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Chapter Text

There’s a new figure skater in their rink. At least, that’s what Seokjin tells her when Yoonji shows up to practice that morning, tired and a little sleepy from cramming her philosophy paper. 

“Hoseok told me,” he says simply, handing her an iced americano. “He said he heard it from Namjoo who heard it from Jungsook who heard it from Taehyung who heard it from the guy himself, because he’s apparently in his basic algebra class and mentioned that he was a skater and would be training at our rink.” 

Yoonji grunts in acknowledgement, taking a sip of her americano before plopping herself down on the bench and pulling out her skates. It’s a little cold today—the warm summer mornings quickly giving way to a biting winter, and both Yoonji’s ears and the tips of her fingers are starting to feel a little numb. She knows she’s going to have to give up her iced americanos soon, but at the moment the cold’s still manageable, and she plans to cling on to them for as long as she can. 

Besides, it’s usually Seokjin who gets them for her. He’ll know when it’s time to swap it out for something warmer.

Seokjin takes the seat next to her and nudges her with an elbow. “Say something,” he says, voice colored with amusement. “I just updated you with the hottest gossip in our little circle and you can’t even say thanks?”

Yoonji clears her throat. “Thanks,” she says obediently, trying not to wince as she’s lacing her skates. Her foot started to bleed yesterday; Yoonji's going to need to be more careful today. “But it sounds a little sketchy. I’m supposed to believe this random piece of news you heard from some shady guy?”

“I told you, I heard it from Hoseok,” Seokjin repeats patiently. “Who heard it from Namjoo who heard it from—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that.” Yoonji says. She finishes with her left one and gets started on the right, sighing a little as she tightens the laces around her toes. “But, you know. You don’t know where Hoseok got his gossip.”

“From Namjoo,” Seokjin supplies. “Who got it from Jungsook—”

Yoonji abandons her laces. “Can you stop?” She demands. “I got it already.”

“Are you sure?” Seokjin asks. “Because I can always repeat it. Listen well, Yoonji. Hoseok heard it from Namjoo—”

Yoonji glares at him. “Stop,” she repeats, turning back to her skate, unable to stop her lips from twitching. It’s difficult not to smile especially when Seokjin looks like this—eyes sparkling with amusement, his smile carefree. He’s always a lot better in the mornings than she is, filled with energy and a vitality for life that Yoonji struggles to find at five am. In contrast, Yoonji skates better in the evenings, when the sun dips below the horizon; when the day is over and there’s nothing left for her to do except skate. They complement each other that way. 

Yoonji finishes lacing up her skate, putting a bit of weight on her foot to check if everything’s properly tied up. Seokjin, in contrast, is still working on his, his fingers moving slowly but surely. 

Yoonji watches him for a few seconds, gets impatient waiting for him, then gets to her feet. “Last one on the rink pays for breakfast later,” she says, and takes the five steps needed to get on the ice.

She hears, more than sees, Seokjin’s indignation. “Hey,” he calls out after her, his voice muffled by the wind suddenly rushing in her ears. “Stop leaving me behind.”

Yoonji grins at nothing in particular. “That’s what you get for being slow,” she calls back, and proceeds to do her on-ice warm ups.

. . .

Seokjin’s mysterious new figure skater arrives at the rink about ten minutes into their warm-up, chatting amicably with their coach. He’s compact, a little smaller than Yoonji imagined, but there’s a sort of grace in his movements, like he’s performing in a dance only he’s aware of. He isn’t dressed for practice—he’s just in a pair of sweatpants and a puffer jacket, no training bag at all, but something tells Yoonji he’s someone to watch out for, skill and power hidden under the layers of her clothes.

A little ways behind him, Yoonji spots Jungsook—and by extension, Taehyung—both looking like they’re ten seconds from falling asleep where they stand and trying their absolute hardest not to. 

“See,” Seokjin whispers to her. His attention is directed on the newcomer, who looks at home in the rink already. “I told you. I heard it from Hoseok who heard it from Namjoo who—”

Yoonji elbows him hard. “Is there anything else you know about him?” She asks. “Literally anything else.”

Seokjin thinks for a moment. “He’s from Busan, apparently,” he says, finally deciding to be useful. “Used to be a contemporary dancer, but then stepped on the ice and fell in love with it. They’re hailing him as some sort of ice skating prodigy.” He pauses, and Yoonji just knows what he’s about to say. “At least, according to Hoseok—”

“Coach!” Yoonji yells, skating away from Seokjin. She hears Seokjin snicker and then follow behind her, the sound of his skates almost in sync with hers. “Good morning. Can you please tell oppa to leave me alone before I slit his throat with my skate?”

“She wouldn’t actually do that,” Seokjin says from behind her, probably for the benefit of the newcomer. “I think. Yoonji, don’t actually do that.”

Yoonji doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Try me.”

Fortunately, their coach just laughs. “Good morning to you both,” he says. He’s a jovial man—stocky and round, but he’s got an eye for beauty and a genius-level understanding of the sport. He’d trained Yoonji ever since she was five, took Seokjin in when she was seven, and then proceeded to coach them through various performances and competitions. Yoonji always says she would never be able to find a coach who understood her as well as Coach Bang does, and Seokjin always says same and gives whoever they’re speaking to finger guns. But she knows that he really does mean it; she’s known Seokjin since he was eight and she knows that if Seokjin really hated something, he’d speak up. The fact that he’s still with her now speaks multitudes.

“The both of you are already doing your warm-ups?” Coach Bang asks. At their nods, he grins. “Good, just keep going. I’ll be back with you guys shortly, I just have to get Jimin settled in.” He nods towards the newcomer, whose name is presumably Jimin. “He’ll be skating in this rink with us today, under Coach Sungdeuk and Assistant Coach Kibum.”

Jimin nods, his face lighting up. “Hello, I’m Park Jimin,” he says politely, bowing. “I hope we get along well.”

Yoonji bows back. “Min Yoonji.”

“Kim Seokjin.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Jimin says. His in-born grace aside, he actually seems quite lovely, something both ethereal and adorable in the set of his features. “I heard you’re both friends with Taehyungie and Jungsookie?”

Taehyung and Jungsook, Yoonji finds, are already dozing off on the bleachers, unused to the early hour. Which makes sense, as Jungsook’s hockey practice isn’t until later afternoon and Taehyung is never in the rink unless Jungsook is. Still, Yoonji thinks it’s kind of sweet that they’re here as Jimin’s moral support. Even though they’re going about it asleep.

It’s Seokjin who answers. “Yeah,” he says. “Those are our…delinquents.”

“Menaces,” Yoonji supplies. 

“Demons,” Seokjin adds, something fond in his tone, “who use every opportunity to try and weasel free food from us.”

“We’re not demons,” Taehyung slurs out from the bleachers. “We’re angels. Right, Jungsookie?”

The only reply is the sound of Jungsook’s quiet breathing.

That only seems to endear Jimin, his smile growing wider. He really does seem quite sweet. “Honestly, I have no idea why they’re here,” he tells them, obviously doing his best not to roll his eyes fondly. “I mentioned to Taehyungie that I’d be here this morning, but I didn’t actually expect them to show up.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “Don’t worry, they’re literally always here,” she says dismissively. “Jungkook trains in the afternoon and Taehyung likes to watch her. But we should head back to our warm up,” she says, waving a hand. “You know how it is. Bye, Jimin-ssi. It was really nice meeting you.”

“Same,” Seokjin says, and Yoonji can just imagine the finger guns he’s shooting right now. “If you want, you can join us for breakfast after. Usually we just do something light plus a protein shake, but seeing as these two are here…”

And just as he says it, Taehyung and Jungsook miraculously wake up. “Oppa, let’s go for breakfast,” Jungsook says, her words heavy with sleep. “I’m hungry.”

Yoonji lets out a sigh. “You just had to mention breakfast, didn’t you?” She asks, directing the question to Seokjin.

“I thought they were asleep!” Seokjin protests, laughter in his tone. Yoonji rolls her eyes, shoots Jimin a look—see what I have to put up with?

Jimin’s grin doesn’t even waver. “Maybe not today,” he says. “I just came by to discuss things with Coach Bang, then I have to head to SNU after. But I’ll definitely take you up on that offer some other time.”

“You’re always welcome,” Seokjin tells him nicely. “We try to keep things friendly at the rink.”

“Cool.”

Coach Bang shakes his head, still smiling. “Get back to training,” he tells Seokjin and Yoonji, shooing them back where they came from. “Don’t you have a gala performance in a few weeks? Better make sure that footwork is clean.”

Yoonji grins back at him. “It always is,” she brags, before shooting Jimin a small wave and turning around to push Seokjin backwards.

“Oppa, we’ve discussed this so many times,” she scolds, no heat in her tone. “You do not, under any circumstances, mention anything related to food to Taehyung and Jungsook. They always take it as an invitation.”

Seokjin just lets himself be pushed backward, something mischievous in his expression as he looks down at Yoonji. “Yeah, but you have to admit, they’re kind of cute,” he says. “And you’re kind of cute when you’re annoyed, Yoonjichi.” A pause. “At least, that’s what Hoseok who heard it from Namjoo who—”

Yoonji pushes him hard enough that he glides a few meters back before turning around and skating away, the sound of her skates hitting the ice oddly harmonious to the sound of his squeaky laughter. 

Yoonji finds that she can’t even be too mad about it.

. . .

Yoonji’s weekday schedule looks something like this:

At four-forty five am she wakes up, throws on whatever she can find, grabs her protein shake and heads to the skating rink, where Seokjin will be waiting for her with coffee and a clever quip. They skate together for around two hours—or until one of them gets hungry—then they head out to grab breakfast together at a little coffee shop just down the street. They stay there for about an hour, either just chatting or cramming their schoolwork, before they go their separate ways—Seokjin to Konkuk and Yoonji to Hanyang. Then they attend their classes, do their schoolwork— do what normal university students do, before meeting back up at the rink at around four. After that it’s another three hours of training—learning choreography and off-ice conditioning while the hockey team trains, and freestyle when they get their time on the ice. After that is free time; Yoonji can do whatever she wants to or needs to, but it’s lights off at ten pm to ensure she gets enough rest for the next day’s training.

It’s a bit packed, but it works. Has worked for the last sixteen or so years, ever since she’d started competing. 

When Yoonji gets to the rink at three, Seokjin’s already there, a few minutes earlier than her like he always is on a Monday. He’s watching the sight in front of him with amusement—Minho, a university student whose part time job consists of driving the Zamboni on their ice rink, getting snarked at by Assistant Coach Kibum, standing in the corner of the rink.

“Can’t you go any faster?” Assistant Coach Kibum complains. “You’re eating up the hockey team’s ice time.”

Minho doesn’t even look bothered. “You try driving this thing, then.”

“I’ll drive it over your face.”

“That’s nice. You’re always so sweet, Key.”

Yoonji steps up into the space beside Seokjin. “They’re arguing again?” She asks resignedly.

“Yep,” Seokjin replies. He cocks his head thoughtfully. “10,000 won says it’s their backhanded way of flirting.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “I know better than to take that bet,” she says, dropping her bag onto the floor. She nudges Seokjin with a shoulder, passes his usual afternoon barley tea towards him. “It’s definitely their backhanded way of flirting.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Amazing that you even noticed,” he says, something dry in his tone. He takes a thoughtful sip of his tea before turning to Yoonji, something glimmering in his eye. “Did you miss me?” He simpers.

Yoonji rolls her eyes, unable to stop her lips from tugging up into a smile. “Not really,” she says. She sips on her own drink. “Maybe you should ask Hoseok who can ask Namjoo who can ask Jungsook who can ask Taehyung.”

Seokjin laughs, delighted. “I’ll do that,” he tells her. And, because he’s insane, he actually does it—turns to call out to Hoseok, who’s sitting on the bleachers with Taehyung. “Hobi,” he calls. “Can you ask Namjoo if Yoonji missed me?”

“What?” Hoseok calls back.

“Ask Namjoo if Yoonji missed me!”

“Why?” Hoseok says, puzzled, but does it anyway. “Babe, did Yoonji-noona miss Seokjin-hyung?”

“What?” Namjoo replies, sounding utterly confused. “How should I know?” And as expected, she turns to Jungook. “Jungsook, did Yoonji-unnie miss Seokjin-oppa?”

Jungsook doesn’t respond immediately—Minho’s driven the Zamboni off the ice, and she's skating back on it, doing a few twirls for fun. “Let’s ask the puck,” she eventually declares, and then drops the puck she’s holding, fires it straight into the net at supernatural speed. “...I think that’s a yes.”

“That’s my baby!” Taehyung hoots from the bleachers.

“She thinks that’s a yes,” Namjoo yells at Hoseok.

“Namjoo says Jungsook said the puck says yes,” Hoseok calls back to Seokjin.

Seokjin turns to her, smug expression on his face. “Oh, you did, huh?”

Yoonji rolls her eyes, exasperated by her friends’ antics. “Whatever,” she says. “Pucks don’t know anything. Hockey lugs don’t know anything. What are you doing asking Namjoo? She doesn’t know anything.”

“Namjoo knows everything,” Seokjin says simply. “Her IQ is 148.”

“Yeah, before it got knocked out of her,” Yoonji snarks. “Now it’s minus 148. Brain cells died in the tackling.”

