly warm.

You slid into the seat beside her like clockwork. No questions. No asking. That seat was always yours.

As the professor began the lecture, Minju glanced at you.

You were already doodling in the margins of your notebook, humming a song you both used to sing during high school field trips. She didn’t even have to ask. You just knew.

And for that moment, everything was okay again.

No girlfriends. No aching. No distance. Just the two of you. Minju and you.

Best friends.

Lunchtime. The open-air cafeteria is buzzing — students laughing over rice bowls, trays clattering, a speaker playing soft indie-pop no one’s really listening to. Minju and Y/N sit at their usual table near the edge, shaded by an umbrella half-broken from last month’s storm

"You seriously packed instant noodles again?" Minju asked, staring at your tupperware like it offended her.

You grinned. "Adds spice to my life. Literally and emotionally."

"You’re going to burn a hole in your stomach."

"It’s a fun way to go."

Minju poked your container with her chopsticks, making a face. "You had time to memorize memes but not to cook rice. Impressive."

You were mid-slurp when your phone buzzed on the table. You didn’t even check it — just glanced at the screen, let it buzz again, and flipped it face-down.

Minju didn’t comment. Not at first. But she caught the way your jaw clenched for a second. The way your chopsticks slowed down.

"Everything okay?" she asked, casually, almost like she didn’t mean anything by it.

"Yeah," you said quickly. "Just… nothing. Just her again."

Her. No name. No warmth.

Minju blinked.

"She’s mad I didn’t text her during class," you said, trying to brush it off with a half-laugh. "Even though she knows I have back-to-back lectures."

Minju tilted her head slightly. "Did you tell her that?"

"I did." Your voice dropped an inch. "But you know how it is. Everything becomes an argument lately."

You smiled right after, like that made it better. But Minju didn’t smile back.

She watched as you shoved your phone deeper into your bag. Watched as your eyes darted across the cafeteria like you were checking for exits. You were tired. She could see it — not in your posture, but in the way you faked your usual energy. Like someone playing a role they didn’t want to admit they were tired of.

"You ever feel like…" you started, but trailed off.

Minju looked up. "What?"

You shook your head. "Never mind. Just me being dramatic."

She didn’t push. She just opened her packet of seaweed and slid a few sheets onto your tray. Like always.

You looked at them, then at her.

"Thanks."

Minju smiled. "Don’t mention it."

You started eating again, and the moment passed. But something had shifted.

Minju couldn’t unsee it now — the way you hesitated. The way your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you mentioned her. The way you seemed lighter when you weren’t answering her texts.

And for the first time in a while, Minju didn’t feel jealous. She felt sad. For you.

Late afternoon. The courtyard is quieter than usual. Most students have gone to class or tucked away into cafés. Minju walks across the main path, earbuds in but not playing anything, sipping a convenience store iced tea. She’s on her way to the library for a group project

She wasn’t looking for you. But she found you anyway.

You were standing just outside the covered walk behind the campus auditorium. Alone — or so she thought.

Your girlfriend was there too, her voice sharp, hushed but intense. And you? You looked different.

You weren’t smiling. You weren’t cracking jokes. You weren’t you.

Minju stopped walking, instinctively hiding behind the pillar next to the vending machine. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but something about your posture froze her in place.

"I told you I was in class," you said, voice low. Firm, but tired.

"But you always have time for her, don’t you?" your girlfriend snapped back. There was venom behind the words — not the playful kind. Real, bitter, unfiltered jealousy.

Minju’s stomach dropped.

"Don’t bring Minju into this," you said, voice cracking a little. "She has nothing to do with it."

"She’s always around. You act different when you're with her. Lighter. Happier."

There was a pause.

Minju didn’t breathe.

"You think I don’t notice?" your girlfriend continued. "She looks at you like you’re her whole world, and you just let it happen."

"It’s not like that."

"Isn’t it?"

Silence. Minju couldn't see your face anymore — you’d turned away, head low, one hand on your temple like this wasn’t the first time. Like it was exhausting.

Then your girlfriend’s voice dropped to a whisper.

"You only laugh like that when you're with her."

And that was it.

Minju stepped away. Quietly. Carefully. Back down the path, iced tea forgotten in her hand. Her heart was thudding too loud to think. Not from guilt. Not even from hope.

But from something worse.

You didn’t even realize you were unhappy.

And maybe, just maybe — you didn’t realize that you were already breaking apart.

Campus hallway, two days later. The vibe is different now. The hallway's still noisy, filled with students heading to lunch or back to class, but there’s a strange quiet that follows you around — like something’s missing

"Wait, where’s Minju?"

You looked over your shoulder, tray in hand, scanning the crowd outside the cafeteria.

Chaewon glanced at you from across the lunch table. "Didn’t she tell you? She’s been eating with her film group lately. Something about a deadline."

You frowned. That was the third time this week.

"Right..." you muttered, but the words felt too light in your mouth. No message. No call. Not even her usual ‘save me a seat’ text.

You thought maybe it was just a busy week — until you started noticing the little things. She started switching seats in class. Started taking the long way to the building. Started replying with just one-word answers when she used to send full-on essays and memes.

Minju was avoiding you.

You didn’t know why. And that bothered you more than it should have.

The same day. She’s seated on the library floor, laptop open, pretending to work. There’s a group chat open beside her script doc, your name at the top, unread.

She could feel it. The guilt. The confusion. The ache of you looking for her, even if you never said it out loud.

But she couldn't go back. Not yet.

Not when she’d seen it — how broken you looked behind that bench. Not when your girlfriend accused her of being the reason for your smile. Not when she knew how badly she wanted that to be true.

So she pulled away. Skipped lunch. Dodged hallways. Stayed behind on purpose.

Because if keeping her distance meant your relationship had a fighting chance... Then she’d do it.

Even if it meant pretending she didn’t miss you. Even if it meant watching you drift without ever knowing why.

Friday afternoon. The sun is starting to dip, casting warm light through the campus trees. Minju sits with her friends at the grassy hill near the Fine Arts building, the kind of place students go to unwind before the weekend — notebooks open but barely used, drinks half-empty, playlists playing softly through someone’s speaker

Minju sat cross-legged on the grass, resting her chin in her hand as Yuna went on about her disaster of a group project.

"So I said, ‘You can’t just ghost the entire group and come back with a Canva slide that says “Trust the process.”’ Like, what process?!"

Chaewon snorted, sipping her milk tea. "It’s always the marketing majors."

Minju smiled, nodding at the right beats, her other hand absently plucking at the grass. Her drink was untouched beside her, condensation dripping down the side.

And then she saw you.

Down by the paved pathway near the parking lot. Your girlfriend looped her arm around yours, playfully tugging you close. You laughed — the kind of laugh that made your shoulders shake, your head tilt back. She reached up and fixed your hair with both hands, and you let her.

It was nothing. So normal. So couple-y. So public.

It hurt anyway.

Minju’s gaze didn’t linger too long. Just long enough.

Long enough to notice how tightly your girlfriend gripped your wrist. Long enough to see how your eyes flicked away right after you laughed.

But she said nothing. Just looked away and grabbed her drink.

Yuna noticed. "You okay?"

Minju blinked. "Hm? Yeah."

Chaewon raised an eyebrow but didn’t press it. They’d noticed the shift — how Minju had been more distant, quieter around you. How her phone buzzed less. How she smiled like she was somewhere else.

"Do you wanna go to the movies tomorrow?" Yuna offered. "My treat. I need serotonin."

Minju nodded. "Yeah. That sounds nice."

But her eyes found you again. And for a split second, you looked up too.

You didn’t smile. You just blinked, like you were trying to figure something out. But then your girlfriend tugged your sleeve and said something, and your attention snapped back to her.

Minju looked away for good this time. Buried the ache beneath another sip of her drink. Because being your friend meant watching from a distance now. And pretending that was enough.

A bustling movie theatre on a Saturday night. Neon signs glow over ticket booths, the scent of buttered popcorn clings to everything, and couples, friends, and students chatter as they shuffle into screening rooms

"This is the dumbest movie I’ve ever bought tickets for," Chaewon muttered, balancing a soda in one hand and a jumbo popcorn in the other.

"You literally picked it," Yuna said, laughing. "Own it."

Minju just smiled, tugging her hoodie sleeves over her palms as they entered the dim screening room. The cool air of the theatre hit her skin instantly — comforting, familiar. They found their seats, middle row near the back, a perfect view.

"Minju, hold this," Yuna said, shoving the candy bag into her lap while wrestling with her jacket.

Minju took it without a word, glancing around the theatre before the lights dimmed.

Her eyes paused for a second.

Across the aisle, two seats down and three rows forward — a guy was leaning back with his arm stretched behind the girl next to him. They were laughing quietly, heads close together.

