Divergence
male reader x NewJeans/NJZ Minji
Tags: angst, smut (but it’s absolutely not the focus), polars, friendstolovers/enemiestolovers, general incoherence, time. time. time
21k words
Better consumed on fanprose
For @azelfty and @jmuns-kpop prompt, From Time to Time. Much love to the two hosts for helping me with making this more palatable.
For anyone else, it'd be impossible to know her this well. And that's the thing. You're not sure how to juggle this. You and her. Her and her. The fact that you've seen every facet of her being. The good, the bad, the ugly. That you can't leave her. You're an epiphyte, non-sessile, and every moment she's still there.
Your mother said the two of you created destiny when you were born. Same antenatal classes, same expected term. You remember it to the dot. Five minutes and forty-four seconds younger. Just barely.
Your brain hadn't even developed, so how were you expected to know that that was when it all began?
You couldn't know how much you'd learn to hate her- You couldn't know how much she'd be by your side.
And you get it. Every single moment you get it. It's high school. It's the time for firsts. First loves, first experiences. First time falling, not in the kiddish way, the way you trip over a rock and scrape skin on asphalt. In the adult way, holding onto another's hand like you're clutching mom's too tight.
Everyone's been telling you she's pretty. You? You don't feel that way. You've seen her face too long. You know it too well. She's objectively beautiful, sure, but subjectively she carved out her own definition of herself ages ago. It's too complicated to get into what that means, because at the end of the day, subjectivity is no definite meaning.
Kim Minji. Small face, fragile eyes. Sometimes she doesn't look like she's really there. Real, tangible, existing in a universe. She was born for all the right things.
You've seen for real when she's at her best- You've seen for real when she's at her worst.
She loves you- she hates you.
She's your best friend- she's your worst enemy.
She hurts- you blister.
Twelve at noon and already she's spinning around you, hand on arm, tugging you along. Cheese kimbap on the lunch menu- she can't miss it.
“You're gonna make me late," she growls, eyes forward, parting the sea of brown uniforms and black skirts.
“And you're making this all about you again. Seriously, you need to take it easy," you chuckle, half a smile on as you glide behind her.
“That's not the point," Minji snaps, creating gaps for the two of you to slip through with the heat of her gaze alone. “Your problems are my problems. I care, so when you need help, I'm there. If nothing else, it's kind of in my job description."
And you know. Class President Minji. Head Prefect Minji. Perfectly-pressed uniform, face of the school Minji. She said she found her purpose here, making use of all her god-given talents the way they were always made to be used, to stand taller, a head above the rest.
That's how she's always been.
The doors to the infirmary swing open, Minji striding in like all the nurses there- some two or three times older than her- belong to her.
“Ma'am, injury," Minji states, lifting your arm up by the wrist to show the nearest nurse your excoriated elbow. You glance at the red patch you were awarded with just five minutes ago, a result of ignorance. The sting's already faded, and you don't really need this, but well, she'll just cite protocol or something.
“Could you get him a plaster? And disinfect the wound?"
The nurse nods, giving Minji an obedient nod and shooting you a slightly perturbed look for inconveniencing her day. You blink, both of you staring at absolutely nothing happening for a couple of seconds.
“I got it, you know," you finally say, eager to help her along, “you don't have to stick around to watch me get patched up. Go get your kimbap."
Minji flicks her eyes to yours, mind finally chugging along. Her painfully tight grip on your wrist loosens.
“Right. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"
You wave her off with a small hand signal, and she offers a wry smile, eyes lingering till she crosses the doorway.
***
“Stop creating headaches for me," Minji bites, head turned to the side on the last step to the doorway, “you'd think you're old enough to know how to take care of yourself."
You resist the urge to snap back, sighing. You're tired, and the faster she gets out of your hair, the better.
The nurse wheels over on her rolling chair, plaster and antiseptic in hand, nudging towards the bed beside her for you to sit down so she can get on with it. You hardly wince when she rubs the swab into your skin with more force than necessary. Like you said, it hardly stings. When she's done, she tells you you can go, but is fine with you staying for a few minutes.
You brush your finger across the plaster absentmindedly, eyes glancing down to it. The design is familiar, startling you. You're surprised this Doraemon version still exists, ten years later. And it's oddly topical. Your eyes turn to outside the window and immediately you're ten years back, when Minji was just as much a headache as she is now. The kind of memory that makes you feel like nothing's changed.
“You need a plaster for that," you murmur, crouched next to Minji, splattered on the playground floor.
Short hair, purple dress. The Minji of this age is a forgotten memory, someone only her family can recall. And you, of course.
“No I don't," Minji grunts, slowly picking herself up from the floor. You notice the dirt on her cheek, the significant gash on her forearm. You probably look callous.
“Yeah you do. Mom says that when it gets red and wet, you need to cover it up. With a plaster."
“Well I don't need your plaster," Minji retorts, pushing herself to her knees.
You watch her again, every detail on her firm, youthful face.
“Is she alright?"
You turn your head to Minhyun. “She's got a cut. She can't play."
“I can play," Minji growls.
You turn back to her, eyes cool. You stand back up, leaving her to pick herself back up.
“You're stubborn." You say simply, walking away.
You skip lunch, which is fine.
You twirl your pen idly in your hand, utilising dozens of memorised finger tricks, spinning it over the hollow between thumb and forefinger. You're early to the next lesson.
In your head, you replay the scene one more time, the last play that got you injured. You had the ball, and you were dribbling it forward. Passed the first defender with two gentle touches, easy, and the next provided more of a challenge. A quick one two, forcing the scenario where the only option was a pass back to you.
And you'd have made the shot too, if the idiot hadn't tugged at your sleeve and brought both of you to the floor.
And right then and there, Minji had appeared, like she had known. Like she'd been waiting all along to catch you in that moment. Triumphant, towering over you, like she's won something. And you already feel, before you even look up and see, the shadows of her hair across your cheek.
She gives you a cursory scan, like reading lines off a script. Barely even there.
“Nurse's office," she declares, before the adrenaline's even faded, before the pain's even sunk in.
“Piss off, Minji."
“You've got a cut," Minji presents, like there's nothing more that delights her than seeing you with wounds.
“I'm not going for a damn cut."
“I wasn't asking."
You push yourself to your feet, quick, like you're getting back up after taking a haymaker. You square your shoulders, straighten your back, reminding her who really towers above who. Your frame is enough to wrap all around her.
“And what? You're gonna make me?"
And Minji grabs your wrist, right over the split skin, careless, eliciting a hiss. And she tugs at you with serious strength, the strength you only get when you want to strike down someone you absolutely detest. And the reality is that you could still break away just as easily, tug your arm free. But when she pulls you off the field, in front of all the confused eyes and the ones going, not this again, you don't fight back, because you don't exactly need to.
And because there's a rule stopping you.
“So, another spat with queen Minji," a soundlessly drawn chair heralds the arrival of your deskmate, Haerin.
You glance up, into her feline eyes, the ones she's somehow mastered to give absolutely nothing away. “There was no spat."
“She dragged you to the nurse's office." She states.
“I had a cut," you grit your teeth.
“You followed. Willingly."
“Your point being? I shouldn't have rolled into my back and exposed my belly?"
Haerin doesn't even blink. Just stares at you. Unnerving, as always. “When cats are backed into a corner, they face belly towards their attacker. So they have more limbs clawing out to attack."
Of course feline-synonymous-Haerin would use that as an analogy.
“Your point," you restate.
Haerin's eyes turn to the front of the class, where students are starting to file in. “You're going to maul her back. When?"
“I'm not going to maul her. Or do anything."
“Not going to, not intending, but you will. Because it's instinct. And all animals are slaves to them. It'll happen."
“Is society just a perfect recreation of Animal Farm for you, hmm? Cat? And why are you interested?"
Haerin glances at you with a look that answers all your questions and does nothing of the sort simultaneously.
“Keeping up to date with your shenanigans is useful for me. And I don't want to be instigated."
But you want to be there to watch, you think, having known Haerin for long enough. Prof enters next, and you sigh, settling your hands on the edge of your textbook.
If this is war, the state of the battlefield hasn't changed in years. But it's paradoxically not a stalemate.
“Maybe she'll finally force you to give her a thank you," Haerin comments, humorous for her, somehow.
Playing favours? You don't owe Kim Minji a damn thing.
***
You owe Kim Minji everything. Before you were born, the two of you were intertwined, and so naturally- everything after.
Nursery, preschool. Every damn thing, you've been together. Your parents are developed best friends. It gets easier that way, to be conjoined at the hip. Recommendation is the next step. Your mom puts you to piano, says that the trend in reversing, that guys are in. Minji gets the drums, rhythm in her head like the assured way she walks. But the same music school.
Yeah, the two of you are even neighbours. Same white picket fence, the ones people metaphorically sit on. Your families rotate who sends the two of you to school in the mornings. And, if you haven't emphasised enough, same school. Every single time.
“How's your cut?" Minji asks, shoulder to shoulder with you, feet in step. Something she adopted since young, saying she likes the symmetry. A little thing you remember.
“Pretty sure it's already healed, after the wonderful care and concern of my class president."
Minji clicks her tongue, but there's a grin on her face. “No need to be sarcastic. I know you missed lunch."
“I was indeed robbed," you nod, “My class president abandoned me with icy nurse Jeon while she went off on her own to enjoy cheese kimbap delicacy."
Minji guffaws.
“A tragedy," Minji plays along, but pulls out a fist-sized package wrapped hastily in a plastic bag.
“I saved you two pieces," She says, offering them. You smile, grabbing them eagerly and digging in with your dirty fingers.
Minji wrinkles her nose at your display. “Unhygienic."
“I was starved," you counter through a mouthful of rice. Minji shakes her head, turning back to the road with a grin and her hands on her backpack straps.
“How was class?" You continue, voice still muffled by rice. Ill-mannered, but there isn't a day that goes by without one of you asking this question on the road home.
“Fine. Prof Lee was being a hardass, as usual. Why haven't you read ten chapters ahead? Do you not know the syllabus inside out? You guys are ready to fail finals? Typical stuff."
“This is why I left his class," you reply, digging around in the plastic bag like you'll somehow duplicate the last piece with a finger spell.
“Well, Prof Jang is a bum. So it's either him or a guaranteed fail."
“Which is why I have you to tutor me. I can't lose."
Minji rolls her eyes. “Danielle asked me for help with planning Teacher's Day."
“Of course she did. What would poor Vice-pres Danielle do without golden girl president Minji's help?"
“Don't be like that. She's helpful. And nice."
“Pretty too," you jest.
“Hey! No. We are not talking about that again. More importantly, she asked me for help to plan the sports and games. She needs ideas for the inclusive activity."
“What, does chess with your homeroom teacher not sound riveting?"
Minji rolls her eyes, again. Habitual. “Well, I can't think of anything right now either. Fortunately, I know someone who sacrificed doing anything productive in life to waste his time playing games."
You narrow your eyes. “I play games productively."
“Sure you do. So, any ideas?"
“Why are you roping me into this? Do I get a nice treat at the end of the stick?"
“Just follow the carrot, will you?"
You grumble, or try to. But Minji still looks at you expectantly like you'll pull magic out of your arse.
“At least give me a moment to come up with something. Otherwise all I'm gonna give you is like, a soccer match, or something."
Minji freezes in her tracks, off tempo, and you have to crane your neck to look back.
“Genius!" She shrieks, bounding forward.
You blink. “I uh, I have been known for my extremely wrinkly brain-”
“It's perfect! Students against teachers, a game for all ages! It'll be competitive, tense, easy to play-”
“Yeah, that," you finger-gun, like you had that all calculated.
“-and all those who have nothing to do would!'t be bored being the audience. It makes perfect sense. You're the best!"
Minji leaps onto you, catching you off-guard, and it's muscle memory that you remember how to catch her embrace. She does it often, with you, the soft scent of cocoa and mulberries and the fulfilling warmth of having figured out exactly where your limbs go from years of practice. You hear her sigh against your ear as your bodies press, and when she pulls away, you find your feet a little unsteady. She must be getting heavier, or something. It's a feeling that's been getting worse.
“If a hug is all I'm getting, I'm calling it quits being your last-minute saviour."
“Greedy, are you? Do you want a thank you kiss on the cheek? Like your mom always gave you when you were five?"
You scrunch your nose, showing teeth. “Ew. Do not bring up my dark past."
“Your mom would be heartbroken if she heard you say that."
“Don't blackmail me," you frown.
“I'm not as evil as you."
A pause.