Seokjin laughs. “See,” he says, nudging her gently. “If you would just admit you missed me, we wouldn’t have to go through all this.”

Yoonji grins up at him. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, Jimin’s here!” Yoonji hears Taehyung exclaim. Taehyung’s excitement is adorable to watch—he jumps up from his seat, waving towards the entrance. “Jimin, hi! We’re over here!”

“Hi, Taehyung,” Jimin calls back, sounding just as happy to see him. “Watching the hockey team practice?”

“Yep,” Taehyung replies sunnily. “They’re great! Seokjin-hyung and Yoonji-noona are skating again too.”

“Oh!” Jimin looks alarmed all of a sudden, looking around. When his eyes fall on her and Seokjin, he shoots them a smile, bowing in their direction. “Hi Yoonji-ssi, hi Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin waves a hand. “No need for the formalities,” he says, always one to be friendly. “You’re Taehyung’s age, aren’t you? Just call me hyung.”

Yoonji nods, gesturing to Seokjin to show her agreement. “Noona is fine,” she tells him. She catches sight of the training bag slung over his shoulder. “You’re starting training already?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin agrees, sighing a little. “Coach Sungdeuk wants me to start as early as possible if we’re going to do nationals this year.” He pauses. “You guys aren’t going this year, right?”

Yoonji shakes her head. “Nope,” she replies. “We’re taking a break this season—just finished our Olympic run, time for rest and recovery.” She makes a face. “You know how it is.”

Jimin’s eyebrows jump up his forehead at her words. “And yet you’re both still here.”

“It’s cause Yoonji can’t live without the rink,” Seokjin pipes up. “She draws all her life force from the ice.” He pauses. “And I get unwittingly tagged along, because that’s what teammates do, apparently.”

Yoonji rolls her eyes, a smile pulling at her lips. “He’s just clingy,” she tells Jimin.

Jimin laughs. “You guys are funny.” A pause, where Jimin looks like he’s mustering up the courage to say something. “Actually, I, uh. I’ve heard a lot about you and Seokjin-hyung.”

Yoonji raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” It isn’t that she’s surprised, far from it actually—she isn’t stupid, and she’s aware of their reputation, of what people say about them online. It’s been this way since 2017, when they won gold at Juniors; when that viral video of them was uploaded on YouTube and shared on Twitter, on Facebook, on every single social networking website in South Korea. Their skate at the 2018 Pyeongchang Winter Olympics had only added fuel to the fire, despite their disappointing finish. Then there was Beijing 2022, where they’d stunned everyone—skated better than anyone expected, showcased their outstanding chemistry to the whole world.

It’s that exact chemistry Jimin is thinking about, she knows; his eyes dart from her to Seokjin and then back again, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. But he seems to decide against bringing it up, just shrugs and does his best to look nonchalant. “Just that you guys are planning to do the Olympic circuit again,” he says, “and everyone thinks that you have a good shot at it this time around.”

His reply makes Seokjin laugh. “Of course we do,” he says good-naturedly. “I mean, I’ve known Yoonji since I was eight.” His smile morphs into something more wry. “She’ll do anything to make sure she gets that Olympic gold.”

. . .

“So let me just get this all down,” Jimin says later, when all seven of them are sitting in a small, homey Korean barbecue restaurant for dinner. He’s chewing on some food as he speaks, and he points at Namjoon. “Your name is Kim Namjoo, and you’re the female hockey team captain of SNU.”

“Yep,” Namjoo agrees. 

Jimin points at Jungsook. “You’re Jeon Jungsook and you’re…defense?”

“Forward, actually,” Jungsook corrects. “Namjoo-unnie and I are both forwards, she’s center and I’m left wing.”

“Jungsookie is the star player of SNU’s female hockey team,” Taehyung brags. His words make Jungsook color, leaning towards Taehyung to hide her face.

“And you and Seokjin-hyung are ice dancers,” Jimin finishes. Yoonji nods, leaning back as Seokjin piles a few pieces of meat on her plate. “With plans for the Olympic circuit again.”

Yoonji grins proudly. “Grand Prix again next year, and in three years, South Korea’s ice dancing representatives for the 2026 Milano Cortina Olympics.”

“Sadly,” Seokjin jokes, sighing dramatically, and Yoonji rolls her eyes, shoves him lightly in the shoulder. “When I was eight, someone told me learning to skate would help me get better at snowboarding.” He holds up a piece of meat in an unspoken question, and Yoonji shakes her head. “But then Yoonji clung on and like, never let go.”

Yoonji leans towards Jimin. “He was the only one stupid enough to think figure skating would actually help him snowboard,” she whispers, loud enough for Seokjin to overhear. “When I heard that, I knew I could get him to do whatever I wanted.”

Jimin laughs, his eyes lighting up with amusement.

“And Taehyung and I are the best of them all,” Hoseok volunteers, his grin wide. “We’re WAGs.”

“Hyung, I think the politically correct term is WASPs,” Taehyung interjects. “Wives and Spouses/Partners.”

Namjoo sighs. “How many times do I have to tell you, there is nothing politically correct about WASPs,” she says. “The idea of a WASP is inherently sexist.”

“But I’m fine being a WASP,” Hoseok says, reaching over to pat Namjoo on the cheek. “I love the idea of sitting pretty and doing nothing while I watch my girlfriend get to third base.”

“In many different ways,” Taehyung says, reaching over to high five Hoseok.

“There is no third base in hockey,” Namjoo says, long-suffering. “There are no bases whatsoever. Do you ever even listen to me?”

“Not really,” Hoseok replies, his smile teasing. “Most of the time, I zone out and stare at how gorgeous you are.”

Jimin’s smile is a permanent fixture on his face. “All of you are so cute,” he gushes. He directs his question to Hoseok. “How long have you been together?” 

“Namjoo and I have been together since high school,” Hoseok answers, and Yoonji can practically see the hearts falling from his eyes. “So around six years?”

“Jungsookie and I have been dating for a year and a half,” Taehyung adds.

Jimin turns to Yoonji. “And you?” He asks. “How long have you and Seokjin-hyung been together?”

Yoonji wracks her brain. “Coming up to be around…sixteen years of skating together, I think.”

“Feels like longer,” Seokjin laments. “Yoonji’s my forever girl.” He turns and blows her an over exaggerated kiss; Yoonji makes no effort to conceal the wince that’s crossed her face.

“Don’t call me that.”

Jimin shakes his head. “No, I meant like—how long have you guys been together together?”

And the entire table abruptly falls silent.

Yoonji can feel everyone’s attention on her, despite their efforts not to look. Beside her, Seokjin’s gone rigid, having frozen from where he’d been about to take a bite of his food. Namjoo’s staring at her with a pitying gaze, and Hoseok’s smile suddenly turns from genuine to something a little more forced. Jungsook and Taehyung exchange a look between themselves before turning to their food, determinedly picking on it so that they can pretend they aren’t listening in. 

They are listening in. It feels like the whole restaurant is listening in. It’s not even a big deal, but the way all the attention is suddenly turned on them makes Yoonji’s heart beat erratically, her chest clenching uncomfortably.

Jimin must sense the sudden discomfort because his smile slips off easily, a quizzical furrow appearing in his brow. “What?” He asks, to no one in particular.

It’s Seokjin who answers. “We aren’t,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. His words are stilted.

“What?”

Yoonji clears her throat, doing her absolute best to act casual. “We…we aren’t dating.”

. . .

Here are a few facts about Yoonji you may need to know:

Fact one: Seokjin’s her best friend. He has to be, at this point—Yoonji’s met and connected with many different people in all her years of living, but none of them have been as permanent as Seokjin, who Yoonji has known since he was a lanky little boy; none of them as consistent as he is, showing up to training everyday that he’s become a fixture in her life. He’s been around for so long that Yoonji barely even remembers life without him, can’t even fathom the idea that she once lived completely unaware of his presence. He’s as big of a part of her life as her parents or her older brother.

Fact two: she’s never had a different ice dancing partner. They were lucky to find each other very early on—even though at the time, Yoonji had dreamed to be a figure skater and Seokjin had wanted to be a professional snowboarder. The both of them had started ice dancing as, well, not so much a joke but an after-thought: a few weeks of this to improve my skills in another discipline. But then a few weeks turned into a few months which turned into a few years, and then she and Seokjin were suddenly learning complex choreography and joining various competitions and then winning said competitions. 

Fact three: the Olympic gold has always been her goal. Ever since she’d first seen a free skate routine on television during the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics; ever since she’d first stepped on the ice, wide eyed and eager. She’d known, even then, she’d wanted to get there someday, to hold up her country’s flag and hopefully bring home the gold. And Seokjin knows this, too.

(She has a memory she keeps close to her heart—she and Seokjin aged ten and eleven, hiding under a blanket during a sleepover. Coach Bang had discussed signing them up in their first competition, and the prospect made them giddy, unable to sleep, unable to let go of each other. Yoonji remembers vividly the way Seokjin’s eyes sparkled, the flashlight casting shadows on his face that made him look much older, remembers the mischievous curve of his lip as they spoke in hushed murmurs, not wanting to accidentally wake up Yoonji’s parents.

"What’s the end goal here?" Seokjin asked her then.

Yoonji remembers grinning. "Olympic gold," she answered. There was no hesitation, no waver in her voice. 

There was a pause, and then Seokjin’s smile grew. "A girl after my own heart," he said, and looking at him, Yoonji felt something run through her body, felt like she’d just experienced something cosmic.)

Fact four: when you put all these together, it makes sense that some things in Yoonji’s life would have to get cast aside. Things such as stellar academics or having a bustling social life; she does okay, but everyone knows her number one priority is skating. She doesn’t go to uni parties because too much alcohol fucks up her conditioning, and any friends she makes outside of skating tend to be kept at a distance, unable to relate to her priorities. She only really has her coach, her family, and Seokjin, the only ones who are as dedicated as she is in seeing this through. 

And this is where things get a little difficult. Because Yoonji wants that Olympic gold, promised herself that she wouldn’t stop until she got it. Promised that she would work hard, and that she wouldn’t do anything to ruin her focus, her chance. And when she and Seokjin started getting really serious about ice dancing, they also promised each other that they wouldn’t do anything to mess up this one, good thing they have going on.

So some things have to get cast aside. Things like academics and socials, but also things like the tiny little fact that Yoonji’s been painfully in love with Seokjin for years, and that Seokjin’s been in a reciprocal state for around the same amount of time.

But, like she said. It’s not a big deal.

. . .

The pause that rings out after her statement feels like it lasts eternities, though it couldn’t have been more than five minutes. “Oh,” Jimin eventually says, eyes widening in realization. “Oh. I’m—I’m sorry for assuming.”

It’s Seokjin who recovers first. “It’s fine,” he says, waving a hand. There’s a forced lightness in his tone. “No harm done. You aren’t the first one to think that, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok agrees. “Everyone who follows figure skating here in South Korea thinks so, too. I’ve read all the evidence Twitter threads and everything.” He snorts, clearly to mask his frustration. “They’re kind of funny, actually.”

“At one point I thought they were married,” Taehyung volunteers. When everyone turns to look at him incredulously, he shrugs. “When I first met them, they were bickering about ‘income-proportional expense sharing’. That sounded like married couple talk.”

That makes Namjoo laugh. “Why were you both talking about income-proportional expense sharing?” She asks, evidently trying to bring the table back to its former levity.

Yoonji and Seokjin exchange a look. “Did we?” Yoonji asks, confused. “I genuinely don’t remember.”

“Me neither,” Seokjin confesses. He takes a moment to think. “Maybe it was one of those hypothetical scenarios.”

“Maybe,” Yoonji says. “But really, I don’t even remember meeting Taehyung. Didn’t he just show up out of the blue and demand we buy him food like a demon?”

“Sounds about right.”

That makes Taehyung pout. “Hey, no, I was nice,” he argues, throwing a balled-up napkin at Yoonji. “I am nice. You buy me food because I’m especially nice. And memorable.”

“We buy you food because you’re annoying and pouty,” Seokjin shoots back.

“Ahem,” Jungsook interrupts, a warning in her tone. “There will be no violent insults directed at Taehyung-oppa unless you want to meet me outside in the parking lot.”

Taehyung beams. “Who wants to challenge my baby in a fight?” 

“Oh, Namjoo will,” Hoseok says, physically raising Namjoon’s hand. “Go babe. Show them what those muscles can do.”

Namjoon forcibly puts her hand down, but leaves hers and Hoseok’s fingers entwined. “No, I’m a pacifist.”

“A pacifist playing the most violent sport in the history of ever?” 

“Hockey is not violent,” Namjoo says indignant. “I told you so many times, babe—”

And then the awkwardness effectively dissipates, the entire table devolving into a rowdy discussion about hockey and on-ice violence. Yoonji leans back, pops a piece of meat into her mouth—happy to watch her friends bicker, content to listen to their inane arguments and points. Seokjin’s looking at her, she knows; can feel the weight of his gaze on the side of her face, and it makes Yoonji quiver slightly, something warm settling in her stomach. She scoots closer to him, and Seokjin gets the hint; throws an arm around her chair even as he raises his voice to refute a point thrown at him. His fingers brush against her forearm lightly, and Yoonji shivers, leaning into him.