It wasn’t you. But for a moment, it looked like you. The way he leaned in, the way she smiled up at him — it mirrored too many memories.

Minju turned away quickly, facing forward just as the trailers began.

She forced herself to focus.

She laughed when her friends laughed. Chewed on candy she didn’t even like. Held the popcorn when it was passed to her. Everything looked the same on the outside.

But her mind betrayed her.

This seat used to be next to you.

She remembered sneaking snacks past the theatre guards, you cracking dumb jokes during the trailers, your sleeve brushing hers in the dark. She remembered crying over a movie once and how you nudged her, whispering, “You cry over this but not when I failed calc?”

And she laughed through her tears.

Now she was here. Surrounded by friends, but feeling like a stranger in her own skin.

And she hated that one empty row of seats could make her feel like something was missing.

You weren't even here. And still, you filled the whole theatre.

11:48 PM. The city is quieter now. Just the occasional tricycle passing, music playing faintly from a nearby bar, and the crunch of footsteps along the sidewalk. The girls walk together, arms linked, shoes in hand.

"The movie sucked," Chaewon said, kicking a pebble down the street.

"Totally. But worth it for the popcorn," Yuna grinned, brushing sugar dust off her sweater.

Minju was quiet.

She hadn’t said much since they left the theatre — just nodded, laughed a little, smiled when spoken to. The kind of smile people wear when they’re trying not to say what’s really on their mind.

Yuna noticed. She always noticed.

"You okay, Min?" she asked softly, her tone more careful this time. "Your head’s been somewhere else lately."

Minju looked up at the night sky, the stars barely visible behind the city glow. "I’ve just been thinking too much."

Chaewon fell into step beside her. "About?"

Minju hesitated. She could lie. She could say school, or sleep, or that dumb movie. But she didn’t.

She clutched her hoodie sleeve tighter.

"About him," she said quietly.

The group didn’t react right away. Just silence. The kind that let her keep going.

"I know he’s happy. I know he has a girlfriend. I know I’m just his best friend and I should be okay with that." Her voice didn’t shake, but it was softer than usual. "But it’s hard, you know?"

Yuna slowed down a little, walking closer. "You still love him?"

Minju nodded once. "I don’t even know when it started. It wasn’t like this huge moment. It was just… one day, I looked at him, and everything felt different. And then it never went back."

She let out a quiet laugh, brushing hair from her face.

"And the worst part? I tried to stay close. I wanted to just be his friend and be happy for him, but every time I see them together..." She paused. "It hurts. And I hate that it does. Because I don’t want to ruin anything."

Chaewon placed a hand on her shoulder. "You’re not ruining anything. You’re just feeling something real."

Yuna gently bumped her side. "You’re allowed to hurt, Min. You’re not selfish for wanting something more."

Minju swallowed. "I’ve been avoiding him. And I know he notices. I just… I don’t trust myself not to want something I can’t have."

They walked in silence for a bit after that. No judgment. Just the sound of slippers hitting the pavement and distant music humming from somewhere nearby.

Minju looked up again. The sky hadn’t changed. But she felt lighter. Just a little.

Maybe tomorrow would still ache. But for tonight, she wasn’t holding it all in alone.

Campus basketball court, early evening. The sky’s turning pale orange, the echo of bouncing balls and shouting players fills the air. You and your friends just finished playing a game — sweaty, tired, collapsed on the side bench with water bottles and tired laughter.

"Bro," Jaemin said, wiping sweat from his brow, "I swear, if I miss one more free throw, I’m deleting my number off the team group chat."

You chuckled, leaning back on your arms, catching your breath.

The group settled into silence for a few minutes, watching the next batch of players take the court. The mood was easy, until Seungmin suddenly spoke up.

"Dude. Can I ask something?"

You nodded, grabbing your water bottle. "Yeah?"

He hesitated. "Are you and your girl even... like... good?"

You froze a little, mid-sip. "What do you mean?"

Jaemin glanced at Seungmin, then at you. "You just don’t look like yourself, man."

"You’re quieter. You snap more often. You don’t even make fun of Jaemin’s ugly form anymore."

"Hey—"

"Let him cook," Seungmin said.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "It’s just been rough lately. She gets mad over small stuff. Everything turns into a fight."

Seungmin nodded slowly. "You think you still love her?"

You blinked. The question hit a little harder than you expected.

"...I don’t know," you admitted. "I think I’m trying. But sometimes it feels like I’m just trying to not mess up."

Jaemin leaned forward. "Can I be honest?"

You gave him a look. "Since when do you ask?"

He smiled — just a little.

"I think Minju’s more suitable for you," he said quietly. "She gets you. Like, actually gets you."

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. So he kept going.

"I’ve seen how you look at her, bro. And how she looks at you? That girl would throw herself in front of traffic if it meant keeping your day from going bad."

Seungmin added, more gently, "When you’re with your girlfriend, you always look like you’re performing. But with Minju? You just exist."

You sat in silence for a moment. Thinking.

You hadn’t told them about the fight. Or the ones before that.

And still, they knew.

They saw it. The exhaustion. The way Minju made you laugh without trying. The way you only ever looked like yourself when she was around.

You stared out at the court again. You weren’t ready to say it out loud yet. But something shifted.

Because maybe… just maybe…

They were right.

After the basketball games, you started walking home, Streetlights are starting to flicker on. Students bike past or chatter on sidewalks. You’ve got your hoodie up, hands in your pockets, and your phone buzzes once. Twice. Then again.

You ignored the first vibration. Then the second. By the third, you knew who it was.

You pulled out your phone anyway, thumb already dragging down the notification bar.

[9 Messages from Her]

You exhaled through your nose. Opened them.

“Seriously?” “No text all day again?” “I saw your story. You had time for basketball but not to check on me?” “It’s like I don’t matter anymore.” “You didn’t even react to my post.” “But I bet you replied to Minju again, didn’t you?” “Whatever. Enjoy your little circle.”

You stopped reading.

You stood there, just outside a small bakery that had already closed. The warm light inside had been switched off, replaced by your own reflection on the glass. You looked… drained.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even surprised.

Not shocked. Not hurt. Just… tired.

Tired of the way she made you feel like you were always doing something wrong. Tired of walking on eggshells, of making yourself smaller to keep things from exploding. Tired of being accused of things you didn’t even realize you could do wrong.

You opened your messages.

Typed something. Erased it. Typed again.

Then locked your phone without sending anything.

You started walking again, slower now. The weight in your chest more noticeable with each step. Every word she sent echoed behind your thoughts, but all your mind could picture was—

Minju.

Her voice when she laughed. The way she looked at you like you were someone good. The way her presence never asked for anything — and still gave everything.

You crossed the street just as the signal turned red behind you.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy. Maybe love wasn’t supposed to be this hard. And maybe… maybe you were starting to understand that.

Alone, under the yellow streetlight, you walked into the quiet — not knowing if you were walking toward an ending… or finally, a beginning.

You pass by the neighborhood 24/7 convenience store — its fluorescent light buzzing softly against the blue of early night. The bell above the door jingles just as you’re walking by

You barely noticed the door opening. But when you glanced up —

There she was.

Minju.

Gray hoodie, reusable tote bag slung over her shoulder, a bottled coffee and a pack of Chocopie in her hands. Her hair was loosely tied back, no makeup, just… her.

You froze.

And she did too.

Her eyes locked with yours for the briefest second — wide, startled — like you’d caught her doing something she shouldn’t have.

"Minju?"

It left your mouth before you could stop it. Half-whisper, half-hope.

But she didn’t answer.

She blinked once, looked down fast, and stepped around you like she didn’t hear.

Didn’t even look back.

Your heart sank, the cold air suddenly sharper against your neck.

You turned to say something, maybe ask if she was okay, maybe call her name again — but the bell jingled one more time, and she was already out of reach.

She was gone before you could understand why it hurt so much.

You just stood there.

In front of a glowing convenience store, still full of quiet music and freezer hums, watching the empty sidewalk where she used to be.

You didn’t chase after her. Not because you didn’t want to. But because you didn’t know if she wanted to be caught.

And the worst part?

For the first time in a while — you didn’t feel tired from the fight with your girlfriend. You felt tired because Minju walked away.

Yuna’s apartment, around 8:30 PM. The girls are sprawled out on the floor again, nursing instant noodles and cold soda, the TV playing some random reality show in the background. But Minju’s been quiet since she arrived — really quiet

"Minju," Chaewon said softly, finally breaking the silence. "You haven’t touched your food."

Minju blinked. She’d been staring into her bowl for the past ten minutes, chopsticks in hand, unmoving.

Yuna leaned over. "Did something happen?"

There was a long pause.