"Tomorrow we both have a day off. My place? Lego?"
“Of course you'd ask me to help you build Lego on your day off. That Hogwarts train, am I right?"
“So five pm? I'll let mom know you're staying for dinner."
You rest your hands on your hips. “Stop acting like I have a choice, will you? That's annoying."
“Okay," Minji nods immediately, “you don't have a choice then. Not anymore."
You squeeze your eyes shut, sighing. Zero-sum game.
To take you even further back, the strange thing is, Minji's never really bothered. You. You're not sure how, because it should have happened. But it hasn't. It's improbable.
Not when she splintered the first Gundam model you ever made in half, a ruined birthday present (you keep both haves on a display shelf), not when the two of you got caught cheating in a meaningless childhood exam. Not when the statement, ‘for all intents and purposes' became a life motto for you both to allow for occasional, shared, foolish risk.
The outside world puts it this way. The common explanation. Are you two dating? And the answer is no, but it feels worth it putting in the footnotes: You've just been there since the start, and she hasn't found a reason to replace you yet. In convenient terms, she's the excuse you have prepared when the boys are determining who's got game, who's cool and bagging them, and you're her bodyguard when the boys show up, which is common, for someone that's prim and proper and who looks like her.
It's her smiles you've gotten used to, the ones that seem almost too pretty, like she rehearsed to make sure her teeth don't show but letting her eyes give her away. They don't show often, in front of others, but in front of you they're more natural, since you're on the side where her fortress is less defended. The ones that has everyone getting mysterious knots in their stomachs, because there's always that idea that she seems more interested in you than she really is, like placebo where you think you mean more to her than you really do.
A snare. But you know that it's just her. You were then where she set it up.
Evidence, is what it is, when you head over after a quick shower, taking a seat on her bed while Minji drags a large plastic box over, starting to pull out unfinished chunks of Lego bricks.
“I'm still dead tired, you know," you yawn, pressing both hands into the soft mattress behind you. “Another Prof Jang lecture. I feel deceased."
“What'd she go through this time?"
“I don't know. Didn't bother. And it's weird, because her period is a standard snoozefest, but you wake up right after feeling more tired than before you entered. How does that work?"
“Regretting your decision, I see," Minji teases, eyes narrowed on figuring out which instruction manual is which.
“I'm still taking her over Prof Lee any day."
You close your eyes for a few moments, leaning back, like a few seconds of shut-eye will rejuvenate you. You shift in your spot.
“Are these new sheets? Because damn, are they soft."
As you say it, you let your body fall to the side, face landing in her mattress, breathing in her scent and all. Comfy. You should ask her for a recommendation. Minji looks up, staring at you for a few moments. And you don't normally do faux pas anymore, but you check just in case.
“Sorry, should I not be lying on your bed?"
Minji shakes her head slowly, mysterious smile on. “No, it's fine. You better not fall asleep, though. I didn't invite you just for you to not help me."
Your eyes fall over the rest of her room, something you're used to doing- checking for any new updates. Past the blue walls, the squishy study lamp, past the evidence of you. Picture frame of you two in Europe on a join family trip, your birthday letters to her jammed shut on her desktop drawer, the little Sumikko Gurashi stickers.
"Your idea was a big hit, by the way," Minji states, flipping open the correct instruction manual to the correct page, "The teachers loved it."
"Congrats, Minji," you say honestly.
"It wasn't all me. Credit where credit is due."
You slip off the bed, falling into a cross-legged position by Minji. She tosses you a bag of bricks, and you start helping her fish for the correct parts. "Thanks for that too, I guess, even if your thanks ain't worth nothing."
"Prick," Minji glares. You chortle, slowly handing her the pieces as her focus slowly moves on from you and to her work at hand. You watch her for a few minutes, with a slight smile you can't wipe off, pieces already prepared. You watch her for longer than you usually do, something new, the way she swipes intruding strands of hair back, tucking them behind her ear when they fall in front of her face.
And there, life starts to get more complicated. Branched. And it's not just about increasingly important grades and rapid maturity.
"You better focus," Minji murmurs, eyes not glancing over to greet yours, but a small smirk on hers all the same. You tell yourself it's just something you like, the way she smiles. Small, but enough.
"You better not fuck up," you reply, something foggy settling at the back of your mind.
***
"You better not fuck this up," Minji threatens, every syllable landing like a game of darts where you're the dart board. You narrow your eyes, mentally clocking how long it took for her to shatter the tense peace between you two.
"You're assuming I'm gonna fuck up. Me."
"Your track record is shit."
Absolutely no cushioning. Just everything to bait a reaction from you.
"This project matters as much as it does to me as it does to you. So I think you can lay off it."
"Does it? Does it really matter? Do you really care about the quality of work we're about to submit? Or are you going to call it a day halfway again, when you're too lazy to go any further?"
Your eyes simmer with unbridled rage. Whichever sadistic fuck decided to put the two of you together for this, you'll give them a piece of your mind.
"I'm not here to be your punching bag. I don't need to listen to your narratives."
"Then prove it. Prove me wrong, if you can."
You resist the primal urge to bare your teeth.
"Bathroom," you say tersely.
"Down the hall," Minji's eyes barely even shift, "Second door on the right. And don't come back until you're actually awake and alert."
You have half a mind to just up and out of there, watching Minji pull her laptop from her bag, turning it on like she wouldn't care if you did.
And your brain is so suffocated with anger that you don't process a thing. All the observable traits, the blues of the walls, the picture frames on her bedside drawer, the powerpuff toothbrush in the powerpuff cup in the bathroom. You turn on the tap like the sound alone can drown out what's going on in your head. For a couple moments, you close your eyes, shutting everything out, and you're back again, circa 2015, when you felt the exact same way.
"Sir, he did it."
You winced, because of course you can't count on Kim Minji. Or maybe it is possible, but you're just the damn exception. Because the truth is she hates your guts. And maybe chivalry should be dead, because apparently intent doesn't matter, just the fact that you swung first, and Minji being in every aspect of the worst moments of your life means she has the perfect case file to land you behind metaphorical bars.
So yeah, screw the fact that you heard what he was saying about her, what he intended to say next that you cut off with a well-thrown punch. All that matters is that victorious feeling you know she gets when she sees you towering over the boy, now bruised cheeks and split lip, and still you even try to plead with her, he deserved it, keep this down.
Instead she just backed off, watching you with stony, unfeeling eyes, like she didn't need you to explain to already know everything in your mind, because Kim Minji had long decided to take any possible opportunity to drive her knife deeper into your stomach.
You wonder if she felt vindicated, felt the satisfaction of sweet, sweet revenge every time she walked past the third-floor corridor, as she watched you be punished in the school courtyard, arms at a ninety-degree angle.
The obvious truth is that you can't expect anything to change from her. And you have to live with that.
You turn the tap off with more of a smack than anything else, breathing heavily, but focusing it all through your nose.
You don't have to understand her. You don't have to be friends. You don't need to know what you've apparently robbed from her since the day she was born, something to make her feel this way about you. You just have to tolerate, to hold on until it's all over. And if it doesn't end, then you'll just call it a doomed life and move on in the next one.
If you even feel like having a next one.
"You're excessive."
"You're lacking."
And that's how it is. Not lacking details. Just you. Your character. It's all your fault.
You'll never admit you throw the words back at her the exact same way.
-
"You need to learn to be concise. As a result of uncertain prospects and weather conditions, rice producers may be discouraged from increasing their production of rice since, in the event of unexpected events like sudden flash floods, crops may be lost and their productivity will be affected, threatening producers' return on investments. Producers would thus choose to be pessimistic and reduce their production, decreasing market supply. You're writing an evaluative essay, not a narrative story."
Minji snorts like fuck everything going in one ear and going out the other, because she's already roadblocked anything that comes out of your mouth from entering any part of her being.
"Rice producers will choose to decrease their production as a result of a pessimistic outlook on their return on investments arising from uncertain weather conditions. This would reduce market supply, shifting the AS curve to the left." You power on, slimming her words exponentially.
"You're missing context. There's no realistic scenario involved, which would get you flagged. You'd miss easy marks because of that."
"It's not about greedily baking your cake and eating it too. There's a word count. It's about grabbing as much as possible, with the least amount of effort."
"It's not greedy if it was intended to be doable."
"You're impossible."
"And you're nauseating."
The two of you glare at each other for a few moments, and by that you mean you try to burn two holes in her skull with imaginary Superman heat vision while she gives you that icy blank look where she pretends like you're not under her skin and dragging razors along her flesh.
"I'm done."
"Good, fuck off. Prove you're useless, as always."
"You don't have a single receptor for constructive criticism in your entire egoistic biological makeup."
"I just don't listen to the hoi polloi."
You snort, an exact mirror of the way she did just a minute ago. Anyone else looking down at the two of you would say she's rubbing off on you. And you'd crucify them.
"I hope you choke on verbose overdose."
"Since you're cutting all these words, why don't you cut your dick off while you're at it."
"Termagant."
"Parasite."
"Witch."
You grab your bag, and your things, leaving in a storm, but taking care not to slam her doors or leave her mark on the damn carpet, because god knows she'll find a way to file for your expulsion because of it.
There's a mental timer in your head, a developed thing. You keep the records, the personal bests. The event? How long before Kim Minji screws up another part of your life. And how does defending champion Minji do?
Three days. Three days.
You avoid her like the plague, which is a useless tactic you're not sure why you're still continuing to employ. The reality? She's in your head regardless, and forget about free real estate, because she's built a goddamn metropolis in the expanse of your mind. Just the slightest flash of her straight dark locks is enough to set you off in a frenzy.
No you don't hate her. She's just unbearably annoying, because she spent her whole damn life figuring out how to sink her teeth in, ever since the first time you remember her splattering on the floor when she was five. She's annoying. Nothing more.
(You hate her.)
And you keep revisiting it, in the time machine that is your head, at each and every damn possible moment. Every single moment the two of you have interacted. You can fail every single subject at school and have an eidetic memory when it comes to the history of you and her, and you don't know why. She might be a python, constricting, or a viper, fangs full of delirious venom.
The fact that you resent every single microsecond of those five minutes and forty four seconds, because some part of it actually gets to you, the fact that you're supposed to be younger. Sometimes when she gives you that condescending look, it gets to you. And you hate it. You hate it hate it hate it.
And, just to point out, the ridiculousness of it all? Celebrating birthdays together, a custom you were too young to stop, and the both of you suffering as a result of actions you couldn't control.
Yeah, mom. Logistically, it makes so much sense. Why book two separate locations when you can just share the price of one? Yeah, dad. The two of you practically live in the same social circle for all your lives, and who else can you blame for that?
There's this one fucked up picture, one you can't help but laugh at every time you see it in your family photobook or phone gallery (yeah, she owns a part of that too).
It's from your shared thirteenth birthday, the one where Minji wore a pink dress and had a matching party hat on. And it goes like this. The setting? Cake in the middle, not lit yet, soon, but right before. When they're arranging everything into the perfect shot. You're in the foreground, and Minji in the background, because it's this forty-five degree angle from the side of the table, not the front.
Minji's stoic, like all her servos got locked up from water damage. She sits exactly how she'll sit five years later, in class, but instead of paying attention her eyes are all dead and unfocused. Her parents comment that she looks uncharacteristically sad, and it's true, because her eyelids are all hanging low, pink on her skin like strawberry jam on undercooked pancakes, like it's offensive to her.
And then there's you, in some half-assed, crumpled white dress shirt and trousers, hair done up and styled like you're in the office. And just the way you have your head on your arm on the table, cheek tucked into your bicep, forearm propped straight up and thumb pressed straight in the center of your forehead, thumbnail leaving a mark like a bullet.
You look pissed, like you suddenly fast forwarded and aged fifty years, eyes closed in the literal done with life look. And it should be a fucking sign, for everyone there and then, present company, that something about this dynamic is clearly wrong. But the evaluation? It's cute.
Even though nothing about that day was. The endless way Minji did everything and anything to avoid speaking to you, the way you tried, emphasis on that word, to get her to cooperate with you on something or at least talk, but you were clearly communicating to a different species, because you get nothing from that tiny face of hers.
And you didn't even get into the part where you accidentally unwrapped one of her presents because of some unintentional logistical mix-up, and the look she gave you after could have wilted flowers in full bloom.
(You're pretty sure that limited edition Hot Wheels you lost right after the party is in her possession somewhere, some petty comeback. Occam's razor practically dictates it at this point.)