Seokjin feels her move, looks down to shoot her a small, private smile, one he only gives her. Yoonji smiles back, watches as he turns away and jumps into the argument—disarmingly handsome as he always is, no matter how exaggerated his reactions are. 

When she eventually looks away, she finds Jimin watching them, something curious in his gaze.

. . .

“So what’s up, then?” Jimin asks her, a few days later. They’re doing ballet today in the dance studio where Hoseok and Taehyung train, and they’re just waiting for Seokjin and Coach Songdeuk to show up. Seokjin’s drink sits in the carton behind Yoonji’s bag—a latte he’d asked her to get instead of his usual barley tea. She’d hidden it there in case someone tries to take it away.

Yoonji continues stretching, her muscles loosening up. “What do you mean?” 

“With you and Seokjin-hyung,” Jimin clarifies. He hesitates, and Yoonji just knows what he’s about to ask. “Like, What are you both, exactly?”

“Humans,” Yoonji deadpans. “Ice dancers. Sometimes university students, too.”

Jimin gives her a look. “You know what I mean,” he says. He seems to realize how forward he sounds, because all of a sudden he’s backtracking. “I mean, like, only if you want to answer.”

Yoonji snorts. “It’s fine,” she says. She starts with her leg stretching—her hamstrings twinging a little in protest as she lunges forward on her right leg. “He’s…I don’t know. He’s someone who means a lot to me.”

“A lot in what sense?”

“A lot in…all the senses, I guess.” She takes a deep breath, letting her muscles relax. “What can I even say? He’s just Seokjin-oppa.”

“Just Seokjin-oppa?”

“Yeah.” Yoonji lets herself think about it, wincing a little when she accidentally overstretches. There’s a muscle in her back that’s been acting up lately; she’s going to have to see a physical therapist about it. “He’s like…the person who’ll always be with me no matter what happens.”

“Oh,” Jimin says, sounding taken aback. A pause where Yoonji breathes—inhale, exhale, stretching her muscles even further. “But doesn’t that make things hard?”

Yoonji’s brow furrows. “Make what hard?”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Jimin straighten up, shrugging as he does so. “I don’t know,” he says. “Life, I guess. Living. Dating.”

Dating. Yoonji chooses not to say anything in reply. Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to do—once she straightens, the right side of her body all loosened up, she finds Jimin staring at her like she’s just grown a second head.

“Noona, do you not date?”

Yoonji sighs. “I mean, I’ve never really thought about it,” she lies, shifting, to work on stretching out her left leg. “But not really? I guess.”

“But why not? You’re so pretty.”

That makes Yoonji smile. “Thanks,” she says, hearing her own laughter in her words. “But really, I’m just not interested. And even if I was, I don’t have the time for it.

Jimin tilts his head thoughtfully. “Does Seokjin-hyung date?” He asks. “He’s really handsome, too.”

The idea of Seokjin dating makes Yoonji feel a little ill. She swallows, doing her best to ignore her emotions; they have no place here—not now, not ever. “Not that I know,” she says. “I’m not sure, though. You can ask oppa yourself.”

“Ask me what?” Comes Seokjin’s voice from the doorway. He’s a little winded, the way he always is on a Wednesday—Yoonji knows that his Wednesday schedule is shit, has listened to him complain about it for weeks when they started the semester. Still, he always manages to pull it off somehow

“Nice of you to show up,” Yoonji snarks, although there’s no real anger behind her words. “Your latte is behind my bag, by the way. Had to sneak it past the receptionist out front.”

Seokjin blows her a kiss. “Thank you,” he says, heading toward Yoonji’s training bag. He pushes it aside, easily finding the latte, and the sound he makes when he takes a sip should be considered obscene. “God, Yoonji, You’re the greatest. You really are.”

Yoonji rolls her eyes, unable to stop the quickening of her heart. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Whatever. You owe me.”

“I’ll make it up to you, whatever you want,” Seokjin promises rashly. He takes another long sip from his drink. “Now what were you going to ask me?”

Yoonji turns to Jimin, an eyebrow raised. Jimin gets flustered at the attention, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to back down, but in the end, his curiosity wins out. “Hyung, do you date?”

The question makes Seokjin pause. “Date?”

“Like, see other people,” Jimin clarifies. “Romantically.”

“Oh.” Seokjin takes a sip of his drink as he thinks, and Yoonji hates how tension’s coiled in her stomach all the way up her throat, hates how she’s also on the edge of her seat, waiting with bated breath for Seokjin’s answer. 

Eventually, Seokjin speaks again. “Not really,” he says, and Yoonji’s stomach unclenches, and she has to stop herself from sighing audibly in relief. “Just…between my final year of university and training, I don’t really have the time.” 

He makes to leave, but then stops, something unreadable crossing his features. His eyes dart to Yoonji, something knowing in his gaze, and Yoonji has to stop herself from looking away. 

“Besides,” he says, keeping his voice light. “I don’t need to date when I have Yoonji.” The corner of Seokjin’s lips tug up into something sincere. “She’s my forever girl.”

Yoonji flushes. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Never,” he promises, and then disappears out the door to get changed in the locker room.

. . .

(“We can’t,” Yoonji had said even as she gripped Seokjin tightly, her fingernails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin. She’d taken a breath, then another, feeling like she was about to burst, fall right apart in between Seokjin’s hands. “Oppa, we…we promised.”

“I know,” Seokjin had whispered in response, his lips brushing against her pulse point, sparks travelling down her spine. “But God, Yoonji, I—”)

. . .

Sundays are the only free days they get from training. Yoonji wakes up at eight in the morning, lazes around in bed until ten, and then goes out in search of some food. Somehow she’s not surprised to find Seokjin in her kitchen, frying something up on the stove.

Yoonji just leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed. “I am so tired of seeing your face.”

Seokjin doesn’t even turn around. “My stove stopped working, I have no idea why.”

Yoonji hums. “Did you try turning it on and off again?” She asks, making her way into the kitchen to peek over his shoulder. Seokjin’s got some eggs on the pan and some white rice in a tupperware container, so Yoonji busies herself with popping a few slices of bread in the toaster and transferring the rice into bowls.

“No,” Seokjin answers incredulously. “How can I when it just stopped working?”

Yoonji rolls her eyes. “Did you plug it in?”

Seokjin pauses. “I don’t think I’ve ever unplugged my stove,” he says thoughtfully. “Where’s the plug? Where do I find it?”

“Behind the…you know what, never mind,” Yoonji says, sighing. She pulls out a few apples and oranges from the fridge, grabbing a chopping board to slice them up. “I’ll check it out for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.” Seokjin plates the eggs with a flourish then sets them on Yoonji’s dining table, where he’d previously laid out all her cutlery. “I mean, seriously. How am I meant to survive without a stove?”

“You’ll manage,” Yoonji replies dryly, slicing the apples in quarters.

“Will you cook me meals?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I might as well die,” Seokjin says dramatically, flopping onto the chair. “I can’t live without home cooked meals, Yoonji, I can’t.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Yoonji says fondly. She finishes slicing the apples and goes to start with the oranges. At the same time, the bread finishes toasting; Seokjin scrambles onto his feet to grab them. “Worst case scenario, you buy a new stove.”

“I guess,” Seokjin says. “But I made memories with that stove, Yoonji. We were together for a long, illustrious time.”

“The long, illustrious time of…the last year?” 

“It’s not about the quantity of time spent,” Seokjin insists. “It’s the quality.”

Yoonji rolls her eyes fondly, scooping the cut up oranges onto a plate and depositing it on the table. “Please stop talking and eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Seokjin takes a seat and pointedly takes a big bite of his food, cheeks bulging out as he chews. It always manages to make him look like a hamster. Yoonji hates how cute she finds it.

They finish the rest of their breakfast in silence, only occasionally speaking up whenever they need the other to pass them something. After that, cleaning up is an unspoken agreement; Seokjin stacks the plates and leaves them for Yoonji to wash as he wipes down the table, and then hangs around in the kitchen scrolling on his phone as he waits for Yoonji. When she’s finished, they take the remaining fruits to the living room, setting them on the coffee table. 

Yoonji plops down on the couch and Seokjin curls up next to her, his head against her shoulder. His body is one long line pressed against her side, the warmth of his skin seeping through her sleep shirt, and Yoonji enjoys the feeling a little more than she should.

“Episode six, right?” She asks, cueing up the drama they’re currently watching together. She feels Seokjin nod against her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says. He sits up, uses a hand to brush her hair off her shoulder, before settling down against her, his breath blowing warm against her collarbone. For some reason, it sets Yoonji’s skin on fire.

Yoonji swallows, ignoring the quickening of her heart. “Let’s go,” she says, and relaxes further into the couch as the intro music plays.

Sundays are the only free days she gets from training, but she still spends them with Seokjin.

. . .

The way they fell into each other’s orbit was simple, easy, and yet in retrospect, inevitable. 

She was seven, he was eight. They’d been skating together under Coach Bang for a few weeks—Seokjin still a little clumsy in his skates— and they never once exchanging a single word despite their shared skating time. Yoonji had been practicing her pivots on one side of the rink, frustrated at not being able to get it right, while Seokjin had been practicing his forward one foot glides on the other. Yoonji remembers watching him when she’d paused for a minute, noting the determined expression on his face, like he either needed to get it right today or die trying. But see, his stance had been all wrong.

So Yoonji, in a fit of impulse, skated up to him, coming to an abrupt stop just a few meters away. “I think you should bend your knees more,” she said imperiously and Seokjin looked up, something like annoyance on his features.

He looked like he was going to argue back, say something along the lines of leave me alone, when something seemed to give him pause, his expression going slack. After a moment, he nodded and followed, bending his knees a bit more.

It still took him a few more tries before he’d gotten the hang of it, and when he managed to do six forward one foot glides, he’d turned to her, his eyes alight with glee. Yoonji had grinned at him, shot him a thumbs up, and then abandoned her pivot practice to do forward one foot glides with him.

When Coach Bang had called them over after ten minutes, she was so sure they were going to get into trouble. But Coach Bang was smiling, something knowing in his expression. “Can you do forward glides around the rink with Seokjin?” He asked.

She agreed. They chatted the whole time while skating, and she learned that his full name was Kim Seokjin and that he was from Gwacheon, and that he was doing this because he wanted to get better at snowboarding. 

“How does ice skating help in snowboarding?” Yoonji asked, all puzzled.

“No idea,” Seokjin promptly replied. “But I’m having fun.”

When they returned to the kiss and cry, Coach Bang had been speaking with both her and Seokjin’s mom, his voice fervent. “Did you see it?” He was asking, his eyes alight. “They have a natural synchronization—I think if we trained them together, we could achieve something great.”

Both their moms looked at each other, completely confused, completely uncomprehending. But then they’d hesitantly agreed, and the next week, when Yoonji showed up to training, Coach Bang had told her that she and Seokjin would be training as partners in ice dancing for the next few weeks.

Everything else fell into place after that.

. . .

Gala days aren’t as anxiety-inducing as competition days, but Yoonji still feels nervous, buzzing in her costume as she waits to be called on the ice. Beside her, Seokjin is outwardly calm, collected; he’s always better at putting up a front than she is, better at press than she is.

And there’s a lot. Of press, that is—sports journalists from every media outlet sitting in the bleachers, waiting to cover their performances. A lot of renowned names in the figure skating community as well: old national team members, internationally renowned coaches and skaters. All of them here to watch what South Korea has to offer to the figure skating community, all of them here to watch Seokjin and Yoonji, fresh off their last season, a couple of high profile wins and an Olympic fourth place under their belt.

They’re being noticed. More and more people are starting to pay attention. Yoonji thinks she’s going to shake right out of her skin.

“Calm down,” Seokjin says, reaching out to pinch Yoonji on the back of the hand. His hair’s been swept back, revealing his forehead, and that, coupled with the white and electric blue of his costume makes him look every inch the ice prince they call him. “It’s just a performance.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “It’s not just a performance,” she says. She fidgets with her sleeve; she always feels so awkward in her costume off ice, never really able to pull it off the way Seokjin does. She doesn’t have enough confidence, maybe; not enough charisma. “It’s like, it’s a lot of things—”

It’s a performance in front of everyone who matters, she thinks but doesn’t say, her throat constricting. They’re all expecting something, and I—

“Calm down,” Seokjin says again and this time, he reaches out to hold her hand, effectively stopping her fidgeting. He’s always been fluent in Yoonji’s silences and unsaid words, always able to read what’s on her mind with just a single glance. It’s what makes them so good on the ice together—they think in tandem, react in tandem. “We’ll be fine, Yoonji. We practiced for this.”

“Will we, though?” Yoonji asks. “Because, oppa, this is like—they’re watching us, now.”

“I know they are,” Seokjin replies. “But we’re ready to show them, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts.” He lets go of her hand in favor of wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and the pressure is grounding, helps Yoonji to breathe easier. “We can do this. Do you trust me?”

Yoonji takes a breath. “I trust you,” she says, not even having to think about it.

Seokjin’s smile grows. “And I trust you,” he says simply. “I trust us. Now breathe, okay? I promise we’ll be okay.”

“You promise a lot of things,” Yoonji points out, trying to aim for teasing, but far too nervous that it falls flat.

“Yeah, and I’ve kept them all, haven’t I?” Yoonji feels something soft against her temple, the barest brush of lips against her skin. “I’ve got you, Yoonji. Always.”