Then Minju whispered, "I saw him."

Chaewon and Yuna exchanged a look.

Minju’s eyes stayed fixed on the swirling broth in front of her. "Outside the convenience store. Just... randomly. I wasn’t expecting it."

"And?" Yuna prompted gently.

"I panicked." Minju let out a shaky breath. "I walked past him like he was a stranger."

"You ignored him?" Chaewon asked, surprised.

Minju nodded slowly, her lips pressed tight. "I didn’t mean to. My heart just— I don’t know. It started beating so fast. And I thought if I said one word, even just his name, I’d cry or say something I shouldn’t."

She dropped her chopsticks with a soft clatter. "And he looked at me like..." Her voice cracked. "Like I broke something."

The room was quiet for a few seconds. The show on TV kept playing — some cheesy confession scene between reality show contestants. It made the moment feel even more surreal.

"I’ve been so scared of getting in the way," Minju whispered. "So I avoided him. I distanced myself. I told myself it was the right thing to do. But now I’m starting to think I just hurt both of us for nothing."

Chaewon got up and sat closer, placing a hand over hers.

"Min," she said gently, "you didn’t hurt him by having feelings. You hurt him by pretending you didn’t."

Yuna added softly, "And maybe... it’s time to stop pretending."

Minju blinked fast, like she was trying to push the sting back down.

"I think I love him," she said. Finally. Not to herself. Not just in her head. Out loud. In the air. In front of people who mattered.

And it felt terrifying.

But also, just a little bit like relief.

12:17 AM. Your bedroom. Lights off, just the blue glow of your phone screen illuminating your face. You’re lying sideways on your bed, pillow half-tucked under your arm, blanket pulled just above your chest. The night is quiet — but your mind isn’t

You stared at the chat for a while now.

Minju 🐰 Last seen 11:49 PM.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Just say something.

“Hey.” Or “Sorry, did I do something?” Or even just “You okay?”

Anything.

You didn’t care if it sounded needy. Or sudden. You just… wanted to talk to her again. You wanted to fix what you didn’t even fully understand.

You slowly typed:

You: “Min—”

[New message: Her 💬]

“I thought you were asleep? Why is your status online.”

You sighed.

Closed your eyes. Reopened them.

Another message came right after.

“Funny how you’re always quick to reply to her.”

You didn’t respond.

You couldn’t.

You backed out of the conversation without typing anything back. The irritation was sharp in your throat. It wasn’t even about Minju. It was about control. About being questioned. About being monitored.

Your screen still sat open on Minju’s chat.

You stared at it again. Her little profile picture, her last seen status. Her silence after seeing you earlier.

You locked your phone. Unlocked it again. Typed.

You: “Are you awake?”

Deleted it.

Typed again.

You: “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Deleted again.

You shut your eyes and sank deeper into the pillow, heart aching in that quiet, unnameable way.

For someone still so close, Minju suddenly felt miles away.

And beside you, your phone buzzed again.

But this time, you didn’t check.

You weren’t sure whose silence hurt more anymore — Minju’s… or your own.

3:17 PM. A weekend afternoon at the mall. The food court buzzes with chatter and clattering trays. Jaemin, Seungmin, and the rest of the gang are crowded around a table with soda cups, half-eaten fries, and shopping bags at their feet.

"Bro, these onion rings are crazy," Jaemin said, mouth full, pushing the basket toward Seungmin. "You’re missing out."

Seungmin picked one up. "Still wild that Y/N’s not here though. It’s been forever since we had a full hangout."

"He said he couldn’t," another friend added, rolling his eyes. "Because she didn’t want him to. Again."

Jaemin frowned. "Dude, I get being a good boyfriend or whatever, but that’s not even a relationship anymore. It’s house arrest."

They all laughed lightly — but there was tension beneath it. A knowing frustration.

Then Seungmin paused, fries halfway to his mouth.

"Wait."

His brows furrowed.

"Isn’t that...?"

They all turned to where he was looking — just across the floor, near the milk tea stall. A girl. Your girl.

And she wasn’t alone.

She was leaning against the counter, laughing. Not just casual laughing — flirty laughing. Her body turned toward the guy she was with, his hand lingering at the small of her back.

They all went quiet.

Jaemin squinted. "Isn’t that the dude from her course? The one she swore she wasn’t close with?"

The guy reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Everyone saw it.

Everyone saw her smile. The way she looked at him like no one else existed. The way she didn’t even check her phone. Didn’t act like she was hiding anything.

"She told Y/N she was studying today," Seungmin muttered, stunned. "And she didn’t let him come with us because she ‘wanted space.’"

No one said anything for a long second.

Then Jaemin stood up, fists clenched around his soda cup.

"That’s it," he said. "I’m done being quiet about this. He deserves to know."

"Are you gonna tell him now?"

"I’ll give her a chance to explain," Jaemin muttered. "But if she lies — we’re showing him everything."

~~~

“Oh, you look gorgeous.” At the door stands Eunbi, a bouquet of hydrangeas cradled gently in her arms and a plastic bag of fried chicken and plum wine bottles dangling by her fingers. She sports a bright smile contrasted by the poorly lit hallway she stands in, waiting to be welcomed into the house. Immediately off the bat Haseul senses no ill intent behind the statement—she even thinks her friend is being genuine about it despite Haseul feeling like Gangwon roadkill herself—though she does sense a note of patronizing.

“Come in, Eunbi…” Haseul opens the door a bit wider and steps aside to make room. Eunbi hops in and makes for the kitchen counter, setting down her gifts. With her guest’s back turned and her appearance brought to the forefront of her consciousness, Haseul takes the opportunity to check herself in the mirror, finding dark circles under her eyes, a wrinkled shirt that looks like it’d been slept in for four nights straight, and a bedhead that’s sorely out of place for the 6 p.m. atmosphere.

Then again, Eunbi’s cheery demeanor isn’t a good fit for the somber mood of Haseul’s apartment either. She’s too bright, Haseul thinks somberly, as Eunbi just carries on opening the boxes of chicken and popping the cap off one of the bottles of plum wine using one of her sturdier rings. Haseul can only watch as she heads off to the fridge and rummages through, looking for something to mix the liquor with.

“You know,” Haseul finally sighs out, taking her seat in one of the barstools. Eunbi dumps the last pack of Haseul’s Yakult onto the kitchen island as Haseul continues, “you didn’t have to come over. I’m fine.”

In response, Eunbi sighs and tilts her head, shooting a disapproving look at her friend. “Sure, Miss Hasn’t-Showered-Since-Friday,” she teases as she shakes her head. She turns around one last time, and sets two sets of plates, glasses, and chopsticks in front of her and Haseul before sitting down herself. “It isn’t like you to not reply for days and then say you stopped bathing. Think of this as a welfare check—I had to make sure you were still alive.”

"Dead people typically don’t text their friends to say they forgot to take a shower.” Haseul only picks at the chicken, but ultimately gives in to the enticing honey garlic aroma. The sticky sauce meets her lips, and by some mysterious divine decree, she immediately feels marginally better.

Eunbi looks on as her friend finally starts eating. The way she fills her cheeks with big bites of chicken bring a smile to her face, but also an adjacent concern: how long has it been since she ate? “Alright, honey garlic, noted,” she says in a stern but thoughtful tone. She places another piece on Haseul’s plate before taking one for herself, “Could’ve saved me the trouble picking flavors.”

~~~

“Is this really necessary?” Haseul hugs her knees, covering herself as best as she can from the curtain covering her from Eunbi on the other side. The showerhead throws warm water over her head generously, soaking her hair and rehydrating her skin.

“Yesh, ish absholuhly nesheshayee,” Eunbi replies, mouth full of toothpaste suds. Haseul hears the bristles drag against her teeth through the shower curtain from inside the bathtub, listening steadily for when she spits and gargles. “You’re brushing your teeth too when you’re done in there.”

“I'm not a child…” Haseul retorts, but fails to muster defiance nor determination in her voice. She tries recalling when she did last brush her teeth, drawing only blanks. She hears the toilet lid shut, followed by a dull thud, and what is unmistakably Eunbi's sigh from the other side of the curtain.

“I know, Seul. Me neither. We have to tough it out, okay?”

“That's not helping. That's just the usual bullshit in a different voice.”