When you were three you thought she was just introverted. When you were five you suspected she just wasn't feeling it. Eight? Annoyed, sure, but it was only a day, and you thought things couldn't have been that deep. Fifteen? Sick of it, pleaded for a change in custom. Last year? You gave up.
The way you had to laugh and explain to your teacher that you were the last thing from Kim Minji's friend, and that the extensive catalogue you have of all the things you can't do regarding Kim Minji and the scenarios you can't recreate is in actuality a survival manual.
Oh yeah, you'll laugh. Laugh at the absurdity, the way things just can't possibly run this way. No loud music in the car on the way to school, no picking up her pencil when she drops it on the floor and it rolls next to your foot. No damned coffee, lest she spit it back in your face.
And at some point the two of you decided that you would go against every natural law and logical flow just to live lives as far apart from one another as possible. No sharing of friends, no acknowledging one another unless absolutely necessary, nothing.
Which segues perfectly into this next segment.
Love- war.
There is hardly a difference in the interactions between you and her. Which means that, of course, at this house party, Minji finds a perfect way to fuck up your night.
And it just doesn't seem possible. Because you're at the drinks table, seated and having a good time. You're not about the dancing, not about the bleeding eardrums or beer pong. But you are about the drinks. I mean, come on. Zero opportunity cost, besides a pounding headache in the morning. You don't need an economic term for that, because it's called a steal. So you savour the drinks with a stupid grin on your face, because this is what you're talking about.
And when someone approaches, a girl different from the rest of the crowd, you totally dig her vibe the moment she appears. For one, she's cute as heck. But, less colloquially, she hits this perfect in between of youth and lady, perfect transition of fun and coy, and immediately she's interesting. Slight air of mystery, small face. You're not sure how you've missed her in school, but you'll chalk it up to her probably having the complete opposite combination of subjects to you.
She's got a Minji vibe. But you know, in the conventionally attractive way. So not like Minji at all, because you hate Minji.
She catches sight of your laid-back form, sprawled out against your creaky plastic seat like you're halfway gone already, and it's like she can't even help the little giggle and toothy smile that bubbles out of her.
"You the bartender?" She says, hair perfectly straight. Gray, figure-hugging dress a terrific choice.
"Fuck no," you object immediately, finding the assumption absurd and funny, absurdly funny. "I'm the toilet they flush all the leftover drinks in before the parents come home."
And she laughs, laughs like she actually knows how to do it, not like a shrieking dolphin or a giggling duck.
"So you're the guy that scared away the bartender," She reasons, eyes scanning over the selection of drinks.
"I might have done that," you admit, even though you're pretty sure there wasn't a bartender in the first place.
"Any suggestions then, step-in-bartender?"
"Don't touch the Monkey Shoulder bare unless you hate yourself. And Double Black is always good."
The girl nods, reaching for one of the plastic cups, before motioning for the bottle mostly downed by you.
"Get it on the rocks, don't be shy."
She shovels a couple ice cubes from the ice bucket into her cup.
"You uh, got a name? Or should I call you… foreign languages elective?" You start, hoping to keep the most interesting person you've met today around for a little longer.
"Arts, actually. Would you even be able to remember my name by tomorrow?" The ends of her lips tug wryly.
"Oh trust me, I can hold my liquor. I'll remember you, which I guess makes it up to you to decide if that's good or bad."
Her eyes sparkle like you're speaking her language. She tilts her head quickly to a side, her hair doing this pretty little thing and shifting like a beaded curtain, eyes prominent even under her cute bangs. She gives you a smile that reaches her cheeks.
"Hanni. Hanni Pham."
"Hanni," you repeat, offering her a hand. "Cute name. Vietnamese?"
"Thank you. Yes, actually, how did you know?"
Wow, her hands are soft in the handshake. You almost get a slight thrill from it. "I'm good with names."
You give her your name quick, before she needs to open up her mouth to ask, and nothing in her body language suggests you've made a wrong step, so you decide to go for it. I mean, may as well do something productive with your evening, right?
"How's the drink?" You ask quick, like you're nervous for her review.
"Good. It's smooth."
"Score. My dad likes it. Learned to enjoy it from him."
"Your dad has good taste."
You smile, rising up from your seat. Hanni does this double take, eyes widening suddenly like she's caught off guard by you closing the distance, or that she's throwing away whatever previous perception she had of you and looking again, because yes, you're taller.
"Intimidating," she rushes out, off-script.
"Just stretching my legs. You have me worried about my self image, that I might be looking like a hobo sitting draped in a chair by the drinks like that."
Hanni chuckles into her drink. Fascinating. She makes laughing look… fun.
"How come I've never seen you around before? I swear I'd have remembered someone like you. What Arts elective?"
"Subtle," Hanni deflects, trying to trip you up, taking another sip from her drink so she can gauge your reaction without giving away hers.
"What's that?" You twitch your eyebrows, letting her know you know exactly what she means. That you're fully aware. Not even the cup is enough to cover her wide smile.
She's fun. Incredibly fun. Nails pressing into all these interesting spots, like she's toying with your skin in a way you didn't quite anticipate. Something novel. She almost seems too mature to be here.
"Well, if you must know, I'm in dance."
Bloody hell. And she's fit?
"Damn, you might be gifted, girl."
"I get that sometimes," she slides the rim of her cup against her lips playfully, or maybe it's her lips against the rim of the cup. Doing that thing all hot girls do, knowing that they're rainbow fish swimming temptingly out of reach.
Knowing that she's hooked you without even trying.
"So, are you gonna do a tarot reading now? Can I be privy to what you're up to?"
You grin. "Just checking if we're compatible."
Pink tinges her cheeks. So there's holes in her phalanx. "You're forward."
Your eyes dip for a minute, something less jestful. "It's not too much, is it? You should tell me, you know. Is it good or bad?"
Hanni watches you carefully, and you get the feeling she's doing some sort of personal evaluation, and for a moment you get something familiar, a sense of déjà vu. Curious.
Dump that away for later, because she says, coy as she's mastered all this while, "Good."
Heaven above, please say you're on a roll. For once, you're understanding. Why everyone digs the sweaty and dirty house party, the ones that involve ninety-percent bad acting and ten-percent get me the hell out of here. Where else are you going to get an experience like this? It's a gamble, letting it ride, on that off chance you get lucky- it's all about hope.
And someone better not take it all away.
Your brain is telling you you're in, that you're right, and of course, you could describe every little action and verbal spar, how each step is a tiptoe. But the concise version is this: Ear-splittingly loud music turns miraculously silent. You take one step closer, she does the same. Your smiles start to blend, doing that weird thing where it goes from being what you represent to a mix of taking what you learn from her, and vice versa.
And you think to yourself, you might be in danger. And if you know anything about being in danger, it's that someone is always there to drag you, kicking and screaming, to safety.
"Get the fuck away from her."
And now, you'll never say you've ever been by a tornado, hurricane, gale force wind, whatever the hell this foreign strength is. You know from watching all these combat movies, Creed, John Wick, Fight Club, even damn Ip Man- strike to kill, and all that.
At first, you think, ah crap, caught by the boyfriend, and you're about to pat yourself on the back for a nice try and then rub your own shoulder a little for the butthurt feelings you're gonna get.
But only one person could ever hate you this much.
So as you're wrenched away, your brain kind of already knows, and by the time you're stumbling to balance, you already recognise the voice.
"What the fuck- Minji?" Comes from Hanni, and for a moment, the floor spins, not enough to upend you, but enough to remind you that you're not fully sober.
"The hell-" You don't even have a half moment to fully form the expression before something swipes across your face, quick. And it's audible, and it wakes you up.
The slap doesn't hurt, because it never does at first. Your brain does that stutter where it prays no one heard it before your eyes confirm that they definitely did, then it goes hyperactive, and in every passing millisecond you process everything at once.
"Oh my god, Minji!"
Minji spins to face Hanni, face furious, like she's the last bastion of human decency, like she's been pushed to fight.
And nothing in your blood boils, for anger or embarrassment. There's only disappointment, because of course, time and time again.
"Stay away from him. He's not for you. Trust me."
"Minji, you just slapped him!"
"A slap is the least he deserves."
Your eyes dart between the two, mouth still not prompted to retort, hand not urged to rub away the settling sting. Because a part of you can't even be bothered with outrage.
"Minji, what the fuck? He hasn't done anything-"
"Yet, Hanns. He hasn't done anything yet."
And when Minji turns back to you, looking ready, defiant, it's in the way that you know her that you fix her with a look she's seen before.
And just like how the both of you know full well you're vulnerable to each others' own special brand of poison, you're able to register that it gets to her. For a moment, you bring the past that she's spent years concealing into the spotlight. The music that faded into nothing returns, noisy and unfocused, like your brain's suddenly jumbling up with too many things at once. It's only the flicker in her gaze that informs you she hears your next words, soft as they are.
"You don't own everything under the sun. Or every part of my life."
And Minji's chest rises and falls, like she's loading the bullet, even if she doesn't know exactly how to fire it. Like even she can't deduce the reason she sprung to action.
"Stay away from my friends. If there's one thing I know, it's that you haven't a thing that wasn't taken from another. And I'm not letting the things I care about get picked apart by vultures."
And when she meets your gaze, like really meets it, not doing that thing where her eyes stare straight ahead but are translucent, ghosts of where they should be, you know how it'll be written in the history books. The look, the connection. The electricity, heat. The way the two of you look at each other with meanings more than two people who simply know each other ever should. Like a million words said in a single moment of time.
And when the music turns to deafening noise, when Hanni fades into the background because she's been torn away so she doesn't really matter, you'll remember this as another incident.
You want to kill her- you want nothing more than to understand.
You're used to it- you're not.
*** "So, uh…," Minji starts, her feet just slightly off-step behind you, not perfectly synchronised.
Your head tilts to watch her, and for a moment your best friend looks different. A part of you knows there's logic. The both of you have to take the same way back, always. But another also recognises that she looked busier tonight, busy interacting with her friends, too busy to fall into step behind you so early into the night.
"What's up?"
"… Well- how'd you find Hanni?"
"Oh," you weren't expecting that, "She's great. Really nice. I wish I'd known earlier that she was one of your friends."
Minji nods in that way that makes it unclear if she's glad about that.
"Why'd you never tell me about her?"
Minji blinks, her response arriving a little late. "For one, I didn't think you'd ever run into her. And, for two, she's Danielle's friend. That's how I got to know her. Recently."
"And every time I think I know all there is to know about you," you start, turning back to the street ahead.
Behind you, Minji gives a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Did she uh, give you her number?"
You laugh before the semantics properly register in your head. "I wish. We hit it off, but we didn't get that far."
There's a new instrument added to the evening soundtrack, the sound of Minji dragging her feet against the floor. Which she never does. You glance behind her, just a cursory check, and the way her eyes are trained on the floor gives you pause.
"Hey, you alright?"
Minji's eyes flutter, like she's doing that thing again where she flickers between what's real and what's just imagination.
"Ye- yeah. Of course. What is it?"
"Don't know. You just look like you had a bad time. Or just… not as good a time? Was your night bad?"
Minji shakes her head like she's shrugging off an accusation. "I had fun. Really. It was just… noisy. A little chaotic. Like you couldn't hear the sound of your own voice over the music when you tried to talk to someone, you know?"
"Like suddenly everything got deafening?"
"Yeah. Exactly like that."
Another couple beats of silence, where the two of you settle into that comfortable space of agreeing on the same sentiment. But then she cracks the peace again.
"You were drinking a lot."
A smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "I didn't know you were watching me so closely."
"I wasn't," comes the too-quick reply, "I just noticed, since you were practically attached to the drinks station."
"I always do that. And you know I can hold my liquor. Better than you ever can, at least."
"Yeah but-"
"But what? I drank the last of your favourite rum, or something?"
"I… it's- nevermind."
You pause in your tracks, and Minji comes to a sudden halt as well, eyes darting like she's got something to say. Or something to hide.
"You sure you're okay?" You raise an eyebrow at the girl behind you, looking strangely malleable in the black dress behind you. Like she'll bend and pool like amber if you just give her a nudge. Her silver, pearl earrings shine from a discordant ray of street light, and for a moment she really isn't there.
Till your eyes bring her back, that is.
Minji frowns like she doesn't understand her tune is all wrong.
"Why wouldn't I be? You're being weird."
"Me? You're the one that's completely off tonight. You sure you're feeling alright? You didn't wake up on the wrong side of the bed, did you?"
"… That's probably it. I don't know."
You cock your head. "Well, if that's the case, we better get back quick. You sound like you need rest."
"Yeah."