“On the ice, Min Yoonji and Kim Seokjin,” the announcer calls out, his voice booming from the speakers. Seokjin’s arm falls from her shoulders, his hand gripping Yoonji’s once more, and Yoonji does her best to smile the way she’s practiced.

Three steps into the ice, Seokjin speaks, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Hey.”

Yoonji feels anticipation build up in her stomach—one that’s lighter, one that chases away the nerves. “What?”

Seokjin’s grin is audible in his tone. “I glove you,” he says, like he always does before they skate, and his words make the knots in Yoonji’s stomach loosen, her smile morphing into something more genuine.

. . .

(They were eight and nine, and it was their very first competition, their very first foray into the world of competitive figure skating. To say that Yoonji was nervous would’ve been an understatement; she was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, trying her best not to hyperventilate. Seokjin was nervous too—she vividly remembers his trembling knees, his forced smile. Still, his grip had been firm in Yoonji’s gloved hand, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Hey. Look at me.”

Yoonji took a deep breath, turned to face him. Seokjin looked back, and for a moment, they just stared at each other.

Then, in between one breath and the next, Seokjin’s smile had turned familiar, into the private one Yoonji’s grown familiar with. “I glove you,” he said unprompted, squeezing Yoonji’s hand tighter, and the shock of it made Yoonji burst into laughter.

Yoonji was still giggling when the music started.)

. . .

“Another stellar performance,” the reporter says to them, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Her name is Jieun, and she’s a familiar face in the sea of all these people—she’d been interviewing them ever since the first time they were invited to perform at the Korean Skating Union gala. One of the only ones who’d seen the potential hidden behind two awkward pre-teens with knobby knees and determined faces. “Wow. Seriously. You guys just knock it out of the park every time.”

Yoonji’s grin is sincere. She feels like she’s made of helium, flying higher and higher every passing second; the result of a near-perfect run and an explosive audience reaction. She thinks maybe she could fly away and never come back.

But Seokjin’s hand is on her lower back, and no matter how light his touch is, it always manages to bring her back to earth. He always manages to bring her back to earth, whether it’s from the peaks of her own euphoria or from the abysses of her own mind.

“Thank you so much,” she says.

“The both of you had an amazing Olympic run last season,” Jieun says. “And watching you both skate today was just—” she shakes her head, pressing two palms against her heart, “breath-taking, really.”

“I mean, it was okay,” Seokjin says, humble as ever. “I think Yoonji and I were just having fun on the ice. Isn’t that right, Yoonji?” 

“Speak for yourself,” Yoonji retorts, tone playful. “I was aiming for perfect.”

Seokjin laughs, leaning forward. “As you can see, between the two of us, she’s the more competitive one.”

“I think you complement each other very well,” Jieun says, her smile growing. “Your chemistry is also off-the-charts; I think I speak for not just myself, but for the entire audience when I say that earlier, we held our breath the whole time.”

“I held my breath too,” Seokjin jokes. “Yoonji has the tendency to sweat a lot.”

“Hey,” Yoonji says indignantly, elbowing him on the side. Seokjin grins down at her, leaning over to wrap her in an apology back hug. “I always smell good. You, on the other hand…” She rolls her eyes, shoots Jieun a knowing look. 

“For everyone watching that was a joke,” Seokjin pipes up, his chin hooked on Yoonji’s shoulder. “The both of us bathe regularly.”

Jieun shakes her head amusedly, her eyes darting from Yoonji to Seokjin. “Something else everyone wants to know: are you guys dating?”

Yoonji tenses, but she feels Seokjin shake his head. “We get that a lot,” he says, straightening up. His arms fall back to his sides. “But no, we’re just very good friends.”

“Have you ever dated? After that video of you both in Juniors—”

“No, never,” Seokjin answers emphatically, and only Yoonji can hear the slight change of his inflection, the way his words seem to come out a bit more forcefully. “Yoonji and I are very careful to ensure that there are no threats to our partnership.”

Jieun nods, mulling those words over. “So what’s next?” She asks, changing the topic fluidly. “Will we see more of you both in the upcoming figure skating season?”

Yoonji hums, thinking. “I mean, we’re taking this year off,” she answers. “But we’re still training this off-season. Then we compete again next year—nationals again, then the Grand Prix. Then hopefully, we get another shot at the Olympics.”

“Well, if you skate like you did today, I’m sure you’ll have nothing to worry about.” Jieun pauses, and Yoonji can see her mind working, trying to phrase her next question. “How far do you guys see yourselves going? Like we all saw what a great season you had last year, and we saw how amazing you performed today—what’s the end goal here? What’s your number one priority?”

It’s Seokjin who answers for them. “Well, my number one priority is Yoonji, of course,” he jokes, his face scrunching up into a laugh when Yoonji sticks her tongue out at him. “I mean, whatever happens, I have to make sure I don’t let Yoonji fall.”

“Obviously,” Yoonji deadpans, feeling her heart flutter in her chest.

“As for how long…” Seokjin cocks his head, tapping a finger against his bottom lip in thought. “Well, for however long she wants, really. I’ll stay by her side no matter what.”

Yoonji shakes her head, makes a disgusted face, but even still she can’t help but reach out and hold Seokjin’s hand, squeezing it tightly and hoping to whoever’s up there that she never needs to let go.

. . .

“No, it’s not fair,” Hoseok whines, pointing at Yoonji. He’s flushed red, tipsy from the first few shots of soju, his movements loose the way it rarely ever is.

It’s the end of October and it’s colder out, and Seokjin and Yoonji are out for drinks with their friends, after just performing in front of Everybody who’s Anybody.

“If we play with you, we’ll just—we’ll just keep fucking losing,” Hoseok continues.

Yoonji doesn’t care. “It’s exactly why we should play it,” she insists gleefully. “I want to win.”

“Is it really winning if you’re going to be cheating the whole time?”

“I don’t fucking cheat,” Yoonji says, affronted. “Oppa and I never cheat. We play fair and square, always.”

“We do,” Seokjin agrees.

“They do,” Jungsook agrees, and she sounds more angry about it than she should be.

“But fucking—” Hoseok looks around wildly, as if Seokjin and Yoonji are scamming him upfront and he needs to make sure he’s got solid back up with him. “How, fucking how do we compete with sixteen years?”

Yoonji shrugs. “As oppa once told me, it’s not about the quantity of time, it’s the quality.”

Seokjin snorts from where he’d been taking a sip of his soju. “You’re finally listening to me,” he says, setting his glass down to press his hands against his chest. “Heeding the words of your elder. I’m so touched, Yoonji-ssi.”

“Of course,” Yoonji says, grinning brightly at him.

“We should let them play, though.” It’s Namjoo who speaks up this time, definitely watching Yoonji and Seokjin’s argument. “I mean, if anything, we should show Jimin. He hasn’t seen the extent of it yet.”

Jimin blinks, caught off-guard. “The extent of what?”

Hoseok sighs. “The telepathy,” he mutters, resigned, and reaches over to snag Taehyung’s shot glass. “Their stupid telepathy.”

Taehyung leans towards Jimin. “It’s the stuff of fairytales.” He’s trying to whisper, but the alcohol he’s consumed seems to have severely impacted his aural faculties. “They can literally read each other’s minds.” He pauses, presumably for dramatic effect. “Of course, they don’t do anything interesting with it, they just sit there and have mental conversations about the fucking weather like old people.” 

“The weather?” 

“The weather is apparently a riveting topic of conversation for them,” Jungsook says dryly. “It’s all they ever talk about.”

Taehyung sighs. “If Jungsookie and I had what they have, we’d be so much better,” he complains. “I don’t need to tell her when I want her tongue in my—”

“Okay,” Namjoo says, at the exact same time Jungsook speaks up.

“Hey! I always know exactly when to put my tongue—”

“Okay,” Namjoo says again, louder. A moment where the six of them just turn to look at her, waiting. “But I genuinely think we should show Jimin, though. If anything else, he’ll finally understand how we all feel.”

“How you feel?” Yoonji queries but she gets ignored, Namjoo turning towards Jimin.

“You can ask them any question you like,” she tells Jimin. There’s a strange sort of resignation in her words. “Anything at all. They’ll always be able to answer the exact same thing, always.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. “Anything?”

“Anything,” Namjoo confirms. She gives them a side-eye. “I don’t think there’s anything these two haven’t talked about.”

“Have them type it down,” Hoseok urges. “That way they can’t cheat.”

Yoonji shakes her head, pulling out her phone from her pocket. Beside her, Seokjin does the same thing, unlocking it with a few taps before staring expectantly at Jimin.

“Go on,” Namjoo says.

Jimin pauses. “When are your birthdays?” He asks, and Yoonji lets out a huff of laughter, feeling Seokjin giggle beside her as they type out 4 December and 9 March on their respective phones. In front of them, Hoseok and Taehyung protest, taking offense at that question.

“Nothing that easy,” Taehyung complains. “Even I can answer that.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says. “Jiminie, we don’t want them to win.”

“We’re not competing though.”

“We’re always competing; has no one ever told you that life itself is a competition—”

“Done,” Yoonji announces and she and Seokjin slide their phones across the table. Hoseok doesn’t even deign to look at it, just pushes it back towards them. “Go, Jiminie," he says. "Ask them something else.”

Jimin pauses. “What is the name of Yoonji’s first love?”

Yoonji bites her lip to stop from grinning, types Brownie into her phone. Slides it towards Jimin the same time Seokjin slides his, and she watches expectantly as Jimin reads their answers.

“A…brownie?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “It’s the name of Yoonji’s childhood piano,” he tells Jimin, grabbing his phone back. “It was a brown, upright piano, and only she called it Brownie. Cried for days when they sold it, though.”

Jimin seems to mull that over. “Huh.” His eyes slide from Yoonji to Seokjin, and there’s a sudden intrigue in his gaze, a flash of intrigue. “The name of Seokjin’s first pet?”

Jjangu, Yoonji types out, grinning as she flashes her answer to Jimin.

“Yoonji’s first kiss?”

Yura. She passes her phone to Jimin, watches his eyebrows furrow as he compares her answer to Seokjin’s. 

“It was a girl she sort of dated in high school,” Seokjin explains, taking the opportunity to pour himself a new shot of soju. “She was…okay.”

“Nice,” Yoonji corrects. “She was nice.”

“She was okay,” Seokjin reiterates again, then throws back the shot. “She and Yoonji lasted like, three months before breaking up, I think. Then Yoonji never ever dated again.”

“She should, though,” Hoseok heckles. He gets ignored.

Jimin doesn’t even seem to care about the commotion. “Yoonji’s first childhood memory?” 

2002 Salt Lake Olympics

“Seokjin’s first childhood memory?” Jimin presses.

Getting locked in the bathroom.

“It was his hyung,” Yoonji explains, laughing when Jimin looks up at Seokjin questioningly. She picks up her shot of soju and tosses it back, wincing as the alcohol burns down her throat. “He locked oppa in the bathroom for hours because oppa was dumb and he couldn’t figure out how to unlock the door.”

“I told you so many times, the lock in our bathroom was one of those twist-y ones, and I was too young to understand how to work it,” Seokjin says indignantly. “The bathroom gave me so many nightmares after this, Yoonji, you know this.”

Taehyung sighs. “Told you,” he says, crossing his arms as he pouts. He looks up woefully at the ceiling. “God, why didn’t you bless me and Jungsookie with this all-powerful telepathy? We’d be cuter than we already are.”

“You’d be more insufferable than you already are,” Namjoo corrects, elbowing him. “You guys almost got us banned from three different establishments by having sex in the bathroom.”

Taehyung shrugs unapologetically. “When you gotta go, you gotta go.”

“Last thing Seokjin bought?” It takes Yoonji a moment to realize that Jimin’s asking them a question, the intrigue in his eyes burning brighter. Yoonji raises an eyebrow, types in jeans; realizes after a moment that this is a question about Seokjin and he’d probably come up with some smart ass answer and changes her answer into the last two bottles of soju.

The look on Jimin’s face when they hand him their phone tells her all she needs to know. 

Jimin is doesn’t say anything for a few moments, taking it all in. Then, “Wow,” he says, a little weakly, evidently giving up. He passes Seokjin and Yoonji their phones back, before turning to Namjoon. “It’s…it’s that bad, huh?”

That makes Hoseok snort. “Sixteen years,” he mutters, like that’s supposed to mean anything. “Fucking—sixteen years.”

. . .

Something she needs to clarify: Yoonji hasn’t actually been in love with Seokjin for sixteen years. That’s a gross exaggeration that her friends like to use to make her look more pathetic than she actually is. No, she’s absolutely fine, absolutely sane—she hasn’t been pining, hasn’t been languishing in the deepest pits of unrequited-but-also-sort-of-requited love. 

It’s actually something closer to five years. So she’s only slightly pathetic. A good amount of patheticity. 

It’s like this—Seokjin and Yoonji started out as friends, stayed friends as they grew up. They enjoyed each other’s company the way children do, always hanging out together, making jokes and playing pranks. They saw each other before school and after class almost every single day, and they always had each other to run to whenever they needed. They were different but similar in the ways that mattered, and that only served to strengthen their bond.