A moment of silence takes the bathroom, making way for the beads of shower water hitting the bathtub in light clunks. The water level tries rising, and Haseul finally gives in and helps it along—she unfolds her legs to let them sink into the collecting water. The initial split second of cold fades just as fast as it comes, and with a harsh shudder Haseul empties her lungs sharply again.

~~~

“One last thing,” Eunbi announces as she fluffs her pillow, “I'm right out here. I can hear you, and I'm a light sleeper. Don't try anything, funny or otherwise,” she chides with finality.

“I don't appreciate being talked to like that.” Haseul’s tone is wistful, or thoughtful at the very least. She only leans in the doorway connecting the hall to the living room, and her arms cross by themselves as she unconsciously shields herself from the prodding into her psyche.

“Yes, you do. Deny it all you want.” Satisfied, Eunbi falls gently back onto the couch, and then throws her borrowed blanket over her feet and legs. She tugs her sleep mask over her eyes and flashes a smile and a thumbs up in Haseul’s general direction, missing only narrowly and reassuring the light switch beside her instead.

Haseul only watches. Eunbi settles her pillow onto the couch's armrest, and then her head onto the pillow. The smile never leaves her unnie's face, and for the first time this night, Haseul starts to believe it's genuine.

She heads back to her too-big bedroom, gets in her too-fluffy bed, claps twice to turn off her too-fancy light. The glow-in-the-dark moon and shapes stickers on her ceiling swirl in her eyes as if actually in orbit; the circles, squares, triangles, and single crescent all pull her into a meditative trance. She contemplates just what Eunbi means by everything she's said and done, as well as anything she's yet to say and do.

Complimented on her looks even though she's a mess. Scolded for not bathing and made to brush her teeth. Comforted like a child who's scared of the monsters under her bed. She knows Eunbi means well and come from a place of genuine concern, but that doesn't change the fact that Haseul isn't someone to handle like some glass figurine—she’s not fragile, not pretty, and certainly not teetering on the edge. She can’t—

Tears run down her face to the back of her head. They slice a line of cold on her temples as they fall, while she lies there defenseless and gasping for air that can’t seem to make its way into her lungs. Her hands can’t find themselves either: they lay motionless, folded over each other on her stomach, not even able to wrap around one another. Above all else, her blanket feels like spikes and feathers on her skin, millions of pounds of what should only be cotton crushing her under its weight.

Try as she might, Haseul doesn’t have enough sharp fear to build panic with in her chest. It’s only the dumb, soft knockoff kind of fear that she knows rises from something not even real. She should be able to call for help, scream, even just cry properly, but there’s just not enough air, not enough strength in her for it. So, as she lies there motionless, voiceless, helpless, she ponders the situation she finds herself in: one she can only ever think of as absurd.

A beam of light cuts through the suffocating darkness and through Haseul’s wallowing in despair: “Hey, where’s your ramyeon?” All her hope rides on it being Eunbi, of course it’s Eunbi, please god let it be Eunbi—come back, I’m awake, I can’t move—

“Shit.” Heavy footsteps on Haseul's wooden bedroom floor, and Eunbi appears next to her. “What's wrong? Why aren't you talking?” Her leader's intuition serves her well, and she hears Haseul's light, labored breathing through the ambient hum of the humidifier and sees her ice-cold tears amidst the cloudy darkness. Gentle and gentler, she helps Haseul sit up—more like doing the heavy lifting all by herself, but she was never one to complain. Neither of them were.

Haseul can only gasp and sob as her lungs start back up. She mumbles through her hiccups, feeling sorry for herself while Eunbi looks on with a concern that Haseul has only ever found disgusting. It only weighs more on Haseul’s tired shoulders, and once she's calmed down and crying properly, she slumps back against her headboard while Eunbi only stares and waits.

“It's…” Haseul finally chokes out, “It's in the kitchen island,” she wipes her tears away with her sleeve, “t-take as many as you like…” and Haseul finally completely breaks down. Her hand shoots to her pillow and grabs like a bird clenching claws around prey, then bringing it to her face as if about to rip it to shreds.

A wail muffled, and Eunbi knows why.

~~~

“A disservice to look away,” Eunbi thinks, “a dishonor to look back.” She tentatively squeezes Haseul’s knee as the latter sobs pathetically into her pillow. She just waits; there’s nothing to be said nor done when this starts other than to ride it out. And it’s all too familiar: the weight of responsibility—and the sudden lack of it—can be crushing.

It’s a good while before Haseul fully settles down. So Eunbi’s attention wanders around her friend’s room: the humidifier humming softly in the corner, the glow-in-the-dark space stickers right above her bed, the window that showcases the best of the Seoul skyline after dark. She recalls the singular time Haseul had ever told her about what it’s like in her house, when the power cut across the entire city, and for the first time ever, in that one split-second you could see the universe in the sky like it was a dream. It was the one time Haseul had ever shared something like that to someone who, in Haseul’s own words, “understands.”

“I’m so tired…” Haseul confesses wearily. She retreats her pillow off to the side, though her sobs still punctuate her speech. Eunbi wraps an arm around her shoulders, and Haseul slumps onto hers in turn. Eunbi makes to wipe every tear that forms at the corners of her friend’s eyes, long before Haseul musters the will to do so herself. It’s a burden to carry, something the both of them know all too well.

“It’s okay,” consoles Eunbi as her shoulder continues to grow wetter, “Lean on me.”

“That’s really corny,” Haseul retorts with as much of a chuckle as she can muster, “even for you.”

And Eunbi can only keep wiping away her tears, can only let her lean; she can’t take away the source of her tears or her weakness. She could never admit it, but Haseul already knows: it tears at Eunbi’s heart too.

“I’m really sorry… I know this is hard.” Haseul finally rights herself off of Eunbi’s shoulder. Eunbi can only scoff at the thought, wishing for this to be the “hard” she had to go through again, what she would give for this to be the weight she bore every day like before.

“You don’t have to apologize. It isn’t easy for you either,” she comforts, “you called me here because I understood, right?”

~~~

It stops Haseul in her tracks. “Was I always that easy to read—No, where the hell did Eunbi get that idea—How dare she come into my home uninvited and—”

“Could you tell me about it? What it’s like still having chicks in your nest?” She never feels Eunbi’s eyes on her; the faint reflection on her bedroom window only shows her friend gazing out at nothing of importance. She can see the flat, almost bored expression in her face as she asks a question much more loaded than probably even Eunbi could have ever expected to ask.

She meets her eyes through the makeshift mirror instead, looking past the skyscrapers and headlights and into the heart of the friend who understands. “I caught you. It hurts too.” Haseul says it with more surprise than anything else, finding something in herself she didn’t know was still there.

She feels the mattress bounce ever so slightly, sees Eunbi drop her head and chuckle at the accusation. “I can’t be the one who understands forever, you know? We grow up all the same, things change. We of all people should know that.”

“Your nest isn’t empty, is it? They still look up to you for support and guidance.”

“Yeah,” Eunbi concedes, “but it isn’t the same. They write their own songs now, have their own members to look after, follow rules that don’t also apply to me. I can pretend all I want, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not their leader anymore.”

They sit in silence, sharing a view that reveals different things. Haseul looks out to the night sky, the stars hiding behind the blinding lights of Seoul. She grows wistful herself, recalling but not mourning a past that’s been both too long ago yet not long enough.

“Jiwoo calls,” Haseul sighs. “She calls a lot more often now. I remember when she played with the other members, and would try to turn and hide when the tears came. And Hyunjin—bless her heart—she complains about her members. Kahei laughs at her because she says she’s turning into me.”

Eunbi chuckles back, “Is that good? Turning into you?”

Haseul takes a moment to really, really think: “What does it mean to be turning into me?” She notes how her members would poke her cheek awake when they needed something, when she had to do the same when their schedules called for too-early mornings. She always ate last, but never least—her members made sure of that. She was a shoulder to cry on more often than not, and she’d told herself so many times that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s… good. It’s like a dream, being theirs to have and…” Haseul’s voice lowers much more than she meant it to, finding comfort in the responsibility instead of burden, “and bother.”

Eunbi tilts her head, seeing past the intrusive lights of the world below. Her hair falls over her shoulder, and a smile buds across her face. “That’s all that really matters at the end of the day, right?”

“You gave me too much credit, by the way.” Haseul gives her friend a gentle shove, and Eunbi can only smile and breathe out in response. “You’re putting words in my mouth, ‘because you understood,’ I’m not that smart.”

“That’s not for me to decide, Seul. It’s for you, and it seems like you made a good decision.” She finally meets her eyes—properly this time—and Eunbi pats her head. It’s not comforting, not patronizing, certainly not grandstanding. It was simply recalling something Eunbi had lost herself.

Haseul can do nothing to hold back the question, intrusive or disrespectful it may be. “Eunbi, does it get any easier?” Most of her wishes she could take it back, but part of her thinks Eunbi can’t answer quick enough. She waits with a hope she can’t understand, one between anticipation and despair, for an answer she couldn’t possibly prepare for.

It takes Eunbi a few moments, the gears quietly turning in her head as if they hadn’t turned in ages, “Yeah, it does. It gets so easy that it gets hard again. You start to miss the feeling of missing rather than just missing the thing itself.”

Haseul notes the wistful tone woven into her friend’s voice, finding nothing but bitter truth and an honesty that can’t help but be brutal. “That sounds really scary.”

“Growing up is scary. Scary when it’s them, weird when it’s you. But you do anyway.”

“Do… do you ever wish it didn’t happen? Disbanding, I mean.” Haseul knows this is dangerous territory now, but with Eunbi, it feels tender, if not a little bit sore. “Sorry. Don’t answer that—”

“Of course I did. Of course I do. What do you take me for, Haseul?” Eunbi laughs a shy laugh, feigning offense at Haseul’s pitiful attempt at dissecting her. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I made a sacrifice for the good of everyone else. I tried to hold on so hard. And I lost. Lost the group, lost them. How does that make you feel?”

“Afraid… like it’s prophetic. Like there’s not a universe out there where I win.”