And Minji, ever flawless, you're fooled then into believing that she's really fine. That this isn't a turning page. That the perfect girl given everything would stay the way she's always been, pretty black dress, impervious and above. That her history book, every chapter you've seen written by hand, wouldn't catch alight in a library fire of parallel accidents. You believe that the two of you would never change- things would never be the same.
You don't even escape her when you're on a date.
First, you never had a chance. Minji's the person you know the best. You're pretty sure ever. There's a minute number of interactions that haven't been built off yours and hers. Second, life never gave you a chance to try otherwise. Your lives have been as linear as the flow of time.
And now that you've explained that, you can explain how Hanni asked for your number first, got it from Minji, and yes, you got the blessing of her best friend to bring her out to this mall for shopping and a meal.
"That's how she's always been. Clueless. Sometimes she hasn't the slightest on something everyone's long heard about. Like she's years late to the party."
"But she's so smart."
"Book-smart. Street-smart? Not so much."
"I guess that's fair," Hanni hums, sipping on her pink lemonade, amused. "And I guess that's where you come in."
"I think I signed a life pact to keep her alive till she found her betrothed when I was five. It might have been in blood, I can't recall."
Hanni giggles. With her gaze peeking through her lashes, she looks like she knows you better than you know yourself. Which seems like a weird thing for a first date.
That she's precognitive. Of the road.
"But enough about her. You should tell me more about yourself."
And Hanni gives you this playful squint, like, are you sure? But she tilts her head like she'll chance it once more.
"Well, what'd you like to know?"
"Anything. What's your life about? What should I know, or what do you want me to know about you? That's what we're supposed to do, right?"
Hanni tilts her head in the opposite direction, her softly framed bangs swaying prettily. "Well, I guess the most definite thing about me is that I'm chasing something."
You lean back in your seat. "That's… an arresting way to start."
Hanni laughs like she's self-conscious.
"But it's true. That's me. As of now, I'm less concerned about the permanence and more about the moments."
"Thrill-seeking."
"Happiness-seeking. I want the rush, the feelings, to fall hard- and fall without safety brakes."
"So it's about the vibe."
"That's one way to put it."
"And you're not looking to settle?"
Hanni tosses her gaze to outside the window, like she's about to leap into the world out there. "I'm too young to even consider settling. Things don't have to work out perfectly for the rest of time. I'm about creating those memories that stick for life. But that doesn't mean I'm aiming to be a fuckgirl, or whatever. I'm down to be there for the highs and lows. It's all about the experience for me."
"Fascinating," you say.
Hanni rolls her eyes playfully. "Don't science experiment me."
"It's not that," you shake your head quickly, "it's genuine."
And it's true, because having your entire timeline intertwined with another's, there's something honest about Hanni admitting that she might just be a moment.
"So you're risky."
"…Yeah."
"So you're taking a gamble on me."
Hanni shrugs innocently. "What kind of love isn't a gamble? Look- you couldn't tell me that half the considerations of a relationship aren't all the ways it could end. It's irrelevant."
And it's then you realise you should be asking the important question. "So what's your opinion on me? Crash and burn worth the effort? Or too mundane?"
Hanni tilts her head like she's had the response prepped for a while now, and simply hasn't brought it up because she's wary of the repercussions. "I think you're nice, like a guy that knows how much he actually needs to care, but that you're also avoiding an answer that's been incredibly obvious."
This gives you pause. "An answer? To what?"
"To who you're really meant for."
And it probably simultaneously proves everything she's said right the way your instincts give you the answer before she has to say it explicitly, the way your whole mind rejects the notion like it couldn't possibly be true.
"Not Minji-"
And immediately Hanni looks at you like you said the only thing you shouldn't. "I mean, I don't even have to say it."
"I don't see her that way," you shoot down immediately, something uncomfortable settling at the pit of your stomach. Where is everyone getting this idea from?
Hanni shakes her head, again, like she knows you better than you know yourself. Like she sees more from the outside. "Hey, look at it this way. What's Minji's favourite colour?"
"Blue," you reply almost instantly, having dealt with this conversation before, "but that's something anyone could easily figure out."
"What's her favourite ice cream flavour?"
"New York Cheesecake. From Baskin Robbins. She prefers her ice cream in a sandwich."
The words spill from you like a memorised script, like planted questions meeting prepared answers. And Hanni grins like she can't believe how easy you're making it, and how you're still denying it all.
"This literally doesn't mean a thing," you start, but Hanni just powers on like your indignation doesn't matter.
"What do you think of doing during your free time? If you had a day off, what's the first toy or video game you're reaching for? Don't think, just spit it out."
And the reply that comes out, like generative AI, it ends up doing exactly that. Making you think. Pausing the reply right before it bursts from between your pursed lips.
"Lego… which I guess came from her."
"So do you get it? What I mean. The two of you, being conjoined twins?"
"I've known her forever. Knowing her little details was an inevitability. But we're best friends."
"That's what you think."
"That's the truth."
Hanni shakes her head like she's assessing the gall of you to lie to her. "I dare you to say that again. In full seriousness."
You don't. So Hanni chooses to explain it all to you like you don't know any better.
"You've lived both your lives completely revolved around one another. No one knows her better than you, and vice versa. Which means she's already built into your every little habit. Just now, when I asked you for a recommendation for a drink, you offered me the one that Minji's reviewed and approved of. And you didn't even realise you were doing it. It's already too natural for you, and I don't blame you, but I'm telling you now that it's incredibly obvious to literally anyone a meter away. The two of you live in a timeline so intricately twisted it's impossible to unravel. I may not have known her for as long as you, but I'm a good enough friend to know her enough."
"I don't-"
"It's not about the way you think you see her. And I don't even blame you because it wouldn't even occur to you that anything was amiss. But no one's going to be able to invade the space she's already taken, or replace the person she already is. When we met last night, you completely switched up when Minji appeared. Like you had to be careful about how you were around her, and not me."
Hanni laughs at how ridiculous all of it actually is, the straw of her iced drink spinning in a hypnotic twirl. "It makes other envious, you know."
"I don't think that's enough to prove that we wouldn't work."
Hanni shakes her head instantly because you've got her intentions all wrong. "It's not just that. We'd be fun, sure, and I'd enjoy however long we'd last, but it's more than that. I might be chasing experiences, but I don't think you're the same. And sure, maybe you're just looking for fun, but at some point she'll get in the way. Comparisons, adjustments, it doesn't matter- the question is whether you're able to grow away from her in any capacity, and as of now I'm sincerely doubting that."
You're not sure if anyone's ever had the guts to put it to you this honestly. "The thing is, I don't think you even realise what's there. The way you run but only with her leading, the way you're her snail shell, knowing what she needs before she herself even gets it. I've heard about it, I've seen it. The only reason you're staying away is because you believe she deserves something even better still."
The reality of being honest to yourself is realising that you're not sure when your gaze changed. When you began to hold her eyes, longer than you used to, longer than you should. Long enough to feel the winds of change.
"Are you certain?" Your voice is a murmur, uncertain. Because admitting it is scary.
Hanni smiles like it'll all be okay, even if it's not. Like the both of you don't need to care about just how much heat close-quarters friction is creating.
Like the answers don't change.
And that's when Hanni grasps you, by the hands, clasping them in a way that, from afar, looks like romantic admittance. When the reality is that it's her letting you go. "In another world, I'd hold onto you tighter. In a way I feel like Minji's taught you well, and we'd maybe be perfectly compatible. But I feel like you have to ask yourself, why are you pretending like the need for choice? When the answer seems to be already there?"
And with Minji, it kind of goes like this. It's not definite. Not concrete. Not yet. It's just every little moment, in retrospect. That's what people think makes it obvious.
-
"Well I can tell you right now this is definitely the most boring 13th birthday you could possibly be having."
"Yeah, I mean, it's definitely the most low-key one we've had," you murmur, pausing for a moment to stretch on your bedroom floor, "but that's the point."
Beside you, Minji, eyes closed, close enough to hear each breath she takes in, like every second of youth trickling away from her doesn't matter in the slightest.
"Being a lazy bum for your birthday is a new one," Minji mutters, and you reply with this half-snort, like you gave up on your bodily reaction halfway because you were starting to get sleepy.
You remember it as a chill day. The day before your actual birthday, with the unavoidable celebrations from both families, but the two of you rewrote the rules of celebration the day before, just to understand what it'd feel like- the two of you existing without what everything else said the two of you were. And at a time where neither of you figured out what you were carving into the sandstone walls of your history, what the place in the world for either of you really meant. And a part of you wonders why that time, when things were simpler, stupider, it all feels so much more philosophical now.
"It feels simpler this way. Maybe not nicer, but quieter. Like the day actually has time to breathe, to let you really sink in and feel the year go by."
Minji remains motionless beside you, but you know she heard your remark. Her face is in that kind of tranquil state your older self would envy. Your hand ends up propped against the nook of your elbow, watching her gentle form with subtle anticipation and slight, childlike wonder. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
Back when you didn't have the inside of her head mapped out geographically. Her eyes slide open slowly. "Hmm?"
"Wha are you thinking about? You look… busy."
"Just… thinking. About stuff."
"Good stuff or bad stuff?"
"I don't know. It's just… stuff."
"What stuff?"
You're not subtle about it, and there isn't a need to.
"Just… birthdays."
"Huh?"
"You know, our birthdays. Like this one."
"Are you reviewing?" You laugh, then tease, "you're so cool for that."
The corner of Minji's lifts, just a little, but it's soon replaced by that look that's way above her age.
"I'm just thinking about how I feel." A wiser you might not have made your noise of confusion, would have just let her continue.
"I just feel… happy. Every year, it's all so fun, perfect, whatever's planned, I don't ask for more."
"But you're saying that like it's a bad thing," you say, and again, you're not sure, looking back at this now, stating the obvious helps here.
"It isn't," Minji frowns, like she herself doesn't know what she's talking about, "but something about it feels… wrong. Or maybe not wrong- just off. I don't know. It feels like it shouldn't be this way."
"You're thinking too much on your birthday," you stick your tongue out, irked by another one of these smart Minji moments.
Stretch marks.
"Boys," Minji sighs, and you know even with her eyes closed, she's rolling them. "Not a single one of them has a brain."
"That's sexist."
"After talking to boys like I have, it's not sexist anymore. It's fact."
Your mouth pops open in understanding. "Ah, so that's what's up today. Let me guess. It's-"
"Daeul," the both of you echo at the same time.
"Your number one supporter," you're cheeky about it.
"My worst nightmare," Minji affirms.
"He's dense. And really into you."
"He's annoying. Today he said he found my eyes mesmerising. Why don't they just give up?"
"Boys will be boys," you chortle, taking a moment to stretch as you do so. Minji groans like she's already done with it all. "That's what, the fourth attempt in three months?"
You throw her a smile meant to distract, or reassure her. "Come on. Not all of them will be like that."
Minji's eyes flutter open for a moment, but you're already pressing on with something important to say. "You've got to keep your eyes open. There'll be a boy that's gonna change Kim Minji's flawless thinking."
She scrunches her nose. "Not happening."
"It will. You're telling me you haven't met a boy you've liked, ever, in the whole thirteen years you've been on planet earth."
"I don't see them that way."
"And what way is that?"
"I don't know, in the way all the other girls are starting to describe? Like really liking a boy. Getting nervous around them because they make you feel something weird. I don't get that with any boy. And I guess that's why I only really have you, talk to you. Because you're different. And I like it better that way."
You turn your eyes back to the ceiling, a humorous giggle hanging on the edge of your lips, and you have no idea where it originated from.
"I wonder what Kim Minji's boyfriend will look like."
"Maybe like a girl," Minji replies, and you snap your head towards her direction.
"You did not just say that."
Minji snorts, like why would that not be a joke? And when the two of you sit in that comfortable silence again, for a moment you do wonder, just who exactly will be Minji's one?
"Birthdays and boys," Minji murmurs, like there needed to be a concluding statement for your little discussion.
"That's one way to remember your thirteenth."
"You're telling me," Minji smiles wryly.
"You sound sad about that. And I get it, you know. We're teens now."
"Yeah… that. We're getting older," Minji agrees, but then finds a way to suddenly look hopeful, "But, you know, there will be so many more birthdays with you."
"I swear they'll never end," you shake your head, "just you and me, celebrating together when we're sixty and creaky."