But then Seokjin kissed her in a rush of adrenaline, in a rush of euphoria; kissed her in front of their parents and their coaches and their own wildly-beating hearts. They were in Osaka and they’d just won their first gold at Juniors; Yoonji can still remember the way her ears were ringing when they announced their score, the nervous shock that gave way to absolute elation. Can still remember the way Seokjin had grabbed her, his eyes alight with triumph, with a victory that burned like wildfire.

His lips were soft, his movements gentle, and Yoonji could only clutch onto him and kiss back, her heart still pounding. Hadn’t thought to do anything else, hadn’t wanted to do anything else—hadn’t been able to think much past Seokjin.

(Sometimes, when Yoonji is feeling more pathetic than she usually lets herself be, she pulls up the video on YouTube, watches it over and over. On those days she thinks she can still feel it, Seokjin’s mouth against hers, never really letting go.)

Something shifted that day—like a loose cog clicking firmly into place, the last piece of the puzzle lodging into the final empty slot. And no matter how hard Yoonji tried, there was no just no way to take it back out.

. . .

A week after their performance, Jimin comes into the rink with bright eyes and an even brighter idea. 

“Shots,” he stresses as he skates after Yoonji during warm up. “The club. I’ve been living here for a month and I still don’t know what the party scene is like.”

Yoonji looks at him skeptically. “You were a big partier in Busan?”

“Well, no,” Jimin admits. “But Seoul is new ground. New territory.” He skates in front of her, and stops abruptly, turning around to strike a pose with his chest puffed out. “Here, I am a new man.”

Jimin, Yoonji is coming to find, grows more and more ridiculous the more she gets to know him. “No, you’re not.”

“You don’t know that,” Jimin argues. “I don’t know that. That’s exactly why we should go to a club.”

“If anything, we should not go to a club,” Yoonji argues. “Who the fuck goes to a club to get philosophical epiphanies about themselves?”

“That’s not the point,” Jimin says.

“What is the point?” Yoonji asks. “I’m lost.”

“The point,” Jimin emphasizes, “is that I’ve been living here almost two months and I still don’t know what life is like in Seoul!”

“Life in Seoul is exactly like life everywhere else,” Seokjin volunteers. He’d been skating a few meters ahead of them while they were talking, but he slows down now, falling into step with them. “We wake up. We go to school or to work or whatever. We hang out with friends. We go home and sleep. Rinse and Repeat.”

Yoonji points at him. “Exactly.”

“You guys are so boring,” Jimin mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Please? Just once. We can go to one of those nice ones—someone in my class told me there was a really new one that just opened, and if we wanted he could get us on the list. ”

Yoonji makes a face, feeling herself getting swayed. “When did you plan to go?”

Jimin brightens up. “Saturday,” he says. “That way we don’t have to get up early for training the next day.”

Yoonji sighs, turning to look at Seokjin. Seokjin just raises an eyebrow in response, the answer to her unspoken question written all over his face.

“Please don’t have telepathic conversations in front of me,” Jimin pipes up, pouting. “It makes me feel very lonely.”

Yoonji sighs again. “Fine,” she relents, rolling her eyes when Jimin whoops in happiness. “But just—if I get bored, I’m leaving early.”

“That’s fine,” Jimin replies happily. “But it won’t be boring. It’ll be great and fun and every nice adjective you can think of.”

“Elegant?” Seokjin asks. “Dignified?”

“...Okay, maybe not that.”

“But you said ‘every nice adjective’!”

“I mean—”

Yoonji shakes her head and skates quicker to get away from the bickering pair, trying not to second-guess herself. Jimin’s right, it would be fun, but at the same time Yoonji feels a little worried. She’s been to a club once, to celebrate Taehyung’s birthday, and it was a little too much for her. The music was too loud, the laser lights were too bright, and everyone had been in varying states of inebriation, falling over each other and spilling alcohol everywhere. Yoonji had stayed sober, stayed close to Seokjin; swore up and down when she got out that she’d never go again.

Seokjin seems to sense her worry though, because later, after training, he walks up to her, making sure to bump their shoulders together lightly. “It’ll be okay,” he tells her, smiling in a way that makes his cheeks look all pinched up, and Yoonji’s heart seems to grow ten sizes larger at the sight.

“Yeah,” she says, and lets Seokjin lead them to their usual cafe.

. . .

Turns out, Yoonji shouldn’t have worried too much. Or at all, actually.

Her philosophy professor chooses this exact week to be a total bitch, giving them tons and tons of required readings. To add to that, they’ve each been assigned to give a presentation next week, and since Yoonji’s luck is abysmal, she’s slated to go first. Normally she would just wing it, cram everything on a Sunday and hope for the best on Monday, but the readings are difficult to digest and Dostoevsky is long-winded in the absolute worst way. So all in all, she decides that the best thing to do is to stay home, cry over her presentation, and hope to God that everything works out.

But at least Namjoo and Hoseok are staying with her. Namjoo to help, and Hoseok to provide mental care. Or something like that.

“I’m so sad you guys aren’t coming,” Jimin says, as they’re waiting for Taehyung to finish getting ready. Hilariously enough, they pregamed in Yoonji’s apartment—because Namjoo and Hoseok had let it slip that they were coming over and apparently, the rest of them refused to leave without seeing her. She’d pulled open her front door to find six of their grinning faces, all dressed up and holding various bottles of alcohol.

It was a little touching. Yoonji doesn’t have many friends, but the ones she does have are so incredibly lovely, Jimin included.

“It would’ve been nice to go out with you all,” Jimin continues. He’s a lot more dressed up than Yoonji thought he would be—wearing pleather pants and a low cut top, with a hint of a smokey eye—and the juxtaposition between that and the fierce pout he has on his face amuses Yoonji. “We would’ve had a great time.”

“I know,” Yoonji says, placating. “But sadly, Dostoevsky is a dumbass and I have to try and understand his dumbassery.”

“Don’t call Dostoevsky a dumbass,” Namjoo calls from where he’s helping Taehyung stick Yoonji’s old costume crystals on his face. “He was literally one of Russia’s greatest thinkers.”

“If he was so great a thinker, then why the fuck am I still being forced to think?”

“Mental care,” Hoseok interrupts, and then suddenly Yoonji feels Hoseok plop down beside her, petting her on the head. “I am here for mental care.”

Jimin laughs. “God, but at least you won’t be alone.” He looks a little over her shoulder, and Yoonji follows his gaze to where Seokjin is deep in conversation with Jungkook. It’s painful to look at Seokjin in his club outfit—he’s in a dark button up and dark jeans that Taehyung had picked for him, and he’s left the first two buttons undone, exposing a small, silver chain around his neck. Yoonji has the small, vaguest urge to climb on his lap and kiss him silly.

She resists though, averts her eyes and turns back to Jimin. “He’ll be fine,” she tells him, an answer to his unspoken question, and ignores the way her heart twinges.

Seokjin had been so lovely when she’d told him she couldn’t make it out tonight—immediately offering to skip out on going to the club and stay with her. But Yoonji also knows that Seokjin had been a little excited to go, that he was glad to have something to break up the monotony of his days. Yoonji couldn’t deprive him of that.

“Will he, though?” Jimin asks, something knowing in his tone.

Yoonji blinks at him. “Of course,” she answers, like it’s obvious. “We’re not together all the time. He doesn’t need me to be with him.”

“But it’s kind of obvious he wants you there with him.”

“Yeah, well.” Yoonji decidedly doesn’t tell him that she sort of feels the same, that sometimes, not being around Seokjin feels like she’s missing something—like a phantom limb, a vague pain she can’t quite pinpoint. It’s kind of dumb, anyway. Not a very rational thought to have. Probably just the side effects of spending too much time together.

No, some space would be good. “He’ll manage,” Yoonji says.

Jimin’s smile only grows. “Are you worried about him?” He teases, nudging her on the side.

Yoonji scoffs. “Do I have to be?” She asks, point-blank. “I mean, he’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

“Okay, what the fuck.” Their conversation is interrupted by Jungsook, who sounds pained; and when she turns around, she finds her staring wide-eyed, her jaw dropped open in surprise. She’s looking at Taehyung, who’s finished playing with Yoonji’s crystals—the space below his eyes are now dotted with either bright white or electric blue. Yoonji has to admit it’s a good look on him; he looks absolutely gorgeous.

“Baby, do you like it?” Taehyung asks, beaming happily at Jungsook.

“Do I—wh—ho—help,” Jungsook stutters eloquently.

“Do I—wh—ho—help,” Seokjin repeats. “That’s a great word.”

Yoonji does her best not to burst into laughter. “Maybe you guys should go,” she suggests, fighting back down a smile. “By the looks of it, Jungsook is either going to rip Taehyung’s clothes off or spontaneously combust.”

“But they’re in public.”

“It’s never stopped them before.” Yoonji suspiciously eyes the way Jungsook’s gaze darkens, the way Taehyung’s smile turns positively devious. “Yeah, you guys should head out now. Protect my apartment from being desecrated.”

Jimin laughs. “Fine,” he says, getting to his feet. He claps his hands twice, loudly, and the attention of the room turns to him. “Club people, let’s go. Let’s leave noona to study in peace.”

Jimin manages to round everyone up quickly, getting them into their coats and out the front door. It’s only Seokjin who lingers behind, looking a little torn. 

“I can still stay behind,” he offers. From this close, Yoonji can see his lips are shinier than they usually are, dotted with lip gloss. Yoonji’s heart does somersaults in her chest.

“No, it’s really okay,” she replies. “Honestly oppa, I’ll just be studying the whole time. It’ll be super boring.”

“I can help you with your presentation,” Seokjin insists, stubborn as always.

“Do you know anything about Dostoevsky?”

“Not really.”

“So maybe no,” Yoonji says, keeping her tone lighthearted. “Besides, Namjoo and Hobi have that covered.” When Seokjin doesn’t look convinced, she sighs, shooting him a small, reassuring smile. “Really,” she says, emphasizes the word so Seokjin knows she means it. “It’s fine. Go and have a fun night out.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to argue but seems to think the better of it. “I mean, if you’re sure.” He smiles, but it’s tight around the corners. “But if you like, need me for anything—”

Yoonji rolls her eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll text you. I have your number. Now go,” she says, pointing at the door. “With how Jungsook looked at Taehyung, you have about thirty minutes left before they tear each other’s clothes off.”

“Right,” Seokjin says, like he’d just remembered. “Right.” A pause where Seokjin just stares at her, lost, and then Yoonji is being swept into a giant hug, Seokjin’s arms around her lower back. He smells like a mixture of aftershave and cologne—the same one he uses for their competitions—and the combination makes Yoonji’s knees weak.

The hug doesn’t last long; he pulls away almost immediately, his grin a little lopsided. Yoonji’s heart is hammering in her chest, and she has to curl her hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and grab him again.

“What was that for?” She asks, trying her best not to flush.

Seokjin just shrugs. “Dunno,” he answers vaguely. He avoids her gaze. “I’ll see you.”

And then he’s slipping out the door, to where, presumably the others are waiting for him. Yoonji watches him go, watches the door close, takes a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

This is embarrassing. She’s so embarrassing. It was just a fucking hug, nothing else.

“If you’re done saying goodbye to your boyfriend, we’re over here,” Hoseok calls from the living room. “Namjoo’s laid out your readings and I’ve laid out your snacks.”

Yoonji shakes herself out of her stupor, making her way back into the living room and sitting herself down onto the floor beside Hoseok. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she grumbles as she reaches for a packet of honey butter chips, pulling them open.

Hoseok sighs. “You think I don’t know that?” he asks rhetorically. When Yoonji doesn’t say anything in reply to that, he sighs again, flopping down onto his back. “Whenever I think of you and Seokjin-hyung, I’m fully convinced I need mental care. No, scratch that—I need psychiatric help.”

. . .

The next day, Yoonji lets herself into Seokjin's apartment armed with a box of pastries and two coffees. “Good morning,” she calls, and then checks the time on her phone. “Or, well, good afternoon, I guess.”

“Over here,” Seokjin calls from the kitchen, and Yoonji slips off her shoes by the entrance, follows the sound of his voice.

The sight of him makes her snicker. “Looks like someone had a fun night,” she teases. Seokjin looks unkempt in a way that he usually never is, smudged make-up beneath his eyes, his hair sticking up in all directions. He’s wearing his favorite sweater—the blue one with the whale that he spent way too much money on—and he looks exhausted as he scrolls through his phone, looking like he’s seen a hundred different things last night that he doesn’t ever want to remember.

He brightens when he spots her though. “Yoonji,” he trills in that ridiculous way of his, making grabby hands for the coffee she has in her hands. “How are you? How was your evening? Did you finish your presentation? Are those for me?”

“Fine, good, yes, and no, they’re for the ghost who lives here,” Yoonji rattles off, even as she slides a cup to him. Seokjin gives her a smile in thanks, happily taking a long sip of his coffee. 

“You really are the best,” he says. All of a sudden, he pauses, his lips turning down into a pout. “Actually, no you aren’t, because you left me alone with the kids last night. With Taehyung and Jungsook, Yoonji,” he emphasizes, like he’s trying to drive home the gravity of the situation. “I almost died in there.”

Yoonji sets down the box of pastries. “Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to leave you alone in this cruel world,” Seokjin responds immediately. “Because, unlike other people, I am decent and upright and handsome and don’t abandon my best friends in their time of need.”