~~~

“Seoul had never looked so pretty,” Eunbi thinks. She wonders about what it would be like to see it when everything was dark, and the embroidered starlight behind the cloudy city lights would be bare to admire as much and as long as she liked.

Nearly four years now, the only thing Eunbi can wave over Haseul in this moment: the certainty of an ending rather than the dwindling hope of a cliffhanger. It isn’t envy—Eunbi can’t afford to let herself get jealous—but a victory that lets her simply call it a day. She rests easy, knowing her legacy had never really disappeared, but took on new forms and reached greater heights in her kids: Chaewon still calls, much more often now, and Wonyoung laughs when Yujin complains.

“Well, who’s to say?” Eunbi shrugs, “But there is a universe where it’s just dreamlike.”

-

The cruise ship looms large in the harbor, its pristine white exterior gleaming under the midday sun. You pause for a moment, clutching your duffel bag, letting the salty breeze wash over you. The idea of going on this cruise solo still feels surreal, but with all your friends bailing at the last minute, you weren’t about to let the ticket—and your deposit—go to waste.

The fact that you’d been downgraded to a shared cabin? Well, that was a bitter pill you were still swallowing.

Cabin 512A. The number taunts you as you make your way down the narrow, carpeted hallways.

The luggage wheels behind you squeak, the only sound in the otherwise quiet corridor. You grip the keycard tightly, your heart thumping faster than it should. Sharing a cabin with a stranger was bound to be awkward, but you’d convinced yourself it couldn’t be that bad.

The door beeps as you slide the keycard, and you step inside. It’s… snug. Two single beds crammed into a space that feels more like a walk-in closet with delusions of grandeur. One bed is already claimed, judging by the neatly folded hoodie and headphones resting on it.

You hear a faint sound—a soft hum—from the bathroom. Your brows knit together. It’s familiar. Too familiar.

The door creaks open before you can dwell on it further, and your new cabinmate steps out. She’s small, dressed in an oversized sweater and denim shorts, her hair casually tied up. For a moment, her gaze locks with yours, her eyes wide and questioning.

“UH…hi,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “You must be my roommate.”

You nod, but you’re not really listening. Your brain is short-circuiting, trying to process what you’re seeing.

Jo Yuri.

Not just your cabinmate—Jo Yuri, the breakout star from Squid Game Season 2. You’d binge-watched the entire season when it came out a few months ago, captivated by her performance. She played one of the more appealing characters: the underdog who managed to power through the entirety of the season. People online had been calling her the “puppy of the season.”

And now, she’s standing in front of you, looking more ordinary than you ever thought possible. No makeup, no stylists, just a girl with messy hair and an easy smile.

“Uh… yeah,” you finally manage, trying to play it cool. “That’s me. Roommate. Hi.”

She chuckles, her smile widening. “You okay there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You shake your head quickly, attempting to compose yourself. “No, no. It’s just… you look really familiar.”

Her expression shifts slightly, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Ah,” she says, her tone light but guarded. “You’ve seen it?”

You don’t need her to elaborate. “Squid Game?” you ask, careful to keep your voice neutral.

“Yeah.” She shrugs, leaning casually against the wall. “That’d do it.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you scramble to fill it. “You were great in it,” you blurt out, cringing internally at how fanboy-ish you sound. “Like, really great. One of the best parts of the season.”

Her lips quirk into a smile, but there’s a hint of weariness in it. “Thanks. Appreciate that.”

You sense there’s more she’s not saying, but you don’t push. Instead, you gesture to your bed. “Uh, mind if I unpack?”

“Go for it,” she says, stepping aside.

The awkwardness lingers as you start unpacking, but you catch her glancing at you a couple of times, like she’s sizing you up. It’s weird—sharing a room with someone who’s been on your screen, who people have written essays and theories about online.

Finally, she breaks the silence. “So… what made you come on this cruise?”

You hesitate, debating how much to share. “Friends bailed,” you admit with a shrug. “Didn’t want to waste the ticket. What about you?”

She snorts, perching on the edge of her bed. “Needed a break. Too many people. Too much noise.”

“Isn’t that ironic?” you tease, surprising yourself with your boldness. “Considering, you know… you.”

Her laugh is light, genuine. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

The conversation eases after that, flowing like a gentle current. You don’t mention Squid Game again, and she doesn’t bring it up either. Instead, you talk about the ship, the itinerary, and the overly enthusiastic cruise director you’d both spotted during boarding.

But in the back of your mind, you’re still reeling. Jo Yuri, in the flesh. And somehow, you’re supposed to survive five days of sharing a cabin with her without making a complete fool of yourself.

-

You’re still reeling from the whole “roommate with a stranger” situation when Yuri suggests exploring the ship. It feels like the right thing to do—anything to avoid sitting in the cabin together, surrounded by the thick air of awkward silence.

“Uh… sure,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “Lead the way?”

Yuri raises an eyebrow at you, her expression somewhere between amused and unimpressed. “You’re really going to make me decide everything, huh?”

“No, no, I just—uh—thought maybe you… had a plan,” you mumble, stumbling over your words.

Her lips twitch into a small smirk. “Relax, I’m not gonna bite.”

You try, you really do, but relaxing is easier said than done when you’re walking shoulder to shoulder with someone like Jo Yuri. She’s effortlessly cool, with her confident stride and casual yet chic outfit that screams “I’m too cool for this, but I’m here anyway.” Meanwhile, you feel like a bundle of frayed nerves, overthinking every step and every word.

The first stop is the promenade deck. It’s lined with shops selling overpriced souvenirs, jewellery, and random knick-knacks you definitely don’t need.

“Look at this,” Yuri says, holding up a sparkly snow globe with a tiny replica of the ship inside. “A whole fifteen dollars for something that’s going to collect dust on a shelf.”

You laugh nervously, unsure if you’re supposed to agree or argue. “Yeah, it’s, uh… it’s definitely not worth it.”

She narrows her eyes at you, clearly catching on to your awkward vibe. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You blink, feeling your ears heat up. “I talk! I just… don’t want to say anything dumb.”

Yuri tilts her head, studying you for a moment. Then, to your surprise, she bursts out laughing. It’s not mocking—more like she finds your honesty refreshing. “You’re not as scary as you look.”

“I don’t look scary,” you protest, though your voice comes out weaker than you’d like.

“Mm, debatable,” she teases, nudging your arm.

You’re about to respond when the two of you pass by a small café on the deck. The smell of fresh pastries wafts out, and Yuri stops abruptly, sniffing the air like a cartoon character.

“Okay, we’re going in,” she declares.

Before you can protest, she grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. The café is cozy, with warm lighting and a display case full of pastries that look almost too good to eat. Yuri walks up to the counter, her eyes scanning the options with laser focus.

“Two croissants,” she says, turning to you. “And you’re paying.”

“What? Why?” you stammer, fumbling for your wallet.

“Because I’m cute and you’re trying to make a good first impression,” she says, deadpan, though her eyes twinkle with mischief.

You have no comeback for that, so you hand over the money and follow her to a small table by the window.

Yuri takes a bite of her croissant and lets out a satisfied hum. “Okay, I’ll admit it. This is worth the overpriced cruise food.”

You nibble on yours, trying to act casual. “Yeah, it’s, uh… not bad.”

After finishing your snacks, the two of you wander out onto the open deck. The sea stretches endlessly in every direction, the horizon blending seamlessly with the sky. The sound of waves and the salty breeze are oddly calming.

“So,” Yuri says, breaking the silence. “What’s the first thing you wanna do tomorrow?”

You glance at her, surprised she’s asking. “Uh… I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

She groans, throwing her head back dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be polite!”

“Polite is boring,” she says with a smirk. “But fine. How about karaoke? I saw a lounge near the theatre earlier.”

You immediately feel a pit in your stomach. “Karaoke? Like… singing?”