*** Knowing everything about how to not intrude in Kim Minji's life goes a little like this.
First, don't talk to her on the way to school. Don't even enter her field of vision. Especially when she has her AirPods on. That's her quiet moment. Second, when you are in school, there are a few additional rules you abide by. One, don't speak to her in the middle of lectures. Not even if there's a damned fire in the building. She'll let the world burn before she lets her grades get threatened. Next, don't make eye contact. Don't pretend to know her. Any news of you is bad news, and every moment your eyes meet, it's a challenge, so her name is taboo, and any interconnecting acquaintances should know better.
Don't help her when she falls. If there's a family function, you smile and nod, do that stupid thing- don't speak unless spoken to.
Whatever doesn't take that solitary life away from her.
If someone's looking for her, you direct. And more than a couple times it ends up sounding like code. "Two pm. She has a thirty minute break between lessons. She won't be in class. By the garden next to the lecture theatre, or by the third floor corridor overlooking the field. Don't bring her a drink, don't cut her train of thought. Call her by her name, but not too loudly. And speak to the point."
And lose that part about you being a directory.
Which makes it all the more difficult when Hanni manages to sneak under the watchful eyes of Minji, approach you in the real world to ask, why does she hate you? And when you tell her immediately, not the answer, but the reality that speaking to her face-to-face means risking getting flayed, even after a whole day you're not sure what exactly you're supposed to do with your illuminated phones screen and an unexpected number.
Isn't the answer that she just does? That she always has? Does it add anything to explain instead of accepting what simply is? Hanni said, just mentioning her name, and suddenly you're pale as a ghost. And the truth is of course it's impossible to explain, and at this point obsession and avoidance mean the same, just like simplifying and complicating, caring- ignoring.
And the part of you that still wonders, still clings onto the hope that things will change, that one day, inevitably, you will lead a life away from Kim Minji. And can you be sure that that's when you'll finally understand and be happy?
*** Knowing everything about how to mean everything to Kim Minji's life goes a little like this.
It's the lack of words. The synergy. The fact that in the breaks, when the two of you are together, you have candy, you have snacks, you're passing over food on your tray that's her favourite and taking away those she dislikes. The way you're able to cross names out of the list of people that could be with her.
First, keeping in tune with her hobbies, her likes. Her colours, her toys, what she decorates her space with. It's reaching out for the items on the shelf without really thinking, gifting them over like it's owed. Second, it's agreeing with her on activities and free time because spending that time with her is the only real thing that matters, and you haven't figured out a hobby more entertaining than that. It's gradually accepting that you do like her, that her features and mannerisms no longer steal smiles but also give you giddiness. The questions of whether you can see straight, whether it's clear, they don't matter.
It's seeing the same person you've seen over and over again, and realising you want something different, realising that she might be the only person that cares in her way, that she's kept every damned birthday letter you've sent since you learnt how to write. It's watching her lips and staring longer than you used to, reverting back to another one of those that just watch her like they don't know any better. It's disorienting how slow it is. How long it took you. She looks down to the floor and lets out a low giggle at your jokes, and you're not sure you're able to just let that go. You wonder if she's caught on to the signs.
And so the first time you kiss Minji, it's almost spontaneous. A bubbling cauldron of sorts, and Minji would tell you everything about that moment was perfect. It happens at prom, and again, there's a million details, who your dates are, what led up to it, the night, the boring drinks. How Hanni's there for a singular moment to give you a cheery wink.
All you really need to remember is this. Minji's killing it, again, with the perfect planning, watching everything run beneath her fingers, smiling like she's done her job well. And her, hair in a bun, gentle makeup softening everything about her, dress so white and nice it gets to your head. It's oriental, or something, the way she looks with her hair all in ropes and braids, the way her eyes move slower than the world around her. And somehow you've never even gotten a hint about it. She distorts it, the desperate way you're tugging her arm, the way she's tugged yours before, and you wonder if it's tight enough to hurt, the speed at which you're moving and the clatter of her unsteady heels against the floor.
But she doesn't complain, doesn't say much, not when you're pulling her along into an empty classroom, like she's already there and waiting. "You're hectic," Minji says, her voice soft in the lightless space, and a part of you wants to answer, can you blame me?
"I… yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."
"What's wrong with your night?"
"Nothing," you shake your head, pacing a couple steps while Minji rests her hips against an empty desk, watching you, "it's been amazing. You've prepped so hard for this, and it shows. Everything's so pretty."
Minji's eyes flutter for a moment. "Thanks."
"You look great too, by the way," you add, almost panicked. It's something that would usually make Minji smile, but this time she just tilts her head, holding her breath.
You pause in front of her. "What?"
"Nothing. You just seem… out of time."
You still. There isn't a need to play chess with her. "I guess I am."
"Well," Minji dips her head, "I'm waiting. For whatever you're going to tell me."
Your breath stutters, and it's like Minji knows that it's gonna seep into your fingers, because in the next moment she has you by the wrists, and your body freezes. "Take your time."
You blink. Breathe. Exhale.
And then Minji brings your wrists up, and by the time she's done, you realise you've never really grasped her features like this, fingers behind her ear, palm on her cheek.
"Better?" She breathes, the distance between you two nada.
And it's when you see past her voidless eyes that you know. "You knew."
"I'm scared," Minji corrects, "scared that I'm wrong."
"How long?"
Minji closes her eyes, reflexively leaning into your touch. "Does that matter? I can't tell you. Only the moments. You cancelling our hangout for the first time. Hanni telling me the two of you aren't happening. The way you avoided me the past week."
"I'm scared too," you say.
"Of what?"
"Same as you. Being wrong. Of how long it's been. Of not being right. Like I'm abandoning my post as a guardian for something selfish."
Minji stiffens, her eyes opening like she sees past you, can hold you and more with her hollow gaze.
"Then you're thinking too much, like I am. Length, duration, it shouldn't matter. Not to the two of us. So stop thinking."
And your fingers may be on her lips, but her words pull you to her.
And the first time you fuck Minji, well, it's something completely different. It's not preplanned but executed messily, it's not the two of you writing with stardust.
The only thing in common is the empty classroom.
It starts off soft, quiet, just a quiet hum of you, for once, steering the two of you forward. Doing life, planning the next steps of your shared futures, while Minji, exhausted from another long but last remaining day of being President Minji, tries her best not to doze off on your shoulder.
It's a cute thing, or whatever, knowing that she drools when her head is rested comfortably and that's probably when you're gonna have to wake her up. It's cute, definitely, the way you have her hand squeezed tight like the two of you can keep yourselves a secret.
The sun's beginning to dip, the classroom turning amber, and when Minji hums in slight discomfort as a ray of light shines against her eyes, for a moment you ponder if you're too lucky.
Was it natural? Yes. A progression. Just whatever was before, and added on a little deeper.
"Your head's gonna hit the table at this rate, Minji."
Minji blinks a couple times, rapidly, floating back down to earth. "Sorry! Just… tired."
She punctuates it with a yawn, and you smirk. "I can think of one way to wake you up."
You push past Minji's confused expression in the next instant, planting a quick but firm kiss to her lips.
Yeah, the two of you have started doing that a lot.
She tenses under your grip, loosens only when you pull away. Then Minji shuts her eyes like she's still fighting the vestiges of sleep.
"I can't lie, that just made me sleepier."
A shared giggle bubbles from your throats.
"I'm good," Minji says finally, pivoting the chin she has on your shoulder to look down at your notes. "How's it going?"
"Alright. Crossing out some of your options, based on what you do and don't like."
"Crossing out my options? Or yours?"
"Don't think there's much of a difference, is there?"
Minji puffs up a cheek. "Guess you're right."
Her eyes fall to the sundown outside. "Last day here."
"You sound sad," you say matter-of-factly, letting your pen rest on the table.
"I am, a little. This is it. Another chapter done. Wondering if I missed anything on my bucket list."
"There'll be time to finish it," you assure, and Minji meets your gaze with narrowed eyes.
"What?"
"And did you manage to finish your own bucket list?"
"Mostly," you saw, emboldened. "Pulled through with my studies, evolved my lifelong best friend into my girlfriend-"
"Evolved?" Minji interrupts, like she's processing your diction.
You shrug. "So, mostly."
"What are you missing?" Minji asks curiously, playing right into your sneaky hands.
One of which lands across her thigh, thumb peeking underneath the hem of her skirt.
And the speed at which Minji reddens makes you laugh.
"Are you crazy?" Minji exclaims, even though this definitely isn't the first time you're making this joke here.
It's not really a joke, though.
"You did ask."
"That's on your list? Plapp- making love?"
"With you. That's the important part."
"You're crazy!"
"I might be."
"In school?"
"Better than under your mom's nose."
Minji opens her mouth for a prepared retort, then pauses. "Why are you right about that."
"I'm a smartass, right," you jest further, the add, on a more serious note, "you don't detest the idea, right?"
You see Minji's jaw move like she's trying to make her peach cheeks vanish. "No. Perfectly honest- of course, eventually."
"Okay. As long as you're not uncomfortable."
Minji shakes her head. "Just wish I got more of a head's up."
"Relax, Minji. I'm just messing around," you turn it into the truth, "besides, this is already our last day. It's not gonna happen."
And like you said, you make the fabricated lie the truth, because biologically there's an answer, but you have to be ethical. Regardless of how your image of Minji has changed, how you see her as the woman everyone else is saying she is. The pretty one.
But Minji's suddenly stern expression gives you pause. She looks stony, which typically means she's either debating or arguing with someone.
"What's up?" You raise an eyebrow.
"Do you actually want to do it?"
You still. And then your heart beats out of rhythm. "Sorry?"
Minji flushes again, like she's trying to match you. "I'm being serious."
"Now?"
"It's the last day," Minji states objectively.
"We've never- aren't you tired?"
"Well, then maybe you could take the lead?"
Ah hell. You swear you intended it as a joke.
"You're serious?"
"I said that already."
The two of you hold each other's meek gazes for a few seconds more, then the both of you jump to your feet.
You slap your notebook shut. "This might be the nastiest thing President Minji has ever done."
Minji hugs her arms to her body like she's already been caught. "This is the nastiest thing I'll ever do. At least lock the doors, will you?"
You step towards the classroom door, static shock in every step. It was a joke, right? But when you turn the knobs, peep out the windows for a security check, turning back to her and you feel something weighing you back.
Because it's important. And when you see her, seated on your desk, legs kicking the air expectantly, her brown uniform and neat black skirt take on a different meaning. A useless one, maybe, when they pool on the floor.
"So uh, how do you want to do this?"
"You're asking me like I'm not equally as nervous as you about this," you reply.
"You asked for this!"
"It was a joke!"
"Uh huh, sure," Minji doesn't believe you at all. Her eyes dart over your form, your lips. "So… kissing? That's how they always start, right?"
You shift your feet, slowly edging closer. "Uh, yeah."
Maybe Minji's braver than you, reaching for your hands when you're within range, placing them in that comforting position she's gotten used to. It's not like the two of you haven't done something similar before.
"Remember," Minji murmurs in the space only the two of you occupy, hands warm on your wrists. "I'm doing this because I love you, okay? For mattering the most to me for so long. So let's not be scared."
"I love you too," you say.
And though your lips slot in the same way they always have, the way the two of you have done, countless times after the leap, it's still the same, breathtaking feeling, soft against soft.
And this time it's also so different. Because even with hands on each other's faces it's not enough to protect from the heat, the realisation that it's something more.
The way your lips leave a lasting smack against hers as they pull away for the first time, the intention in every moment clear.
Her coat comes off first, the easiest piece to remove. You listen to her breathing, steadily getting heavier, before you take her by the lips again, sending her slightly off-balance.
It's not the first time the two of you have made out. It's just the first time there won't be any clothes in the way.
You take your time, making the joke real, the joke that you love Minji, Minji is your girlfriend, and your dad will definitely be proud of you after this.
"The last time I've seen your skin like this, I think that was sports day," you say, as you gently unbutton her top like you're playing dress up and not dress down.
"Like this how?"
"Flushed, warm. Hot."
Minji bites her lower lip, overshirt falling past her shoulders to reveal navy on her skin. "You're an idiot."
"Heard that one before. Too many times."
"Then maybe I'll just stop talking," Minji replies, giving you a sharp shove back and pushing herself off the table all in the same turn, sinking to her knees.
"Oh."
Minji paws at your trousers, handling them with a skill that suggests to you that she might have rehearsed this in her head before.
"My god, you really don't have to do this." Just the sight of her sunken down and submitting with her doe eyes is already too much.
"Stop acting too nice. It's disingenuous," Minji hisses.
You chuckle at that.
"Besides, giving a blowjob would likely be on my bucket list."