He’s smiling as he says it, the tension seeping from his shoulders the longer he spends with Yoonji. It’s a weird effect they both have on each other—the ability to put each other at ease by simply being in the same room. 

“I mean, I don’t need you right now so you can go,” Yoonji says nonchalantly, taking a seat beside Seokjin.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “You say that now, but watch, you’ll be crying over my dead body when you try for your Olympic gold.” He pulls the box of pastries closer to him, peruses them with a critical eye, before carefully selecting one in the middle. “Is this from that bakery I like?”

“Yep,” Yoonji says. “Thought you’d appreciate it after your eventful evening.”

Seokjin sighs. “I do,” he admits. He scrunches up his face. “Taehyung and Jungsook were so…”

“Insufferable?”

“More like horny,” Seokjin supplies, taking a bite out of his pastry. “It was like they were intent on making their own porno right there in the middle of the club.”

Yoonji winces. “That bad?”

“Yeah. The crystals weren’t a good idea, Yoonji. Sure, Jungsook really appreciated them, but at what cost?” At what fucking cost?”

Yoonji laughs. “Was Jimin of any help, at least?”

“Jimin was lovely,” Seokjin says, fervent. “After last night, he’s my favorite now. Jimin can do absolutely no wrong.”

“Jungsook would cry if she heard that.”

“And so? Let her,” Seokjin says imperiously. “She almost made me cry last night.” 

Yoonji laughs again, propping her elbow up on the table and resting her chin on her hand. “Sounds like it was a great time though.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch upward. “It was,” he admits. A slight pause. “We missed you, though.”

We missed you. If Yoonji knew Seokjin less, she’d think it was just a throwaway statement—a little quip, some polite banter. But she doesn’t, and right now she can hear it for what it actually is: sincerity that he tries to play off as nothing. Just so they don’t ruin their partnership. 

(For a moment, Yoonji feels the phantom press of Seokjin’s mouth against hers, of his hands large around her waist. But it’s gone the next second, tucked back beneath her breastbone, hidden behind lock and key.)

“Good afternoon, noona,” someone else says brightly, and Yoonji startles, her head whipping to the source of the sound. It’s Jimin, standing by the entryway to the kitchen, looking just as disheveled and sleepy as Seokjin does. “I didn’t know you dropped by.”

Seokjin leans towards her. “Did I mention Jimin stayed over?” He asks rhetorically. “Jimin stayed over. I love Jimin, I really do.”

Yoonji tries not to laugh. “What did you do to him?” She asks Jimin. 

Jimin just shrugs. “Everything Taehyung and Jungsook didn’t do, I guess.” He points at the box on the table. “May I have one?”

“Oh, of course,” Yoonji says, nudging them towards him. “Sorry I didn’t grab you a coffee, I didn’t know you were here.”

Jimin waves a hand. “It’s fine,” he says, carefully selecting one from the box. “I’ll just grab one from down the street before I head home.”

Seokjin clears his throat. “I was just telling Yoonji what she missed last night,” he says. 

“Oh! You should’ve been there, noona.” Jimin takes a seat on the dining table as he takes a bite of his food. “The club was super nice and the music was really good.” He makes a face. “Drinks were crazy expensive, though.”

“Right,” Seokjin says. “The prices kind of hurt to look at.”

“But it’s not like we had to pay a lot,” Jimin continues, happily chewing on his food. “Seokjin-hyung kept getting us free drinks.”

“Oh?” Yoonji asks, intrigued, at the same time Seokjin warns, “Jimin.”

Yoonji turns to Seokjin, who belatedly averts his gaze, determinedly staring into his pastry. The tips of his ears have flushed red. 

Yoonji feels like she’s missing something. “What happened?” She asks, directing her question to Jimin.

Jimin shrugs. “Just, hyung was like the hottest person in the club,” he answers nonchalantly. Seokjin makes a quiet noise of protest at that, one that Yoonji ignores. “Everyone kept coming up to him and trying to talk to him. We scored so many free drinks because everyone kept hitting on him.”

“They were just being nice,” Seokjin argues. He sounds unsure.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “And I suppose the napkins they slipped you with their numbers on them was just them trying to make friends, huh?”

Yoonji feels her stomach flip uneasily. “You got numbers?” She asks Seokjin, trying to keep her voice level.

For a moment, Seokjin looks like he’s about to protest, but then backs down, shaking his head. His flush has spread from his ears to his face. “Kind of,” he mutters. “A…a few.”

Knowing Seokjin, a few probably means a lot. He’s always been a little bashful about the amount of attention he attracts, and he always tries to downplay it—at least, whenever he’s not playing it up for the cameras. But really, Seokjin has always been so good-looking that sometimes it’s difficult to look him in the eye, with his broad shoulders and a face that seemed like it was sculpted from marble. Even more so on the rare occasions that he gets all dressed up.

She gets it, gets why everyone would want to hit Seokjin up. But that doesn’t mean she likes it.

“Haha,” she says, instead of trying to voice out all her conflicted emotions. “I didn’t know you were such a heartthrob, oppa.”

“Are you going to text them?” Jimin queries. He seems oblivious to the weird tension that seems to have settled, happily eating his pastry. Either that, or he’s just choosing to ignore it completely. “You seemed to get along with that one guy towards the end, what was his name…?"

A pause. “Jaehwan,” Seokjin supplies, his voice weak. “His name was Jaehwan.”

“He was really cute too,” Jimin says off-handedly. “You should.”

Seokjin makes a face at that. “I don’t know,” he says, evasive. “It just feels kind of weird to text someone you met in a club…I don’t know, let’s just drop it, please?” There’s a tinge of desperation in his voice. “I don’t—I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Jimin shrugs. “Sure,” he says easily, and finishes the rest of his pastry. He stands up and stretches, looking like he’s regained a little bit of his energy. “I’m going to use the bathroom. Is that okay, hyung?”

“Help yourself,” Seokjin says, waving a hand.

Jimin grins at him before he goes, calling out a polite, “Thank you!” as he disappears down the hall. 

The silence that rings out is almost suffocating. Yoonji wants to say something, anything, but she finds she can’t, the easy conversations she usually shares with Seokjin disappearing in the face of this revelation.

…If that can even be considered a revelation. After all, what is so surprising about Seokjin going out and attracting all this attention, anyway?

In the end it’s Seokjin who speaks first. “It was nothing,” he tells Yoonji, still sounding a little flustered. “The numbers were—I threw them away as soon as I got out of the club. You don’t have to worry.”

Yoonji lets out a quiet breath. “I’m not worried,” she says, even as stomach seems to flop around uneasily. “I mean, you’re like—you’re your own person. You can…do whatever you want to.”

“Yeah?” Seokjin doesn’t look too happy hearing that. Yoonji swallows, feeling a bit like there’s a fishbone lodged in her throat, its sharp edges digging into her esophagus. 

“Yeah,” she manages to get out.

And then in a fit of impulse, she looks up, straight into Seokjin’s eye, and does her absolute best to sound like a supportive and enthusiastic best friend. “I’m really glad you met someone last night, oppa.”

Seokjin’s face falls minutely, but it’s gone in a flash. “Yeah,” he says, his smile right around the corners. “I’m glad I did too.”

. . .

In retrospect, Yoonji thinks that was either the bravest thing she’s ever done, or the most cowardly. Hoseok, however, is of neither opinion—when she recounts what happened over lunch, he insists that it's the stupidest thing she’s ever done, and her unnecessarily martyring herself is just painful to watch at this point.

“You’re so stupid,” Hoseok complains for the fifth time over bibimbap. “You don’t—I just—you’re so stupid.”

Yoonji rolls her eyes. “Words can hurt, you know,” she says. “They’re incredibly painful sometimes.”

“You know what’s incredibly painful?” Hoseok asks, impassioned. “Your stupidity.”

“Babe,” Namjoo says kindly, “maybe we should take it easy on her.”

Barring Seokjin, Hoseok and Namjoo have probably been her longest friends. She’d met Namjoo first at the ice rink when they were both still in high school; the two of them had butted heads about sharing rink space for weeks until one day Hoseok had tagged along, made them all sit down and discuss things in an orderly manner. By the end of it, Yoonji had left the rink with begrudging respect for Namjoo and complete adoration for her boyfriend.

The both of them have been around to witness everything—from Seokjin and Yoonji’s training, to that moment in Juniors and its ensuing blowback at the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics, to the way they moved past it at the 2022 Beijing Olympics. But whereas Namjoo seems content to let them be, Hoseok seems to be going out of his mind, always wanting something to happen.

“Easy for you to say,” Hoseok says. He shoves Namjoo on the arm, not hard enough for it to hurt but hard enough that Namjoo tumbles back a little. “You and noona both have the emotional repression of a fucking rock. I, for one, am just tired of watching this whole thing happen.”

“Nothing is even happening,” Yoonji says, mixing her bowl of food. “Like he went out, scored a bunch of free drinks and numbers, and I, as his best friend, am very happy for him.”

“No,” Hoseok protests, his tone loud. “No, you are not happy for him.”

Yoonji scoffs. “I don’t think you have the authority to dictate how I feel.”

“At this point, I think I do,” Hoseok bites back. “Because it’s been fucking sixteen years, Yoonji. Sixteen years of this stupid fucking slow burn.”

“Babe,” Namjoo says again, and this time it sounds like a warning.

Yoonji shakes her head. “It has not been sixteen years,” she argues. “It’s been—it’s not been anything at all.”

“Which is exactly the problem,” Hoseok says, like Yoonji is dense. He sighs, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing a hand down his face. “When, literally when, are you both going to get your head out of your asses and admit that you are head-over-heels, stupidly in love with each other and want more than just an on-ice partnership?”

Those words make Yoonji’s chest constrict. “Keep your voice down,” she hisses. “Someone might overhear.”

“Who fucking cares if someone overhears,” Hoseok retorts. “It’s not like it’s even a secret. The whole of South Korea can tell you’re in love. He even fucking—there’s a viral video of you kissing at Juniors, noona.”

“That was just the adrenaline, and that was five years ago,” Yoonji answers primly. “Nothing ever happened after that.”

“Yeah, because you both didn’t let it. Your skate at Pyeongchang showed the world how badly you repressed it.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “Seriously Hoseok,” she says. “Fucking drop it.”

“But I just don’t understand,” Hoseok says. He isn’t usually stubborn, often content to go along with the flow, but it seems like something about Yoonji’s relationship with Seokjin really strikes a chord in him. “Why don’t you want to let yourself be happy?”

Yoonji sighs, irritated. “The only thing that is going to make me happy is an Olympic gold,” she answers, dropping her spoon down in her frustration. “And oppa knows that. Which is exactly why we promised not to let anything ruin our partnership.”

“But you made that promise when you were like, thirteen,” Hoseok argues incredulously. “Things change. Circumstances change. Feelings change.”

“An Olympic gold doesn’t,” Yoonji replies shortly. “And that’s what all this is for.” She looks back down at her food. “We can’t lose our shot at it because of…this.”

It’s difficult to articulate exactly what this is—maybe it’s Yoonji’s feelings, or maybe it’s Seokjin’s feelings. Or maybe it’s the great unknown beyond that, uncharted waters they haven’t explored, undiscovered territory they haven’t ventured into. There’s just too much to risk, too much at stake in taking that next step, in letting it happen. What if they decide to try, and it all blows up in their faces? What do they do then? How do they even recover?

No, it’s best that they stay this way. Like this, they’re on familiar ground; like this, they’re safe, sticking to what they know, to the dynamic that they’ve gotten accustomed to. Seokjin’s her best friend and ice dancing partner, like he always has been. Yoonji knows how to navigate that.

Yoonji lets out a quiet breath. “We made a promise,” she reiterates, picking her spoon back up. She starts mixing her bowl once more, mostly to give herself something to do. “I’m not going to do anything to risk our partnership.”

. . .

(“If we’re going to try and make it to the Olympics, we have to have some rules,” Yoonji said imperiously. She was thirteen and a little bit of a brat, and she’d invited Seokjin over to her house so she could, quote, ‘talk to him’, unquote. She hadn’t asked her mom for permission, and Seokjin had also been caught off-guard by her invitation, but somehow, it all managed to work out and Seokjin was staying over for dinner.

They were in Yoonji’s room, waiting to eat, the door being left ajar as the only condition Yoonji’s mom had stipulated whenever Seokjin was over. Not that she minded anyway—they weren’t going to do that, gross. She just wanted to talk to him and make sure they were still on the same wavelength.

Seokjin had been sitting on the floor across from Yoonji, his spine ramrod straight like his mom drilled into him. “What kind of rules?” He asked.

“Important rules,” she replied. “Rules we must never break, ever.”

“Oh.” Yoonji can still clearly remember how Seokjin had pursed his lips, how it made them look plumper than they normally were. “I have one. You have to be nicer to me.”

“I’m already nice to you.”

“Nicer,” Seokjin corrected, looking smug. “You’re just so mean sometimes.”

“Well, sometimes you deserve it.”

“Sometimes you deserve to be dropped on your ass too, but do I ever do it? No, I don’t,” Seokjin snarked, but then let out an impatient sigh. “Alright, then. What kind of rules did you have in mind?”

“Stuff like…” Yoonji trailed off, thinking. “I don’t know. We have to give a hundred percent of ourselves in our training.”