“No, like interpretive dance,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Yes, singing. Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you lie, though the thought of embarrassing yourself in front of her is already giving you secondhanded anxiety.

“Good,” she says, her grin widening. “Because I’m definitely dragging you tomorrow.”

-

You wake up to the sound of waves gently lapping against the ship and faint footsteps outside the cabin. It takes a moment for you to remember where you are—and who you’re sharing the space with.

Rolling over, you see Yuri still fast asleep, her face buried in the pillow and her hair a chaotic mess. It’s oddly endearing, watching her like this, but you quickly snap out of it before she wakes up and catches you staring.

Not wanting to linger in the tiny cabin, you freshen up quietly and head to the deck to catch the sunrise. You don’t expect Yuri to join you, but just as the horizon starts to blush with orange and pink, you hear her voice.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asks, leaning on the railing beside you, still in her oversized hoodie. Her hair is slightly more presentable now, but you notice a faint crease on her cheek from the pillow.

“Something like that,” you reply, offering her a small smile.

For a while, the two of you stand there in silence, the morning air crisp and salty. The awkwardness from yesterday lingers faintly, but it feels more like background noise now, drowned out by the tranquillity of the moment.

“I’m starving,” she finally says, breaking the quiet.

You laugh. “I think they’re serving breakfast already. Want to head down?”

She nods, and the two of you make your way to the dining hall. It’s bustling but not chaotic, and you manage to snag a table near the window. Yuri piles her plate with fruit, eggs, and enough toast to feed a small village.

“Do you always eat this much in the morning?” you tease, gesturing to her plate.

She narrows her eyes at you, mock offense dripping from her tone. “I’m stocking up for the day. Don’t judge me.”

You chuckle and take a bite of your food, the atmosphere between you two finally starting to loosen.

After breakfast, the day unfolds naturally. You both decide to explore the ship, starting with the pool deck. The sun is warm, the water glistening, and you’re surprised to find how easy it is to talk to Yuri now.

“I can’t believe how big this place is,” she says, spinning in place to take it all in.

“Yeah, it’s like a floating city,” you agree.

She grins at you. “Still down for the karaoke? I’m kind of amazing at karaoke.”

“Oh really? Amazing, huh?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t believe me?” she challenges, her tone playful.

“Surely someone here among us is not a singer, huh.”

The two of you continue wandering, checking out the shops, the gym, and even a small art gallery tucked away on one of the lower decks. Yuri lingers in front of a painting of a ship caught in a storm, her expression thoughtful.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask, curious.

She shrugs but doesn’t look away from the painting. “I was just thinking… it’s crazy how people used to travel like this all the time, not knowing if they’d make it.”

“That’s kind of a downer,” you joke lightly, trying to break the mood.

She laughs softly and nudges your arm. “Sorry, I get weird sometimes. Let’s go find that karaoke bar.”

By the time evening rolls around, you’re both sitting in the lounge, sipping on mocktails with tiny umbrellas in them. Yuri sips hers thoughtfully, the sunset casting a golden glow over her face.

“I’m glad I didn’t cancel this trip,” she admits, almost to herself.

You glance at her, surprised. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

She shrugs, but there’s a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s not so bad having a decent person to share it with.”

For a moment, you’re caught off guard, unsure how to respond. But then you see the way her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, and you realize she’s being genuine.

“Yeah,” you say softly, feeling the awkward tension between you two finally dissolve. “It’s not so bad.”

As the night stretches on, the ship seems to come alive with laughter and music, and you and Yuri find yourselves in the karaoke bar after all. She picks an upbeat song you don’t know but belts it out like a pro, her confidence infectious.

When she finishes, breathless and laughing, you can’t help but clap louder than anyone else in the room. She bows dramatically, blowing you a playful kiss before hopping off the stage.

“Your turn,” she says, sliding into the seat next to you.

“Oh hell no…” you protest, shaking your head.

“Too bad,” she replies, grabbing your arm and dragging you up to the stage. “We’re doing a duet. Here's a private lesson with a professional.”

And just like that, day two ends with the two of you laughing so hard you can barely breathe, the awkwardness from yesterday now nothing more than a distant memory.

-

Day three begins with a comfortable silence between you and Yuri as you both sip your morning coffee on the balcony. By now, you’ve grown accustomed to her quirks: the way she furrows her brows when she’s deep in thought, how she adds a ridiculous amount of sugar to her coffee, and how she taps her nails rhythmically on the table when she’s bored.

“You’re staring,” Yuri says without looking up from her phone, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

“Am not,” you reply quickly, turning your gaze to the horizon. The sun is already high, and the shimmering ocean stretches endlessly.

After breakfast, the ship announces its arrival at a nearby island, and Yuri excitedly suggests signing up for the snorkelling excursion. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” she says, practically bouncing in place.

You agree, not entirely for the snorkelling but because her enthusiasm is contagious.

The excursion is a dream. The guides take you to a secluded reef with crystal-clear waters teeming with marine life. As you put on your gear and dive in, the world beneath the waves feels magical. Schools of vibrant fish dart around coral formations, and the water is so clear you can see every detail.

At one point, Yuri taps your shoulder underwater and gestures wildly to a sea turtle gliding gracefully past. You laugh—or at least try to, but it comes out as a muffled gurgle. Yuri seems to find this hilarious, and even with her snorkel on, you can tell she’s grinning.

When you resurface, she flicks water at you playfully. “Did you see how close it was?!”

“I did,” you reply, trying to shake the water out of your hair. “But you nearly scared it off with your flailing.”

“I was pointing, not flailing,” she retorts, sticking her tongue out.

The day ends with a quiet dinner back on the ship. You both opt for a small, cozy restaurant instead of the bustling buffet. Over plates of grilled seafood and pasta, Yuri shares more about her life—her dreams, her fears, and the little things that make her who she is.

“You know,” she says, twirling her fork absentmindedly, “I didn’t expect to actually enjoy this trip. I thought it’d be awkward sharing a room with a stranger, but… it’s been nice.”

Her words catch you off guard, but you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, it has.”

By day four, you and Yuri have become a dynamic duo. It’s no longer just about sharing a cabin—it’s about sharing the entire experience.

The morning starts with a group yoga class on the deck. Yuri insists on trying it, claiming it’ll be “relaxing.” You’re skeptical, especially when you realize how uncoordinated you are compared to her.

“Downward dog,” the instructor calls out.

You glance at Yuri, who’s already in perfect form, her movements graceful and fluid. Meanwhile, you’re struggling not to topple over.

“Need help?” she whispers, barely holding back her laughter.

“I’m f-fine,” you mutter through gritted teeth, your arms trembling. Don't even mention the fact that your back cracks with every slight movement.

Suffice to say, Yuri had a lot of fun holding her laugh when glancing at you.

After yoga, the two of you grab smoothies from the ship’s café and spend the rest of the morning lounging by the pool. Yuri pulls out a book she brought along, while you scroll through your phone. Every so often, she nudges you with her foot, pointing out something funny in her book or making a sarcastic comment about the poolside drama happening around you.

In the afternoon, the ship hosts a trivia competition. Yuri’s eyes light up when she hears about it, and she drags you to the event.

“You’re good at trivia, right?” she asks.

“Uhh…Define ‘good,’” you reply, already regretting your life choices.

The game is chaotic, with questions ranging from history to pop culture. Yuri surprises you with her knowledge of obscure facts—she nails the question about 18th-century composers but completely blanks when asked about the capital of Switzerland.

“It’s Zurich, right?” she whispers to you.

“No, it’s Bern,” you reply, smirking.

She glares at you, whispering back, “If you’re wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Despite a few missteps, you manage to place second. Yuri proudly dons the sailor hat prize and refuses to take it off for the rest of the day.

That evening, you attend the ship’s formal dinner. Yuri, dressed in a sleek black dress, turns heads as she walks into the dining hall. You’re about to compliment her, but she beats you to it.

“You clean up nicely,” she says, eyeing your outfit.

“So do you,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant, but the warmth in your cheeks betrays you.

The night ends with the two of you sitting on the deck, watching the stars. The silence between you is comfortable, filled with the sound of waves and the occasional laughter of other passengers.

“This trip’s going to feel too short,” Yuri says softly, her gaze fixed on the sky.

You don’t respond immediately, unsure how to put your thoughts into words. Instead, you simply sit there, hoping the moment will stretch just a little longer.

-

The final day arrives with a bittersweet air. Breakfast feels quieter, and even Yuri’s usual sarcastic remarks are softer, almost hesitant.

“We should make the most of today,” she says, her voice determined but tinged with sadness.

And so, you do.

The two of you spend the morning doing all the things you hadn’t tried yet—arcade games, mini-golf, and even a cheesy photo booth where you both don silly props for the camera.