"Really?" you perk an eyebrow, breath hitching when Minji tugs your boxers down to your ankles in one smooth motion.
"Yeah." Her eyes blink towards yours, hand gently holding your stiffness, grip getting stronger. Like she's accustoming.
"I really thought this would be impossible."
"Inevitable would have been a better choice."
"Inevitable?"
"Inevitably falling in love with me," Minji answers, before pressing her lips to the side of your shaft for the first time.
You shudder. Minji has her moments of conviction, her promises, her diligent promises, working into how she works your cock, lips and kisses, then mouth and slick.
It's her humming wetly as she bobs, a Kim Minji you're really seeing for the first time. And it feels right. Or inevitable, like she said. That your heart only ever belonged to one. And fate and time only ever allowed one direction.
She works you like she has a method. You will admit, it's hard to remember everything, because half the time your eyes are closed, and the other half is all about steadying your breathing.
You remember her fingers though, tracing, pressing gently, hips, balls, lower abs. It's like she's forgotten herself.
And when you force her off, dragging her inexperienced form up to your inexperienced arms and peeling indigo from her skin, it speaks to her the way she's not afraid to turn her back to you and be bare.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you like this."
"Neither did I. But we both need to stop thinking anyway."
You move in position behind her, till you're hot against her heat, and it's a flickering moment where she tells you once again all she needs to in three words, and you echo it obediently.
"I'll be gentle."
"Thank you."
And that's pushing in, slipping into a heat you won't forget, this timeline of the next. That's the most inevitable part of it all. That the filthiest moments is yours.
Your grip on her hip tightens, and just as she loosens, gives it up to you, you thrust, spilling moans like a river from her lips.
And you like her husk. The lower tones, the way she leaks cusses like she doesn't know how to say them, the way the both of you are unsteady against the table.
Clinging on by the rocking of your hips.
"You feel…"
Minji shakes her head like she can clear the heated fog in her mind. "My god, you feel…"
"You feel better," you reply between a grunt.
Did the two of you prepare for this? No. Something already laid the foundations, and the both of you are just gaining the confidence to walk it.
You press into her roughly at times. Not just being a nice guy, but being honest. And you know she gets that. That belonging isn't just light pecks.
You push her into various positions. From the table, the two of you go to the floor, to the chair. In between, you get the impossible softness of her tummy, pressing into the rough area you know you're lodged in to make her feel it more. She calls you big, calls you everything, calls you the cock that will break her, but she's probably already misled.
Her chest spills greedily between your fingers, and sweat sheens her body and falls to yours.
There aren't any interruptions. Just the moment between you and her, the consummation. Just her hollow, sucking you in so you can occupy her.
Till she's one leg on the side of your chair, stabilising herself, riding you with reckless abandon, brow furrowed with the struggle of pleasure.
Till she tightens impossibly around you, once, then twice. Till you need to carry her in your arms.
The sun dips, slowly giving in to night, and it's about then when time starts to disturb again.
The two of you fall into this complex cradle on the floor, you firing absentmindedly into her warmth, and with the two of you exhausted and barely awake, the next few words become indistinguishable.
"You're everything to me."
*** You're free. You're out. You're away from Kim Minji, way from her in your life. No more torturous bullshit. That's graduating, baby.
You let yourself believe that for half a moment before you snap back to reality.
Because you've played these little games with fate and time before, till instead of calling bullshit on them you bullshit your way to the right answer.
And it's a horrible validation to know that you're right. To stand there, in your well pressed suit and leather bag full of first day hopefuls, and run right into goddamn Kim Minji, dress shirt and knee-length skirt, white on black, looking like she managed to promote from the student council board right into the teacher's committee.
No, you didn't know where she was applying to. No, you didn't know what she wanted to do for her career. Because you didn't need to.
The two of you end up in the same company anyway.
And the two of you have copied, simultaneous reactions. Like clones in perfect sync it's hard to discern who's the original copy. The two of you just look deadbeat tired.
The two of you could go into that lengthy argument, the why are you here? Why again? Why always? But the new hires get squashed together, so you do your best not to tread on her toes. You match her caliber, and she tries to accept your stance. Because at this point it's needlessly draining.
You don't need to figure out who and why. You don't need a moment to process how incredibly bad it all is ("Wow, how fortuitous is that? Again?" Your mom exclaims when you spill it to her).
You get a comical text from Hanni, who you're still in contact with for some reason, telling you that she's heard about your predicament from Minji, and that she wishes the both of you utter chaos at the workplace.
You'd snort if it was funny.
But since it's now routine, the assignments just get heavier, and nothing else really changes. You do your parts, get the paperwork out, leave it on her desk during one of her meticulously scheduled work breaks (yeah, you've got her schedule down in about a week. This girl is one-note, you swear), and try to make it look like the accidental Mars Bars pinning the papers down are… well, accidental.
But the two of you would need to hack through the ropes, collaboratively, to prevent the rubs and scarring.
Praised? Together. Criticised? Together. Blaming's a thing that's played out in both your heads, because saying it and you may as well not.
And you know you don't really care in the times where you get a leg up, when your concision earns a reward. But you know it gets to her meticulous nature. And you hurt yourself by avoiding it.
She's a problem- she's a headache.
She's always there- she doesn't need to be.
She's fate- she's time catching up to you.
And you'll see her forever.
*** "The deal went through. I got it."
Minji's coffee freezes in her hand before it reaches her lips, a ghostly tremble echoing through her form, leaned up against your office.
"You- you said he asked for higher."
"He backtracked. Guess he was desperate. And that means we got it. A place."
Minji looks like she doesn't know whether to fall for the floor or jump for joy. Because that means another next step, higher up, to that dizzying, hypothermic height.
"So…"
"So are you ready to move in? With me?"
Minji laughs like it's dangerous. "I can't believe it. It finally happened. No more late night calls. No more saying goodbye at the office doors, with all the others staring."
"And no more motels," you whisper, soft enough for you to look bashful yet still loud enough for Minji to hear and roll her eyes.
"I'm packing my things tonight."
"I shall be waiting to receive. But I do need to get the keys, so don't be too gung-ho, alright?"
"Just let me know when."
What comes next is an unconcealable grin you carry throughout the day, because it feels fated and right. If Minji is your North Star, she's a star that's not ever going out. Your whole life was built to watch her. You mapped her body into your brain, etched her heart into yours. There's no stone unturned in the mindscape, island of her. The only thing missing, the only thing left, is the hallowed ring.
The only footnote is Seungwoo, an older colleague, one you've really known as the guy who got a second chance and bet with everything he had on it.
"Remember, sometimes taking the next step upwards can be a wrong decision."
You glance to your right, unsure if he's really talking to you in the middle of the meeting. But his flat eyes confirm it.
"Sorry?"
"Don't go too far up. It's a dream for a reason. The sky. But don't get greedy."
It's not financial advice he's giving you. That much is clear. It's not about a corporate ladder either. It's not about anything, really.
Because spotting fissures before the crack lines form requires magic.
And you're, in contextual terms, a squib.
Then again-
The house turns so quickly into a well-blended milkshake it's a masterclass in planning and lying and lying without planning to.
Blue, blue blue. Soft toys, plates and Tupperware, then your gaming monitor, your gadgets, 'man gear', your face in the pictures she's taking, the sheets you crumple up every night.
First day? Cleaning and desecration and cleaning. Hot and heat on every surface, your hands full of her ass or breasts at any moment, her bouncing like a fiend above you. Everything getting wiped down twice, just to make sure it's clean, right?
The best sleep of your life, because finally you have her warmth in your arms, because cuddling and handholding and waking up with her thighs around your head. It's like the two of you slip into the fields of elysium, the bed which the both of you have made to lie down in flat, hands crossed over your heart.
Years in seconds and time passes in moments. Promotions, dates and anniversaries, parents proud and all, and then every night, peace and contentment.
In dreams, there's a peaceful boat atop a peaceful sea. A canoe, in the ocean, and the little man, you, within it. A bright, starry night, and you're alone, watching the waves pass by in tranquil motion.
You press your knees to your chest, reach over the edge to glance a hand across the cool water. You're somehow at home, with the sea and the stars, resting without needing sleep. Contentment.
But when the horizon changes, and the first time you notice it, at first you don't really think much of it. Granted, it could just be your flame coming to meet you, but the consistent ebb of intensity gives you pause.
A squint and you see the pretty bubbles. Like an illusion. The froth.
There's no sugarcoating it. You get closer, and it becomes clearer. Rapids. Intense, a thrill ride, but the horizon tapers off, and horizons shouldn't be getting closer.
You recall that you have no oars, no paddle, no lifejacket. And there's no fighting the current, like a stream heading one direction and you the salmon jumping towards the other.
You head directly for the watery cliff.
Suddenly the water is icy. The movements choppy and erratic. The boat is a distressed horse, rearing back, creaking indignantly. You're alone. And you feel complacent.
Blue water turns white. The stars vanish, and suddenly the boat's leaking, smashing against invisible rocks, throwing you askew.
You throw your self out, flying overboard, and wake up in a puddle of your own sweat, in the bed you made, with a shuddering gasp.
Minji stirs immediately, distressed, her body shooting up.
"Hey! Oh my god, what happened?"
You steady your breathing, hands suspended by your side like you're still holding onto the edges of your little boat.
"Nightmare," you manage, wondering why it was all so vivid.
"You scared the life out of me. Jumping up and shouting, that was terrifying!"
"Sorry love, sorry…" you turn to her, trying to apologise, but she reads the distress in your eyes.
It's hard to make out her irises in the dark. But her arm lands across your shoulder, tugging you close, and for a moment all is well.
"Must have been terrifying. I'm sorry for whatever it was. But you're not alone, okay? Remember. I'm by your side."
Sometimes Minji's decisive. Confident. Saying things that must be true.
And when the two of you slip into that illness called contentment, that mundane, peaceful life where everything's figured out, everything's perfect. When you get your happy ending, because she's pulling you out of the water every time-
It's dark.
*** "Just give him a break once, Minji."
Minji closes her eyes, wondering if her thinking- is this the fiftieth time? -is hotter or cooler a guess.
"Not this again."
"You're strangling him, girl."
"He's constricting me."
Dani shakes her head, somehow in sync with the swirl of her wine glass.
"You'd get by easier if you weren't so fixated."
"He's hasn't deserved a modicum of my kindness."
"But at least he's trying! Come on, the Mars Bars? He's as tired of this as you are."
"Bribes," Minji states immediately, "I know how he operates."
"Your knowledge is based entirely on the profile you built of him twenty years ago!"
"It's built on every moment of those twenty years and more! You're saying I don't know him? When I've had every waking moment of my life shared with his?"
Dani struggles with the next words.
Hanni sets her drink down, slightly upcurved lip still a very present habit.
"You're giving up everything just to make sure it stays true."
"What?"
"To make sure you're right. Still."
Dani eyes Hanni warily, like she herself isn't convinced Minji is ready for this conversation.
"You're speaking in riddles."
"You're marginalising. Keeping him within the lines. And twisting anything he does."
"So I'm lying," Minji snipes immediately.
"You're lacking. In information. In clarity. You're not admitting it, and he doesn't even know why you hate him. Face it. He doesn't understand how he's pissing you off, and you're still expecting him to abide by rules he doesn't know you out in place?"
"He knows perfectly well what ticks me off."
"And you've never ever spoken to him to tell him exactly what those boundaries are because all you've been doing recently is avoiding and assuming."
"That's what you think."
"That's what stupid Mars Bars on your paperwork means, dumbass. You're reciting this story of his robbery for the sixty-seventh time. Or something like that."
"Wow. So the two of you are siding with him."
"I'm siding with whatever gets this decades old nonsense over and done with. Talk to him. Properly, for once, like adults; not the dolts the two of you were on the playground."
"No."
"Then live with it being unresolved."
*** "Mom's asking for a trip to Maldives this July. Ten days. She found the offer online."
You click your tongue, head still hung up on possible profits and potential calculations.
"We don't get handed leave like candy, Minji. And you know I have a project submission near that date. You know my team will collapse if I suddenly depart at such a critical juncture."
"I know that," Minji says quickly, almost angrily, "but you know how mom is. She's all about us and the great life we're living."
"The hard-earned life we're living. Come on, Minji. You know you need to convince her that we're unavailable."
"We've got to give in sometimes," Minji replies, crossing her arms. You glance up at her, her translucent eyes. You sigh.
"Minji, babe, these numbers are killing me. You know the killer migraine I get. Can we do this later, please?"
Minji bites her lower lip, a new habit of hers. "Fine. Is tonight still on, by the way?"