“Don’t we already?”

“In every practice,” Yoonji emphasized. “That means we show up, unless we really can’t. Like we’re really sick or something super important comes up.”

“Fine,” Seokjin said. He chewed on his bottom lip, eyes darting around as he thought. “I think one of our rules should be we have to stay best friends forever.”

Yoonji blinked at him, surprised. “...Why?”

Seokjin shrugged. “How would we skate properly if we’re not best friends?” He asked, like it was obvious. “We have to be synchronized, Yoonji. Besides, I don’t like skating when we’re fighting. It makes me feel bad.”

Yoonji took a moment to think about it. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll be best friends forever. And if we fight, we have to apologize and talk to each other immediately.”

“Exactly. And…” This time Seokjin hesitated, looking like he’s mulling something over. “We can’t do anything to risk our partnership.”

Yoonji resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Isn’t that why we made the previous rule?” She asked. “So we don’t risk our partnership?”

“No—I mean yes, but also no.” Seokjin shook his head, and for the first time in this entire conversation he looked unsure, like he didn’t know how to bring it up. “I meant more of…the opposite.”

“The opposite?”

“Falling in love, Yoonji. With each other.”

And in an instant, Yoonji understood exactly what he was trying to say. “O-oh,” she said, trying not to blush furiously. She wasn’t stupid, she knew that they were at that age that people started to fall in love; knew, as well, that with how much time she spent with Seokjin, there was a distinct possibility of that happening. But she also knew how badly relationships end sometimes, how people who once fiercely loved each other end up drifting apart, becoming nothing more than strangers.

She couldn’t afford that with Seokjin. Not now, not ever. “Yeah,” she said. “I get what you’re trying to say.”

“Yeah.” Seokjin wet his lips, his eyes going distant. “If we…if we fell in love, and it ended badly, it would ruin everything we’re working for.”

“So we can’t date each other,” Yoonji finished. “We shouldn’t date each other.”

“We shouldn’t.”

There was a silence where they just stared at each other, the both of them at a loss for what to say next. Eventually, Seokjin spoke again. “I mean, it shouldn’t be a problem for me,” he said, a forced lightness in his tone. “You’re like a tiny kitten. Who even wants to date a kitten?”

Yoonji’s mouth dropped open, affronted. “And you called me mean earlier?”

Seokjin shook his head. “I’m allowed to be mean,” he said easily. “You have to be nice. It’s the rules.”

“Hey!” Yoonji said, and grabbed a stuffed animal from her bed to throw at his face. When Seokjin threw it back at her, he was laughing, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

They didn’t have the time to discuss any more rules—Yoonji’s mom had called them for dinner right after that—but Seokjin’s words had stayed with Yoonji all the way until later that evening, long after Seokjin had gone home. We can’t do anything to risk our partnership, he’d said, and Yoonji repeated them over and over to herself, quietly mouthing out the words, until they were carved into the skin of her brain, the meat of her heart.)

. . .

A week after Seokjin had gone out to the club, a week after Coach Bang amps up their training to make sure they stay in shape, Seokjin’s phone starts ringing. A lot.

Yoonji doesn’t notice at first. She’s too busy with ballet and weight training and calisthenics and freestyle practice to pay attention to whenever Seokjin’s phone pings. But the intervals start growing shorter and shorter, sometimes even multiple pings in a minute, and Seokjin is suddenly always on his phone, frowning down at it and texting back whenever they’re on their breaks.

“Who keeps texting you?” Yoonji asks one time when they’re catching their breath, grabbing a sip of water. She leans over, trying to sneak a peek over his shoulder. “Is it important?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, flipping on the silencer and determinedly locking his phone. “No one. It’s no one.”

But it clearly isn’t no one, because it doesn’t stop after that. Seokjin’s phone stays silent, sure, but it keeps buzzing—when they’re having breakfast, when they’re grabbing dinner, when they’re hanging out and watching their drama. Just…anywhere really. At any given time. 

“Are you sure it isn’t important?” Yoonji asks for the nth time. They’re in the middle of their drama, and it’s really getting good, but Seokjin’s phone keeps buzzing and it keeps taking her out of it. “I mean, like, if it’s important, we can save this for later.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “No, it’s fine,” he insists, even as he checks his phone, locking it a moment later. “We can keep watching.”

“Are you sure?” Yoonji asks skeptically. 

“Yeah, it’s really nothing.”

“If you say so.” And Yoonji intends to take his words at face value, fully intends to turn back to the drama, but it’s just—Seokjin’s phone still keeps buzzing.

The female lead tearily runs off into the rain. Seokjin’s phone buzzes.

The male lead gets fed up with the expectations his family had placed on his shoulders and rightfully explodes. Seokjin’s phone buzzes.

The female lead almost gets run over by a car. Seokjin’s phone buzzes.

The male lead runs outside in his suit and tie, frantically looking for the female lead. Seokjin’s phone buzzes.

You get the picture.

“What is it?” Yoonji bursts, unable to focus. On impulse, she reaches out and snatches Seokjin’s phone out of his hand.

“Hey,” Seokjin exclaims, trying to grab it back. “I was using that.”

“Use it less, maybe.” Seokjin had locked the phone before Yoonji grabbed it, but it’s not like that’s a problem—Seokjin hasn’t changed his phone passcode in years. Yoonji taps the screen, enters in 0903 (which Seokjin had set as a joke and never bothered to change), and finds herself staring down at the inbox of a dating app.

Which…oh. Oh. Seokjin is on a dating app. Yoonji feels like her heart’s been caught in her throat, unable to wrap her head around what she’s seeing.

Seokjin manages to swipe the phone back. “You know, it’s rude to go through someone else’s phone without their permission,” he says, locking it and slipping it back into his pocket. His phone buzzes again, but he ignores it this time. “We should really work on your manners more, Yoonji.”

Yoonji clears her throat, trying her best not to freak out. “You’re on Tinder?” She asks weakly.

“No,” Seokjin lies. He doesn’t want to meet her eye. “I told you, it’s nothing. Let’s just keep watching.”

Suddenly, Yoonji has no idea what the drama is even about. Can’t even spare a single ounce of attention to it, all her thoughts revolving around the three-second glimpse she had of Seokjin’s phone: Seokjin is active on Tinder. Seokjin has dozens people messaging him on there. 

Seokjin is trying to date.

It’s this last one that hurts, a little like an ice pick being eased into her heart. A slow, gradual build of pain, increasing as it pushes deeper the more Yoonji lets herself think about it. Seokjin is meeting new people and  Seokjin is actively trying to date these new people and Seokjin already has dozens of prospects lined up, right at his fingertips.

Yoonji is about to lose her mind.

As if sensing her discomfort, Seokjin sighs, all the fight draining out of him. “It’s nothing,” he says, his tone of voice probably meant to be reassuring. “Jimin just put me up to it, a few days after we went out. I thought it’d be fun.”

Yoonji keeps her eyes trained on the TV. “It’s fine,” she says, as lightly as she can muster. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I’m not explaining, I’m—” Seokjin cuts himself abruptly, and Yoonji can feel him shift beside her, letting out a soft exhale. “Yoonji. Hey. Look at me for a second?”

Yoonji doesn’t want to—doesn’t want her face to give herself away—but she’s powerless to resist when Seokjin says her name like that, all sweet and loving. She puts on a brave face and steels herself; when she’s ready she turns to Seokjin, her best smile fixed in place.

There’s a pause. Then Seokjin snorts. “You look incredibly stupid right now,” he says, amusement tugging up the corner of his lips.

Yoonji drops her expression. “Hey,” she says, a little insulted as Seokjin bursts into laughter, the sound all squeaky. “You’re so—why do you have to be so mean?”

Seokjin just keeps laughing. “I just didn’t expect you to look at me like that,” he snickers, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. “You looked like you were expecting me to tell you your dad died, or something equally horrendous.”

“Yeah, well.” Yoonji pouts, even though she can feel her own smile struggling to break free. “I’m, like, I didn’t know what to expect—”

“Yoonji, it’s me,” Seokjin interrupts fondly. “You always know what to expect with me.”

“I guess.” They fall into amiable silence, with only the sound of the television echoing around the room. There are cops on the screen, and they’re talking about a kidnapping; Yoonji doesn’t know how or when they got there.

Seokjin nudges her shoulder. “I can delete it, if you want,” he says, and he doesn’t need to clarify for Yoonji to know exactly what he’s talking about. “I mean, like, if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“It doesn’t.” Yoonji has no idea where she’s mustered up the courage to speak like this, to lie like this, but she assumes it has something to do with what she’s watching on TV. “You…you’re free to do what you want to, oppa. If you want to date, you can.”

Seokjin doesn’t respond for a while. “You’re…you’re okay with me dating?” He eventually asks. There’s a slight waver in his voice, and it makes Yoonji’s heart ache.

“Like, if you want to,” Yoonji replies. “Like…like I said before, you’re your own person. You can do whatever you want to.”

Another pause, this time longer. “So if I start dating someone, you’ll be okay with that?” Seokjin asks, point-blank.

“I mean, I—I won’t stop you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Yoonji replies. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth, her words coming out clunky. “Like—I guess it’s okay, as long as you…as long as you still manage to show up to training.”

This time, the silence that rings out seems to stretch out for ages. Yoonji keeps her gaze trained on the screen, resisting every instinct that tells her to turn to Seokjin, to read exactly what he’s thinking in his expression. She’d crumble if she did, turn to rubble beneath his feet; give into all-encompassing, overwhelming urge she’s managed to keep at bay for five long years.

Eventually, Seokjin sighs. “Okay then,” he says, and he sounds a little hurt. “Alright. Sure.”

The ice pick in Yoonji’s chest pushes itself deeper. Yoonji digs her fingernails into her palms, ignores it,.

. . .

In a completely unsurprising turn of events, Seokjin starts dating.

He doesn’t jump into it immediately, of course, and for a while everything stays exactly the same. But two weeks later, after one exhausting evening training, Yoonji turns to him, about to ask him if he wants to grab something to eat, finds him already shaking his head, an apologetic look on his face.

“I’m, uh, seeing someone,” he says. His ears are flushed red, and he won’t meet Yoonji’s eye. “For dinner, I mean. We’re having dinner together.”

Oh. Yoonji does her best to keep her face pleasant, nodding encouragingly like a best friend should. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. We’re going for sushi.” It’s been a while since Yoonji’s seen Seokjin look this awkward, unsure of the way he holds himself, as if one wrong move would accidentally trigger a landmine. “I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

Yoonji feels herself swallow. “Have fun,” she says casually as she can, shooting him a small wave. Seokjin smiles at her, tight-lipped, and then picks up his bag and disappears down the hallway. Yoonji watches him go, her chest constricting unpleasantly.

Hoseok and Taehyung look surprised when she walks up to them while they’re waiting for their girlfriends, her practice bag slung over her shoulder. “You’re not with Seokjin-hyung today?” Taehyung asks.

Yoonji shakes her head. “Nah,” she replies. She hoists her bag higher up her shoulder, tries to look nonchalant. “He’s going on a date.”

There’s a pause. “What,” Hoseok says flatly. “What.”

. . .

Hoseok changes his mind: this, apparently, is the stupidest thing Yoonji’s ever done.

“You told him he could date?” He rages, far too loud for the little chicken restaurant they've found themselves in. “Really, noona? Really?”

“You’re so fucking noisy,” Yoonji hisses back. “Keep your voice down, seriously. People are staring.”

“I do not fucking care that that they’re staring,” Hoseok retorts, impassioned. “The whole world can stare, for all I care. I need witnesses for what a fucking dumbass you are.”

“Babe, please calm down,” Namjoo begs, putting an arm on his shoulder.

“You have witnesses,” Taehyung points out. He and Jungsook are in the middle of feeding each other chicken, far too used to Hoseok’s outbursts when it comes to the topic of Seokjin and Yoonji. “Namjoo-noona, Jungsookie, and me.”

“You and Jungsook don’t count,” Hoseok shoots back. “You both keep getting distracted by each other.”

“But there’s nothing wrong if Seokjin-hyung goes out on a date, right?” It’s Jimin who asks, and he seems surprised at Hoseok’s emotional outburst. “I mean, he’s single, right? That’s what he told me.”

“Yeah, but he shouldn’t be,” Hoseok replies. “He should be with noona.”

Jimin’s brow furrows. “I’m not following.”

“What Hobi means to say,” Namjoo says kindly as she squeezes Hoseok’s arm in warning, “is that Seokjin-oppa and noona are…you know—”

“In love,” Jungsook supplies. “Have been for the last five years.”

Hoseok glares at Yoonji. “And they both refuse to do anything about it.”

Yoonji scrubs a hand down her face. “I told you, we made a promise,” she tells him, for what is probably the millionth time. “I’m not—he’s not—we’re not—”

“Excuses,” Hoseok mutters. 

“—it doesn’t even matter,” Yoonji finishes tiredly. “If he wants to date someone, I don’t see why it’s even a problem. He can be with whoever he wants to be with.”

It definitely hurts to say it, the ice pick twisting as it digs deeper into her chest, but Yoonji’s never made it her business to lie about whatever’s going on between her and Seokjin. They’re not together, and he’s not hers, no matter how many people on the internet and in real life think that they should be. She and Seokjin have discussed this before, and they’re the only ones whose opinions matter.