“Smile!” Yuri says, throwing her arm around your shoulder and holding up a fake moustache.

The resulting photo is ridiculous, but it’s one you know you’ll treasure.

In the afternoon, the ship docks at another island, and you both decide to go for a casual hike along the coast. The trail is quiet, with stunning views of the ocean. At one point, Yuri stops to take a photo, the wind catching her hair just right.

“Send me that one,” you say, pretending to be casual.

“Why? Planning to frame it?” she teases, but her cheeks turn pink.

The final evening arrives too soon. The ship hosts a farewell party, and the two of you join the crowd on the deck, dancing to live music. Yuri’s laughter is infectious as she spins you around, her energy lighting up the night.

And with the ship nears the port, reality sets in. The two of you return to your cabin to pack, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, as you stand by the railing one last time, Yuri hands you a folded piece of paper.

“In case we don’t run into each other again,” she says, her voice quiet.

You unfold it to find her phone number.

“Yuri—”

“Don’t say anything cheesy,” she interrupts, though her smile is soft.

When the ship finally docks and you part ways, you can’t help but feel like this is only the beginning of something bigger. But for now, you're contented with the short getaway with your lucky cabinmate, already reminiscing about it as you look at her back slowly disappearing to the crowd.

“Y/n, do you think this looks good on me?”

Her voice drifts from the walk-in closet, soft yet commanding, the kind of tone that doesn’t allow for a half-hearted response. You glance up from the laundry pile you’ve been folding for the past twenty minutes, catching sight of Minju stepping into the room in a pale blue dress.

It fits her perfectly, accentuating her delicate frame without being overly flashy. If anything, the dress looks like it was made for her. But you’ve learned to temper your words around her. Minju doesn’t need flattery—she needs honesty.

“It looks…good,” you say simply, folding another shirt with mechanical precision.

She frowns, turning back to the mirror. “Just good?”

You pause, trying not to sigh. “Fine…It looks great. You could wear a potato sack and still outshine half the world.”

Minju’s lips curve into a small smile, but it fades quickly as she smooths the fabric over her hips. “It’s not about outshining anyone, Y/n. I need to look like someone who’s ready to settle down. Someone... wife-like.”

"Pff…his clothes won't be folded anytime soon."

"Yaaaaaa" Minju whined, but the tone remains light.

Despite the teasing, the word wife hangs in the air between you, heavy and unspoken. You focus on the shirt in your hands, folding it once, then twice, before placing it neatly on the pile.

“I think you’re overthinking it,” you say, your voice steady despite the subtle tension building in your chest. “If a guy can’t see you are wife material, that’s on him, not your dress.”

Her head turns sharply, eyes narrowing. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being paraded around like a prize at an auction.”

“That’s a little dramatic,” you reply, finally meeting her gaze.

“Is it?” she shoots back, her hands planted firmly on her hips now. “I’ve got a dinner tomorrow with some CEO my manager thinks is perfect for me. Perfect age, perfect background, perfect everything. But do you know what’s not perfect?”

“Your minju ga tto moments?” you suggest, unable to resist a smirk.

“You,” she huffs, throwing a pillow at you. You catch it effortlessly, placing it on top of the laundry pile as if it belongs there.

“You’re the worst house helper ever” she mutters, but there’s no venom in her tone.

“I’m your only house helper,” you correct, standing and stretching your arms over your head. “And I’d argue I’m doing a pretty decent job.”

“Debatable,” she mumbles, turning back to the mirror. She’s quiet for a moment, her reflection deep in thought. Then, as if deciding something monumental, she spins back around.

“You’re coming with me tomorrow.”

You blink. “…What the f*ck?”

“To the dinner. You’re coming with me,” she repeats, crossing her arms like it’s already decided.

“Minju, I think you’re confusing me with your manager—”

“No, I’m not.” Her voice softens, but her eyes stay locked on yours. “I need someone there who’ll actually tell me what they think. Someone who’s not afraid to call out nonsense when they see it.”

“Right. And…you’re asking me?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not exactly the type to blend in with high society,” you point out, gesturing to your worn-out hoodie and jeans. “They’ll take one look at me and think you brought your assistant as a pity date.”

“First of all, you don’t look that bad,” she says, her lips twitching in amusement. “And second, I don’t care what they think. You’ll just sit there, eat your food, and occasionally tell me if the guy is worth my time.”

You open your mouth to protest again, but the determination in her eyes stops you. She’s already made up her mind.

“Fine,” you relent, leaning back against the couch. “But I'm sitting nearby, not at your table."

"Nope." Minju demanded. Her lips loudly popped the 'p'. "You're sitting with me, hon."

You could only sighed at her antics. "…don’t blame me if I scare him off.”

Her smile returns, small but genuine. “That’s exactly why I’m bringing you.”

-

The restaurant feels like a different universe, the kind of place where the chandeliers probably cost more than your yearly rent. As you step inside, you’re painfully aware of how out of place you look, despite Minju’s efforts to make you “presentable.”

The tailored suit she picked out for you fits fine, but the collar feels like it’s choking you, and the tie might as well be a noose. You tug at it instinctively, only to have Minju swat your hand away.

“Stop fidgeting,” she whispers, her voice low but firm.

“Ya, it feels like I’m wearing a straightjacket,” you mutter under your breath, glancing around at the other patrons. Everyone looks like they stepped out of a luxury magazine, and you feel like an impostor sneaking into their world.

Minju sighs, looping her arm through yours as she steers you toward the table. “You’re fine. Just... don’t embarrass me.”

“That’s a tall order,” you joke, earning a glare that makes you straighten up immediately.

As you approach the table, the man—Jae, or whatever his name was—stands to greet her. His suit is sharp, his smile even sharper, and he exudes the kind of confidence that comes from always being the most important person in the room.

Minju is poised as always, but you can tell she’s studying him with the precision of someone trained to spot subtleties. Her eyes flick to his tailored suit—dark, impeccably fitted, clearly custom-made. His watch glints under the low lighting, its sleek design screaming exclusivity. She notices how his shoes are polished to a mirror shine, a detail she quietly admires, though it’s more the habit of presentation than the man himself that earns her approval.

Her gaze lingers on his face for a moment longer. He’s conventionally handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline so chiseled it seems engineered. His skin is flawless, either naturally or through an aggressive skincare regimen, and his neatly styled hair has the kind of sheen that comes from salon-grade products.

But it’s his smile that makes her hesitate. It’s too practiced, too polished. The way his lips curve feels less like an expression of genuine emotion and more like a calculated performance. Minju can’t quite put her finger on it, but something about him feels... rehearsed.

“Minju,” he says, his voice smooth, “you’re even more stunning than I imagined.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Great start, mister.

Minju smiles politely. “Thank you. This is Y/n, my house helper and friend.”

Jae’s gaze flickers to you, and his smile tightens ever so slightly. “Ah, I see.”

You shake his hand, trying not to let his patronizing tone get under your skin. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” he replies, though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean it.

You sit down, carefully unfolding your napkin and placing it on your lap like Minju instructed. It’s a small gesture, but it feels absurdly formal. The waiter arrives almost immediately to take your drink orders, and Jae doesn’t even glance at the menu before ordering an expensive bottle of wine.

“Water’s fine for me,” you say, earning a subtle nudge from Minju under the table.

-

As the evening progresses, you can’t help but feel like a fish out of water. The silverware is arranged in a way that makes no sense to you, and you’re pretty sure you’ve been holding your fork wrong the entire time.

Jae, on the other hand, seems completely at ease, dominating the conversation with tales of his business ventures and luxury vacations.

“And of course,” Jae says, swirling his wine glass like he’s performing for an invisible audience, “I make it a point to give back. Philanthropy is very important to me.”

“That’s wonderful,” Minju says, her voice even.

You nod along, keeping your expression neutral even though every word out of his mouth makes you want to groan.

“So, Y/n,” Jae says suddenly, turning his attention to you for the first time all night. “What do you do besides housekeeping?”

“I’m Minju’s househelper…just housekeeper yeah.” you reply, keeping your tone polite.

He nods slowly, his smile almost condescending. “That’s... noble. It must be fulfilling to work for someone like her.”

“It is,” you say simply, ignoring the way his words make your stomach twist. "She's a good person to work for…"

Minju shifts uncomfortably, clearly picking up on the tension. “Y/n isn’t just my househelper,” she says, her tone sharp. “They’ve been with me for years. I trust them more than anyone.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you glance at her, surprised. There’s a sincerity in her voice that makes your chest tighten.

Jae, however, seems unfazed. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “Loyalty is such a rare quality these days.”