You close your eyes again, huffing and feeling your heart sink at the same time. Shit. You forgot.
"No. Fuck, Minji, I forgot. I agreed to an online meeting with Seolhyun. I'm sorry, fuck-"
Minji's form seems to flicker, like her legs wobbled. "I- I get it."
Your hands dig into your scalp, one with hair you swear is already whitening.
"I'm sorry, Minji, really. It's killing me too, right now."
"I know. It's killing all the time you have, just to keep up. You haven't even touched me the same since this new project's popped up."
You perk your head up. "Sorry?"
"It's true. You've been babysitting that monitor so hard you've reduced everything else, me, to a footnote."
"Is this about sex?" You ask, incredulous.
"No!" Minji snaps, "it's about you forgetting to be greedy! Why the hell are you living by the rules of work now?"
"Because that work's an assured path to happiness? There's no way you're blaming me for working hard right now."
"I am! I'm blaming you for dropping the ball on powering us forward especially when you know, perfectly well, that you live life's directions bounded next to me. We do everything together."
"And is this not pushing us forward, together?"
"This is roundabouting an excuse for you to push for a challenge of your own undertaking."
"You're calling me selfish?" you exclaim. You know she's mad, but why is she riling you up too?
"I'm saying this is a poor choice."
"Just because I haven't been fucking you?"
"Because things escalate!" Minji's eyes turn solid for once, like obsidian shields. It's an unsettling sight. "Because you're ascending in steps, and you don't see it! I'm losing the man I loved spending every moment with to some… corporate greed!"
"Not everything is perfect at every moment, Minji."
You sigh, rubbing your temple, equations and economics already forgotten, which is an added headache for you later. "Sometimes we get tested, and sometimes things are bad. But you're still the person I care about the most. The past is all there, unchangeable. It's just a difficult blip. That's all."
"A blip that's lasted long enough I've already forgotten what being treated perfectly feels like," Minji states, and it stings.
Love and it's fractals. And the sharp shards.
And maybe the two of you have never needed to address a conflict, because that's knowing better. So maybe that's why this is double a challenge now, because it's bridging. It's inevitably similar, and similarly inevitable. A mess.
It boils over May seventh. And you already know it's bad, because the both of you are working overtime. On that day of all days.
And you've seen this Minji before, because you've seen just about every damn Minji before. The stressed by work, hunched over Kim Minji, punching into her keyboard with three fingers on each hand. It's like she's five again, stressing over an exam without really knowing why it matters, or how much it does. And you finish first. And you feel bad. Because you relate to it.
So you try.
"Minji," you call, and when she turns, facial muscles too tired to even manage a frown, still biting her lip anxiously, you stutter for a moment. She looks weak.
"I'm done for the day. The trash is cleared, and I returned the excess keys. Just… remember to lock up this room and you're done."
Minji moves her lips slowly, jaw moving in slow motion as her mouth forces a tepid line. And even still you say it.
"Happy birthday."
And it gets to her. Gets to her in the way every year has, the way every emotion she's bottled up against you for life flashes all at once, the way she forgets anything about whatever she's working on, even as you turn back to leave.
"Stop that."
You pause. Mistake?
"Stop doing that thing where you act like you're not to blame. That surface level thing."
You still. Do either of you have the energy to do this, again? "Minji?"
"Your stupid Mars Bars bribes. Your little favours. You think I don't see you trying to clear your record, but I do. And it's unbearably annoying. So stop it."
You sigh. This is a loop. And it's still as ever, aggravating. "I don't want or need to hear this."
"Because you know how easy it is for me to peel back your scab of lies."
"No, because I don't want to give a damn about your perpetual beef with me on a day like this. And I'd like to give you the freedom to walk away with your head empty for once!"
"You haven't given me anything!" Minji's fingers curl into the keyboard, scratching across the keys like coils in a spring tensing up. "When have you given? All you've done is take."
"Take? Take like I've taken your abuse, your anger and hate, every single moment of your inexplicable antagonism?"
"Inexplicable-"
"Is that not what it is? Why, Minji? Aren't you just as sick and tired of this as I am? Why are we still keeping up this… charade, this mutual poisoning, this ramming into each other's guts till we're spitting our crimson blood? Why?"
"Because you're robbed every single moment of my life by inserting yourself in it! Every instant, every damned time and moment, you're in it! That's us, right? Growing up together? I can't fucking get away from you, and I don't have a definition that doesn't stem from your broad brushstrokes! Have you ever given me a moment in time that's properly mine?"
"So you're just being selfish?"
"Selfish? When I'm the one being robbed?"
"Robbed by something you can't control? Something that's out of both our hands? Is it fucked up, yes, but you're pinning the blame on me? When, in the same vein, I've had every solitary moment robbed away by you as well?"
Minji stills.
"Every moment you think I've robbed from you, you've also robbed from me. Every second you wish you had, I never had either. And is that my fault? Every single thing you've blamed on me. And yeah, I get it, we're both test subjects for some sick twisted hands of fate, but I'm tired of fighting over it. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be a better person in your life, sorry for every moment, at the playground, in school, at work that I've been in your head. And sorry I don't consider it a problem anymore."
And maybe that's when Minji realises there isn't an end to revenge. When you're already grabbing your things and leaving. It's not about maturity. It's about understanding. Understanding that some things were always meant to be.
And some things never so.
It's about knowing someone so well you grow to live with them a part of you, and knowing how to hold them so tight releasing them is gentle.
It's constants.
***
"I'm moving out."
You don't deliver it with any preamble, any buildup. You just show up in the master bedroom and say it. And Minji looks up from the spot tucked under the bedsheets like she was prepared for the news from the beginning. "Boss wants me to move. To the states. To help develop the new branch."
You're not sure when the two of you agreed, just that you know the didn't of you didn't need to. It goes without saying, without thinking, without needing words connecting like a bridge.
The both of you know it's over. Which doesn't make it any less blisteringly painful.
"And me? I've become a non-factor, haven't I?"
And the soreness in your throat isn't one you can scratch. It's the most challenging thing in your entire life, because for once you're saying you want to be alone, and that's terrifying. Because you're going to take a pair of scissors and undo every ribbon.
"Minji…"
"I know," Minji states, her nose twitching like she let out a sniffle, "I know, but it doesn't make me hate your guts any less."
"I wish I could think of another way."
Minji shakes her head like you told her a lie. "It doesn't matter. Because both of us have parts that are in agreement. It just… hurts. I thought I meant more to you. Like how you are my everything."
You think you should cry, so you nearly do. But Minji tells you no. "Don't cry. You chose this. To step away. And I don't blame you."
Because at the end of the day, the both of you believe in something better- something the two of you don't yet have.
That's the problem with being perfect pieces. The foolish yearning for anything but. The need to be proven wrong and maybe crash back together again. You remember the teacher's comment, from an age you don't remember. It's weird. They don't argue. Ever.
And maybe that's unhealthy. Or maybe you're wrong.
"I still love you so much," you say, because you need to put a wisp out, weight of the world on your shoulders, "and I'm so, so scared. Scared I'm making the wrong choice."
"I'm terrified," Minji agrees, her eyes dimmer than they've ever been, phasing. "Maybe it's time we both tried something we didn't know. Just like falling in love the first time. Just stop thinking."
Your breathing stills, because you have to let something die to get through tonight.
"It's hard," you say, your voice croaky, red and broken. An impossible choice.
"Just let it happen," Minji dips her head, and her next sound makes her sniffles real and non-imaginary.
"Will we still… collide?" Your question is a final hopeful plea. Bargaining. And Minji knows that.
"If time permits."
And that'll have to be enough. No more Minji. Finally. Your feet mean to move.
"You're unreal, Minji. Don't ever forget that. If this is the end, let's smile and move on. Because time may erase but our hearts will remember."
"My dad told me to move on, you know," Minji adds suddenly, a wet spot forming on the blanket below her head, like every fated moment falling back to nothingness. "I told him about us. And he said that sometimes that's just how the road winds. That I should do what I feel is right and give you up. And cherish whatever it was, even though all the time- our whole lives- means nought without either of us."
The next words come from a place within Minji that's new, because you've never, ever, seen it before. And maybe you never will again.
"And I thought, yeah, we spent all our lives together, now we have to grow apart, and that's so fucking terrifying. I don't know if I know how to love someone that isn't you, don't know if I'll ever be happy again, but something keeps telling me that is together is wrong, that we were only together to finally be apart. A splinter. And our broken hearts. How long are we going to hurt?"
"I don't know what next means."
Your feet clatter against the cobblestone in disorganised fashion. It's not the last time. There's still logistics. But the end is nigh. And the two of you agreed.
Your eyes fall to the car in front of you, the black sedan you used to drive the two of you to work with every single day.
And the raven-head waiting next to it in a black dress.
"Done?" Hanni says softly, like she knows raising her voice would pop the bubble you're in, the one with the ghost of Minji on your soul.
"Yeah."
"What'd she say?"
"That I- that we were right."
Hanni shifts her feet. "I'm sorry it turned out this way."
You shake your head. "I'll cry like a bitch later. Thanks for coming. I… didn't think you would."
"Why? Cause I'm not the sappy type?"
"No, because you're a chaser, remember? Of the fleeting moments?"
Hanni pulls at her interlocked fingers. "That was the old me, yeah."
You raise an eyebrow. "Times change. People change. I've had my experiences. Now it's time for something longer, more permanent. People don't fit into boxes for long without trying to get out of one."
"Wise words."
Hanni gives a wry smile. "Do you need a hug?"
It takes you a second. "Just the one."
You move first. And it's warm enough.
"Hey," Hanni whispers, her arms tight around your neck like she knows better than you do. "When you're ready, step into the car, and we'll go, okay? If you need one last word, I'll wait too."
"I'm just scared of her being alone. I have you now, but who does she have? What if she doesn't have another person by her side ever again? What if-"
"Then you need to know that it's respectfully none of your business anymore. Or your jurisdiction. And that you can trust in her."
Hanni unlatches from you, a soft, almost flirty smile on her face.
"If you're ready to roll, I am too."
"Just go?"
"Just go. Maybe you'll be wrong, maybe you'll come back to her. Who can say for sure? But that's the beauty of it right? That's why we don't know everything. Because where's the love in that?"
*** The Mars bar lands on her table like a warning sign. Minji looks up, irritated at first, like it's the past, but she sees that it's you and her expression smoothens.
"Hi," Minji starts formally, the tone all wack. "What is it?"
"Finished the report. It'll land in your inbox in a few minutes. If all is good with you, we can submit it. I… tailored it slightly to your expectations."
Minji nods, slow at first, then more rapidly, her eyes falling back to her screen, hands on her lap. "Got it."
You nod, mouth struggling to form a natural smile, because you're not sure you're willing to bet and risk that. But she cuts you off at your turn anyway.
"Hey."
"Uh- yeah?"
"You have a meeting till seven, correct?"
You blink, letting your eyes fall to her, still confined within her chair. Huh.
"You would know," you say simply.
Minji tilts her head like she gets it too. "I need to speak with you- um, can I speak with you? Five minutes? After?"
"Non-work related?" You guess.
"Non-work related."
You nod. "Sure. See you in a bit."
You run through the likely options at lunch. Option A. She's gonna chew you out. Again. She's prepared some secret weapon, or something, and she's about to deploy it with lethal prejudice. Option B. She's going to give you a Snickers bar. Option C. You're fuc-
Minji sets her tray down in front of you with a loud clatter, drawing the chair and seating with a lot more noise and haphazard actions than necessary. More than needed for someone like her.
Your jaw goes still. You know how it looks. Because that never happens, and everyone knows that never happens. It's like, defying fate. Or the natural flow of time. And she looks like she's having a hard time as well, what with the flush on her face.
"Uh, hello."
"Hi."
"Uh, good to… see you?" You try, brain empty of any ability to process what's happening.
"I uh- you uh, don't mind, right?"
"N-no. Feel free." You spot at least four empty tables in your field of vision.
"Thanks."
The two of you eat in hushed silence, and you swear this is the slowest you've ever eaten a burger in your life, slow enough for you to get a rough slap by any fast food owner with self-esteem.
Minji shovels dwaenjjang jiggae like she's drinking mud. Then she just starts speaking, randomly.
"You uh, remember our seventh birthday?"
Your brain takes a moment to start playing the tape in your mind. "The one where you wanted blue forget-me-nots on your blue cake, so your mom dressed you up as a blue flower and my mom put a blue overshirt on me and called me the great flower farmer?"
Minji winces like she wasn't asking for details. "Yeah, that one."
"I remember it."
"Okay, well, did you like it? Or enjoy it?"
You chew slowly. "You want the honest answer?"
"Yes."
You shift in your seat, getting more comfortable. "I hated it."
Minji flinches.
"I hated it because it didn't feel right. Like two people wanted different things and we came to a compromise without a common understanding. Like trying to do too much and fucking it up. Which is exactly what our parents did, by the way."
Minji's lip curls upwards, like you're onto something.
"And because I could tell you didn't want it like this, and neither did I. So on both fronts, everything failed."
Minji stares, her eyes hollow, but not empty.
"Okay. Thanks."
You nod, and immediately Minji stands up, clearing her plate.
"See you in a bit," she says.
You're nearly two feet in the grave by the time the day ends. And you haven't even addressed Minji's ominous talk yet. Which you nearly forgot about.
Which has you backtracking and pausing by your desk. You glance around. Just you two, again. Like the other time you argued and shut her up and left.
You wince internally. Let you be wrong; just once. Defy the odds.
"Uh, Minji?" You call out, approaching her desk, where she's watching something on her phone.
"Hmm? Oh- right," She closes her phone quickly, setting it on her desk. You wait.
"I have something to say."
"Yeah, you do."
Minji stiffens, like she just realised she's being an idiot. Which is weird, because you're pretty sure Minji would never let herself look like that in front of you. And when she reaches over on her desk to toss a blue wrapper Snickers bar over, you catch it with the kind of atheistic disbelief that should be impossible to change.
"I… prefer those."
You nod dumbly. Then glance up at her like you know there's more.
"I… wanted to apologise."
So fuck the odds then.
"Sorry?" You stammer.
"I want to say sorry," Minji phrases carefully, enunciating each word, "for blaming you."
Fuck the odds.
"I realised that I don't hate you- I just hated not being okay with it. And no one says that I have to be okay with it, but I turned you into my reason and output because you were always hopelessly available. And… that was wrong."
"You don't have to apologise," you interrupt, floor suddenly unstable, "you just rationalised it in your own way."
"At your expense. And that's wrong, no matter how you twist it. And as a person that knows you so well, having spent every moment of my life trying to evade you, I should have done better."
"Uh," you sputter, before your brain combusts, "okay, apology accepted. You really didn't need to-"
"You don't like my apology?"
"No! -I mean, I do appreciate it, a lot. It means a lot. It's just you know… a... a lot? Unexpected."
Minji nods, bowing her head deeply. "I'm sorry. Really. I… was selfish, for a very long time."
She's wrong. Or at most, only half-right. "I was selfish too. I did exactly what you did, let what we believed when we first started continue, even when it was wrong. We didn't challenge it. And it's we. I treated you awfully at times as well. So I should apologise as well."
"Apology accepted," Minji says, flashing you the first genuine smile you've ever seen. The first you can remember. Then Minji pinches her nape.
"Can't believe it took nearly three decades for us to stop murdering each other," Minji murmurs, low enough to think you can't hear.
You laugh nervously. "Yeah, crazy."
Minji blushes. You turn your head, eyeing your desk and office bag like it contains a ticket out of here.
"So uh," you mean to move along to the conclusion, "we all good now?"
You see Minji forcefully expel the tension in her shoulders from her body. "Yeah, we good."
"Great. Anything else?"
Minji's eyebrows knit together for a short moment, her lips parting with something unsaid.
"What is it?" You urge.
"Just… I feel like this is the part where we reconcile and start sharing something about the both of us, like our perspectives, but.."
"We already know everything about each other?"
"-yeah."
"Yeah, we kind of don't need to get into that. We don't need to revisit how you don't drink coffee, don't like being disturbed in class, prefer your kimbap with ham when I prefer mine with cheese-"
"You remember all of that?" Minji interjects, shell-shocked.
"Like you don't remember stupid things about me?"
Minji thinks for a while, and then it comes out of her in droves.
"You hate arrogance. The kind where people think no one can know better about a certain thing than themselves. The kind that pushes you to follow when you already know better."
"Green is your favourite colour."
"You beat up that boy because of what he said about me, something nasty, and I still reported it to the teacher because I wondered if I could dig past your skin. That was my fault too. You always looked so… unbothered, like you didn't feel whatever I was feeling, didn't care to yell at me about all the things I made unavoidable. I wanted to get to you just once. But you never let me. You just let it past, again, even though I didn't understand like you did that you were never the real target of my afflictions."
Wow. There's something warm about the way she's saying it all.
"Yeah, that's me. And that's us."
"Enemies, no, nemesis," she replies.
"But not anymore?" You ask hopefully.
Minji's eyes soften, real in their dark pools, but in another moment she's doing more than just processing your request. She's… reconstructing.
And then she forces you into the same action, down the same road, the same trip. And it's only because you've hated every fiber of her being that you're guessing at all.
"Are you… replaying us?"
Minji bites her lip. "Replaying whatever I knew. And adding what I missed. You did things sometimes… things I didn't know the reasons behind, so I filed away under bribery and favours."
Like the Mars Bars? "I tried making things easier. For both of us. To avoid us meeting and creating any accidental friction."
"I'm seeing that. I did that sometimes too. Just to make a couple days clear."
And now that you're reliving too, you see what she sees. The actions that had different motives but were action's nonetheless. All the effects.
"I see that now too."
"It's crazy," Minji admits, but almost like she didn't mean to. "It's like reading two separate narratives but the same plot, like getting the correct colour filter for the image that was originally out of place."
She isn't wrong, and she never was.
Minji rises her seat, fixating you with this foreign yet eerily familiar look. Like she's holding you within the hollows of her surreal eyes.
"I want to try something, and it's going to be crazy."
Crazy with Minji? Oh dear. "If this goes horribly wrong, we can never speak of this again. But… I just feel like I was meant to do this once."
She crosses the space with every step, coming to meet you in the middle for the first time ever. And it's like it was meant to be.
Your breath catches, and that's before Minji reaches for your features, her fingers brushing, unabashedly, across your lips and cheek, and behind your ear.
"You look different. Familiar," she remarks, and you're not sure what exactly she's saying, but she's right somehow.
She tugs you in for a closer look, and you feel her exhales across your face. She's inspecting… something. Maybe an identity check for if you're still the same guy she's drawn swords against her whole life. And when the signal is all jumbled dumb and confusing, you do the stupidest action you were always meant to do.
You kiss her.
Quick. Enough for you to jump back like it's a sting, like you're on the receiving end and not the deliverer. Minji's eyes widen, and though she tries to move back, the both of you find yourselves unable to untangle from each other.
And then Minji's eyes redden. "Fuck."
And then she's on you again. Lips to lips, and you don't need the lies and rules anymore. Because she's really kissing you for real, kissing you like she's been building up to this moment her whole life.
And maybe you have too. When she pulls away, the tears are rivulets down her cheeks.
"Fuck," she curses like it was all a mistake, "I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. All this time-"
You cut her off by seizing her by the fingers, squeezing till you've got her.
"Don't apologise. Don't cry. Don't think."
And because she heeds you, because the door is open, she slips with you into the night.
Explicitly, you realise the answer on the drive back is this.
Every thought you had of growing away from her made you understand her more. The answer isn't just a game by Ender, isn't that understanding everything about your enemy makes you love them. It’s not about whether this is right or wrong, if it makes sense or if it doesn’t. It’s the risk of something novel, something maybe the two of you could never have escaped.
It's also the admittance that the two of you are a perfect fit because of all the differences the two of you have had. That there's a whole unexplored route ahead of you, and you don't have a map, a compass, or anything to navigate it. That there's a ground zero and infinite possibilities.
Taking her, on a whim, on top of a pyramid, a precipice of dangerous accidents and lethal misunderstandings, it's an impossible experience.
Crashing through your apartment, kissing her like you're making up for a lifetime of nonexistent kisses and arbitrary nonsense, getting your hands into her nape, onto her skin, undoing her office shirt-
None of it should feel familiar. But it fucking does. Like you were always going to or always have been doing it in some other timeline.
You mark her like you've done it before, biting on her dusky nipples and supple breasts like you're not owning them for the first time today. You draw moans the are not novel rewards but refreshed objectives.
It's not a game. It's just you, and her, and you working your fingers under her skirt, overwhelming her with too much too fast, and her reply is that she doesn't know if it's a bad thing.
That's not knowing. It's peeling off her panties, seeing her soaked cunt, pressing your tongue up against it-
"Oh my fucking god!"
You press her hips down, and you wonder if Minji knows where she even is. You feel like you've kidnapped her and bound her in your room.
"Oh my god, eat that pussy!"
You double down, carving a path, through her flesh, into a heart. By the time she's breaking and sobbing, hips bucking in slow powerful waves, you're already lost. Too far down the hole, too far along the road to turn back.
There was never turning back.
Her hands to your shaft, voice still spilling never before heard cusses and body's slick with a slight sheen. She pulls you forward, and as you collapse over her like all first times should, you're in her like you've been all along.
Your hips buck, rippling against her thighs, cock spearing into her depths. Minji arches her back and shrieks.
"Fuck!"
"Minji-"
"Oh my- oh my god!"
You hold her by the wrists, the shoulders, anything to not drive her insane. Her pussy is tight and warm and something reserved, special. And you're writing everything wrong by pushing back into her, making her cum, claiming a girl that history says was never meant to be yours.
Her hips meet against you're, and you have to gasp, suddenly uncomfortable, out of place. Her brow- tightly-knitted, her mouth hanging open, low tone slightly husky.
She looks real, bare. Perfect mounds, lean body. Not extreme, just right.
"I didn't know you were gonna fuck me like this."
You don't think you're supposed to, either. Her legs this long, this sculpted, and her face, just so unbelievably pretty. You were used to it before but you aren't anymore, especially when it's contorted in the throes of passion.
Illegal and filthy? Probably. Future-rewiring? Definitely. But your lips are on hers, and she's fucking you with all she's got, so when you roll her over, onto you, and you see the rivers of sweat racing down her right tummy, abs and navel, you go giddy.
You once remember someone calling Minji a goddess when you were sixteen. You wonder if that guy had any inkling what a view like this is. Hair, wet with sweat, sticking to her shoulders, to the chest, nipples hard and aching, and your full length bolted to the base, within her, wrapped securely. You remember her relentless insistence when you were five, always fighting to admit that she could stand like you did regardless of who shoved you down on the playground.
You remember hearing her dreams through a proxy, the overlapping hushed conversation when you were fourteen, the ones you filed away but made sure to never tread on. Not because you wanted to lie down and let her walk over you, but just in the hopes that the two of you could have space to breathe separately. When the two of you didn't think of trying to breathe in sync.
Your hands slide to her ass, squeezing, and she throws her hips down harder.
"You're doing it inside. I don't care. It's been waiting long enough. So pump my cunt full of cum and breed me."
The pleasure that shoots through you is enough for you to grind your teeth to dust. Minji loses herself over you, collapsing in an orgasmic mess, and it's only a half dozen more thrusts before you're crying out in that same space, the evidence all in the sticky white that's coating her insides and staining everything else.
A cannon. That's what you are. A glass one. A crazy one. You shudder and wrap her in your arms and tilt her to the side, till the two of you are trembling; but together.
"I-"
"Shhh."
Morning is a splintered path in an unknown direction.
Minji, still looking disoriented, her tan skin soft as liquid draped over you. Awake, not moving from your heat, just wondering what's the truth next.
She looks like she's about to cry again.
"I'm scared, you know? We missed all our lives together, I don't ever want to see us apart. And we might have gone crazy last night, but what if we're finally right after being wrong for so long?"
But really, were the two of you ever wrong? Was anything holding the two of you back from admitting it, besides Minji misunderstanding what was cause and who was effect, and the two of you perhaps not knowing that the two of you were always going to fall this way?
"Then let's stop believing that we need to know. I know everything about you, always have. And enough to now know I love you because I understand everything now. Every little thing I did wrong. And I'm going to make up for every wrong I did. Every moment we shared last night that didn't yet feel deserved. And create something perfect."
***
It doesn't matter if it's separate or together. What's written on your hearts, what actually means, that's what's important. That's growing up. You'll hold her hand now, and you will forever in memories. The heart doesn't forget easily.
You loved her- you do now.
A/N: If it wasn't clear from reading this, this was rushed. This fic is more idea than something concrete, more concept than love story. And I think I'm slowly accepting what it's become, enough to post it. And I hope I get better.




