As he speaks, his voice is smooth, his words carefully measured to sound charming without crossing into arrogance. She notices how he holds her gaze just long enough to seem interested but shifts his focus to his wine glass in a way that feels almost dismissive. It’s subtle, but Minju catches it.

She always catches the subtleties.

Still, she plays along. She smiles when he compliments her, nods when he  launches into a monologue about his career—something to do with technology and blockchain, and asks polite questions to keep the conversation flowing. But every now and then, her gaze drifts to you. You’re sitting stiffly, your hands clasped in your lap, your eyes darting between the silverware and your plate like you’re trying to decode a secret message.

“And of course, we’re always looking for ways to innovate,” Jae says, swirling his wine like he’s in a movie. “The future is all about disruption.”

“Disruption?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds... interesting.”

Jae chuckles, a sound that grates on your nerves. “Yes, yes! It’s about breaking the norms, you know? Creating new opportunities.”

“Right,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Like disrupting this conversation with a sales pitch?”

Minju chokes on her sip of wine, quickly covering her mouth with a napkin. Jae’s smile falters for a moment before he recovers.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a sales pitch,” he says, forcing a laugh. “I’m just passionate about what I do.”

“I can see that,” you reply, your tone flat.

Minju shoots you a warning look, but there’s a flicker of amusement in her eyes. You force a smile, resisting the urge to continue your sarcastic run.

For Minju’s sake, you bite your tongue and focus on the plate in front of you.

-

The meal itself is exquisite, but you’re too preoccupied to enjoy it. Every detail of the restaurant—from the pristine tablecloths to the hushed murmurs of other diners—feels like a reminder that you don’t belong here. But every time you catch Minju glancing at you, her expression soft with gratitude, it feels worth it.

She’s trying to hide her discomfort with Jae when she turned her attention back to him, but you can see it in the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. And that’s enough to keep you on your best behaviour, no matter how much you want to call him out on his smugness.

When Jae leans in to comment on the wine selection, Minju notes the way his cologne—a sophisticated, woody scent—lingers in the air. It’s pleasant, but it doesn’t linger with her the way simpler, more familiar things do. Like the faint scent of laundry detergent you carry when you come in from running errands, or the sharp tang of cleaning supplies after you’ve wiped down the counters.

She glances at him again, taking in the way he gestures with his hands—broad, sweeping movements that seem designed to command attention. He’s polished, no doubt about that. But Minju’s gut tells her that beneath the polish, there’s something... hollow.

By the time dessert arrives, you’ve somehow managed to keep your composure. Minju excuses herself to the restroom, leaving you alone with Jae.

“So,” he says, swirling the last of his wine, “you must see a lot, working for Minju. I imagine it’s quite the experience.”

“It is,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You’re lucky, you know. Not many people get to be so close to someone like her.”

Your grip on your fork tightens, but you force a smile. “You’re right. I am lucky.”

Minju returns moments later, her presence immediately easing the tension. She glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Perfect,” you say, standing to help her with her chair. “Just perfect.”

-

As the evening progresses, it becomes increasingly clear that Jae is more interested in talking about himself than getting to know Minju. He interrupts her stories to share his own, checks his phone under the table, and even orders dessert without asking if she wanted any.

“Minju,” he says at one point, leaning forward with what you’re sure he thinks is a charming smile, “I have to say, you’re even more beautiful in person than you are on screen.”

“Thank you,” she replies, her smile tight.

“And I’m sure someone like you must have a very busy schedule,” he continues. “But if we were together, I’d make sure you had time to relax. Maybe even a vacation. The private villa I mentioned would be perf-”

“Excuse me, but what’s your favourite film of hers?” you interrupt, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Jae blinks, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been talking about how amazing Minju is,” you say, folding your arms on the table, “so I’m curious. What’s your favourite film of hers?”

Minju turns to you, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Well, uh...” Jae stammers, clearly scrambling. “There are so many great ones, it’s hard to choose.”

“Come on, Just pick one,” you press, leaning in slightly.

He clears his throat, his confidence wavering. “I think the one where she plays that, uh, spy? You know, the action movie.”

Minju tilts her head. “I’ve…never played a spy.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Oh, right,” Jae says quickly, laughing nervously. “I must’ve been thinking of someone else.”

You sit back, biting back a laugh. “Right, understandable. That's…a good suggestion for her next role.”

Minju also bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

-

By the time you leave the restaurant, Jae’s enthusiasm has dwindled significantly. He bids Minju a somewhat awkward goodbye, promising to call, though you suspect she won’t answer.

Back at the house, Minju lets out a heavy sigh, kicking off her heels and tossing them unceremoniously by the door. “Well, that was a disaster,” she groans, plopping onto the couch with an exaggerated huff.

“You’re welcome,” you reply dryly, loosening the tie she forced you into. The thing’s been choking you all evening, but at least the dinner’s over. "Far out, this is choking me."

She shoots you a glare, though it lacks any real bite. “You didn’t have to roast the guy alive.”

“What? I was just asking innocent questions,” you say, shrugging nonchalantly as you loosen another button on your shirt. “If he can’t even name one of your works, he’s not worth your time.”

Minju groans again, pulling a throw pillow into her lap. “Maybe I’m just not meant to find someone. This is the fifth disaster in a row.”

The vulnerability in her voice makes your chest ache. You look over at her, noticing the way her shoulders slump and how she’s hugging the pillow like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Aish, you’ll find someone,” you say quietly, trying to sound reassuring but feeling like your words are hollow. “It’s not like you’re in a rush, right?”

She turns to you, her expression unreadable. “What if I’ve already found them?”

You blink. “What? Who? I kept track and you crossed all of them.”

“Well what if…the person I’ve been looking for has been here all along?” she says, her voice soft but steady, her gaze locked onto yours.

"Minju," you repeat, but it comes out like a plea. "The heck you're saying?"

She sits up, crossing her legs beneath her, and shifts closer to you. The pillow falls forgotten onto the floor as she leans in, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Why do you think I’ve been dragging you to these dinners?" she asks softly.

"Uh…" You blink again, trying to piece together her meaning. "…Because you wanted my opinion on these guys?"

She shakes her head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at her lips. "No, stupid. Because I wanted you to tell me they weren’t good enough for me. I wanted you to realize that no one else could ever measure up to you."

Your brain screeches to a halt. You can feel your face heating up, the familiar panic rising in your chest. “Uh... sure, yeah,” you stammer, scratching the back of your neck. “I-I mean, you’ve got me and all, but I don’t think I’d make a great husband. I can’t even fold fitted sheets properly.”

“Y/n, I’m serious.”

“Right, serious.” You laugh nervously, trying to deflect. “Well, you know what they say, the best relationships start with someone who knows how to fix your coffee machine when it breaks—”

“Jung Y/n.”

Her voice is firm this time, and it stops your rambling dead in its tracks. She shifts closer, her hand reaching out to rest on top of yours. The warmth of her touch sends a jolt through you, and you freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Kim Minju,” you say, your voice cracking slightly as you clear your throat. “You’re tired. It’s been a long day. Maybe sleep on this whole ‘husband-hunting’ thing, and tomorrow you’ll realize it was just—”

“It’s not ‘just.’” Her grip tightens, her eyes glistening with something you can’t quite name. “You’ve always been here for me. You know me better than anyone else, and you make me feel... safe. Like I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than myself.”

You swallow hard, feeling like your heart is about to beat out of your chest. “Minju, I... Look, you deserve someone who can give you the world. I’m just your househelper. The person who unclogs your sink when it’s backed up with hair.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You’re more than that, and you know it.”

“Do I?” you blurt out, your voice louder than intended. “Because honestly, I’ve been trying to keep my distance for ages. You’re—you’re Kim Minju. Successful, gorgeous, amazing Minju. And me? I’m just—”

“Mine,” she interrupts, her voice barely a whisper.

That one word makes your entire argument crumble. You sit there, stunned, as she inches closer, her eyes searching yours.

"…Fair move, damn it." You muttered, ignoring the rapid beating of your hearts and the continuous butterfly in your stomach.

“So…are you really going to make me spell it out?” she teases, though her voice is laced with emotion.

You let out a nervous laugh, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “Well, I do like it when people are straightforward, so maybe a—”

Her lips meet yours before you can finish your sentence. It’s soft, tentative, and completely disarming. Your mind goes blank, every sarcastic comeback dying on your tongue.

When she pulls away, her cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are steady. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I—uh—” You blink rapidly, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Yeah, no big deal. Happens all the time. People confess their undying love to their house helpers every day.”

Minju giggles, leaning her forehead against yours. “You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah, but you’re still here,” you mutter, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Always,” she whispers.

Her fingers lace with yours, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe. You let yourself hope. Because the real one wasn’t someone Minju needed to find—it was someone who had always been beside her, waiting.