“And he’s clearly met someone on that dating app of his,” Yoonji continues, waving her chopsticks around. “So that’s nice. I’m happy for him.”

Hoseok’s eyes grow wide. “Dating app?” He echoes. “Hyung is on a dating app?”

“Yeah. He told me Jiminie put him up to it.”

Hoseok rounds on Jimin. “You put Seokjin-hyung on a dating app?” 

Jimin’s eyes bulge as he’s chewing. “I didn’t put him there,” he replies once he’s swallowed his food. “I just showed it to him and encouraged him to make one. Why, is he not allowed on a dating app?”

Hoseok buries his face in his hands and lets out a strained yell. “Am I the only fucking person tired of this slow burn?” He asks no one in particular.

“Calm down,” Namjoo begs again.

“Cut Jiminie some slack, he’s new,” Taehyung scolds, throwing an arm around Jimin. “He hasn’t been around long enough to see what we’ve all seen.”

“I just don’t get it,” Jimin continues heatedly. “They’re not together, so what’s wrong if Seokin-hyung goes on Tinder? Hell, what’s wrong if noona goes on Tinder and dates people? They have no commitment to each other aside from being best friends and skating partners.”

There’s a pause where Jimin’s words ring out over the table. Jimin’s argument had been completely logical; Yoonji can see the fire in Hoseok’s eyes die a little at his words, can see the way Taehyung and Jungsook exchange glances, unsure. And Yoonji’s always been of the opinion that operating on rational logic is better than operating on irrational feelings—it’s the only way everything in this world makes sense.

But still, it kind of hurts to hear.

Namjoo opens he mouth, presumably to argue, but Yoonji silences her with a shake of her head. Nothing she could say can probably refute all of Jimin’s points. “Nothing’s wrong, kid,” she says. She turns back to her plateful of chicken, popping one into her mouth and trying not to feel like she’s dying inside. “Like I said earlier, oppa can be with whoever he wants to be with.”

. . .

That night, Yoonji lies in bed, unable to really settle down. She’s got Tinder open on her phone, all her credentials entered—the only thing left for her to do is to click up the little Sign Up! button at the bottom of the screen. She stares at it, bites at the skin around her nails in thought.

Jimin had been right, earlier: she and Seokjin have absolutely no commitment to each other aside from being best friends and skating partners. If Seokjin wants to date, he’s allowed to—Yoonji has no right to police him. And it’s the same thing vice versa; if Yoonji wants to date, she’s allowed to. She doesn’t have to keep thinking about what Seokjin might think, or what Seokjin might say.

Or just about Seokjin in general. Although it’s a little difficult not to.

She lets out a sigh, violently pressing the lock on her phone and dropping it into the space beside her. It’s okay, she tells herself as she shifts on her side, squeezing her eyes shut. She’s just not interested in dating. That’s fine and completely valid. She’s allowed to not be interested.

By the time she feels sleep tickling the edges of her consciousness, threatening to pull her under, she’s repeated those words so many times in her head that she thinks she could start to believe them.

. . .

(Seokjin’s eyebrow raise looked especially judgmental, the twist of his mouth especially displeased. “Who is that from?” He asked, standing in front of her in his high school uniform.

Yoonji paused from where she was pulling out her training clothes from her bag, following Seokjin’s line of vision to the bouquet of flowers she left on the bench beside her. “Oh,” she replied. “Yura.”

Seokjin’s eyebrow jumped higher on his forehead. “Yura gave you Valentine’s presents,” He says, his voice flat.

“Oh. Did she?” Yoonji’s eyes widened as realization suddenly hit her. “Is it Valentine’s day today? Oh my God, is this why she asked me to hang out today?”

That, at least, seemed to amuse Seokjin—the corner of his mouth twitching. “Oh, Yoonji,” he said exasperatedly, shaking his head. “Always so dense.” He plopped his bag a few meters away from her, rummaging for his own clothes. A few seconds later, a box of chocolates fell on top of Yoonji’s training bag. “Here.”

Yoonji blinked at it. “What’s this?”

Seokjin shrugged. “I don’t know, a girl gave it to me for Valentine’s day.”

Yoonji stared at him for a few moments before turning back to the chocolates in front of her. They’re a brand she particularly likes, the box in typical Valentine packaging, with a little golden bow and a blank card looped into it.

“Did you seriously just regift me your Valentine’s day chocolate?”

Seokjin’s sigh was fond. “I didn’t really want them,” he replied as he pulled out his training clothes. He reached out and patted her on the head as he passed by on his way to the locker rooms. “Figured you’d appreciate them more than me.” 

“I’m not your personal dumpster, you know!” Yoonji called after his retreating back, and felt herself grin at the sound of Seokjin’s answering laugh, echoing around the rink. She tucked the chocolates into her bag, picked up her training clothes, and headed towards the locker rooms, her chest feeling strangely warm.

Later, when they left the rink after practice, Yoonji took out the chocolates from her bag. “Share with me,” she said, nudging Seokjin’s shoulder, and the two of them ate the entire box between themselves on the whole way home, spoiling their dinner.)

. . .

“Nice of you to show up to practice,” Yoonji tells Seokjin by way of greeting. He’d been a little late, and he looks sleepier than usual—one side of his hair matted down, his eyelids heavy. Still, he looks happy to see Yoonji, a small smile on his lips as he passes her her coffee. “You look like you had fun.”

Seokjin shrugs. “It didn’t work out,” he says simply. “He was nice, but kinda boring. There wasn’t really a connection.”

“Oh.” Yoonji takes a sip of her drink, tries not to feel too happy about that. “So you won’t go out with him again?”

The corner of Seokjin’s mouth ticks upward. “Nah,” he says. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Yoonjichi.” He steps forward, slings an arm around her shoulder and walks them further into the rink, to the bench they usually sit at. “Didn’t I tell you so many times? You’re my forever girl. I’ll be with you until the end of time.”

Yoonji makes a face, fighting the smile that’s threatening to bloom on her face. “Gross,” she says, and if she leans into him a little bit more than she usually would, well. No one has to really know.

. . .

It’s a string of bad dates after that.

Well, they’re not bad exactly; Seokjin doesn’t meet any assholes (which is good), and he also doesn’t meet any creeps (which is even better), but the dates themselves are just…not good. No connection, no spark, absolutely nothing that could lead to something more. At least, that’s what Seokjin says the next day.

Yoonji tries not to feel too pleased about that. It wouldn’t be very supportive of her if she feels too smug whenever the dates don’t work out, whenever Seokjin shows up to practice the next day a little clingier, a little sweeter. But at the same time, it’s not like she can help it—there’s something giddying in knowing that Seokjin still comes back to her after everything. Kind of like she’s still the number one person in his life.

Hoseok would say, it’s because you’re in love with him, stupid. To which Yoonji would answer: go sit on a dick.

It’s not like being in love with Seokjin even matters, at this point. Yes, she’s aware that she is, and yes, she knows that Seokjin potentially feels the same way, but there’s really just so much to think about—skating and their careers and their future, the goals they’ve put into motion since they were seven and eight. Yoonji and Seokjin both know that, both keep that at the forefront of their minds, and it’s just…easier this way. Less to think about. Less to worry about.

So Yoonji doesn’t say anything whenever she catches Seokjin messaging a few new people, doesn’t say anything when Seokjin goes out on date after date, seeing a film or having dinner or grabbing drinks. Just keeps him close whenever she can, listens patiently whenever Seokjin talks about it, and tries to pretend that she doesn’t go home at night and pray that Seokjin doesn’t actually meet someone good.

…Yeah, she’s a bit of an asshole like that.

. . .

One Saturday evening, Seokjin sidles up to her, after their training and after they’ve finished with their ice baths. “My date cancelled,” he tells Yoonji, shrugging. He seems strangely pleased by this development. “Said that she’d gotten into bed and refused to leave.”

Yoonji’s pretty sure that was a come-on of some sort. Still, she doesn’t let Seokjin know, just purses her lips to keep from smiling, delighted that Seokjin won’t be going off to hang out with some random person who just wants to use him for sex. “Sucks. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“You heading home?” Yoonji shrugs on her puffer jacket, does up the buttons all the way before looping her scarf around her neck. Seokjin waits for her, then they head out of the rink together, waving goodbye to Jimin, who’s still getting ready to leave. “You could use the time to rest.”

“I could,” Seokjin hedges, “or…” he stops abruptly, causing Yoonji to turn back and look at him. Seokjin’s looking at her, something alluring in the glimmer of his eye; his lips curve upwards slowly, inviting. “Wanna do something fun?”

Yoonji raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Seokjin’s shrug is made bigger by the fabric of his jacket. “I don’t know, just…anything, really,” he replies. “I just don’t really feel like going home yet.”

It’s a nice enough evening. The skies are clear, the wind cold, but not biting, remnants of the last few good weather days before winter arrives in its severity. Yoonji looks at Seokjin in all that he is right now—in his white button up and cream sweater, hair pushed back to expose his forehead. She finds she can’t look anywhere else.

“Sure,” she says, smiling when Seokjin’s face splits into a grin. Her heart thumps loudly in her chest, like it's making its presence known, demanding to be felt. “Where do you want to go?”

. . .

It’s nothing special. They head to a slightly upscale Japanese restaurant they’ve been meaning to try for some sashimi and some sake, and Yoonji feels a little self-conscious, underdressed as she is in her sweatpants and her threadbare hoodie. Luckily, the waiters don’t seem to mind, welcoming them politely, directing them to a table for two. The sashimi is divine—Yoonji almost moans at how good the food tastes, and she and Seokjin eat until they’re stuffed, their dinner punctuated by mundane conversation. Then they split the bill between them, promising they’d come back once they’ve saved up a bit more money, then they head back out into the night air.

They wander around aimlessly and somehow end up walking by the Hangang, the wind colder here. Seokjin, because he’s insane, convinces Yoonji to buy some ice cream with him, and the two of them brave the river cold as they lick their cones, trying their best not to shiver.

“I’m so cold,” Yoonji complains, huddling further into her coat, even as she eats her ice cream. “This isn’t, I don’t—why are we doing this?”

“Come on, Yoonji, we’re ice dancers,” Seokjin encourages. “We should be immune to the cold by now.”

“I’m not sure it works like that.”

“I’m sure it does work like that, what, are you calling me an idiot?”

Yoonji’s cheeks hurt. Whether it’s from the cold or the way she can’t seem to stop smiling, endlessly amused by Seokjin’s antics, she isn’t quite sure. “You’re so fucking strange,” she says, and she means it in the absolute best way possible. “Did you know that?”

“Pretty sure I’ve heard that said once or twice,” Seokjin dismisses. All of a sudden, Seokjin’s grabbing her hand, dragging her closer to the water. “C’mon, let’s go closer. I wonder if we can spot some tuna.”

“Oppa,” Yoonji whines, but lets herself get dragged anyway.

They finish their cones by the edge of the river, watching the water flow. Seokjin doesn’t let go of her hand, and Yoonji doesn’t pull away, content to leave their fingers entwined together. She tells herself it’s because it’s cold and holding hands helps them to share warmth. She also tells herself she’s full of shit.

Eventually Seokjin lets out a quiet sigh, his breath visible under the street lamps. “Thanks for going out with me,” he says, and his tone is intimate, like these words are only meant for Yoonji to hear. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too.” Yoonji squeezes their joined hands together, shifting her attention to him. Seokjin doesn’t look back at her, keeping his eyes trained at the slowly-rushing water in front of them, but Yoonji knows he can sense her gaze—can see it in the upturn of his lips, the slight reddening of his ears.

Yoonji’s always associated Seokjin with the winter. Maybe it’s because she met him on the ice, or maybe it’s because he looks the way he does, striking lines and sharp angles, an intensity to his features that make him look distant. It’s the reason why everyone’s taken to calling him the ice prince—aside from his obvious skills in the rink, he seems to be cold as ice, with the very same propensity to hurt. 

But Yoonji’s watched him grow into his features, watched the years change him from a boy to man, and she knows better; knows the warmth Seokjin keeps inside, knows his true nature—warm, gentle, sincere.

“If this was a real date, I’d rate it a ten out of ten,” Yoonji says, half-joking. She moves closer, presses her shoulder against Seokjin’s. “Seriously, oppa. Best date I’ve ever been on. I don’t know why the people on Tinder don’t seem to like you that much.”

Seokjin gets the message; he untangles their fingers, wraps his arm around Yoonji’s shoulders to pull her closer. “What made you think they didn’t like me?” He asks. He turns; Yoonji feels the press of his nose against her temple, hears a quiet inhale, kind of like Seokjin’s just breathing her in. “Maybe it’s the opposite—maybe I didn’t like them. have you ever thought about like that?”

Yoonji swallows. “Why didn’t you?” She asks. Her voice comes out a little shaky.

Seokjin doesn’t call her out on it, though. “Like I told you before, there’s just no connection. No spark.” Then there’s the gentlest brush of lips against her skin, and it makes gooseflesh erupt all over her body. “I just—I want to date someone who’s, like, a best friend.”

Yoonji’s heart thumps at his words, and she hums in response, letting her eyes slip shut. For a moment, she doesn’t think; lets herself enjoy the feeling of Seokjin’s arm around her body, of Seokjin’s lips against her skin. Lets herself pretend that she can have Seokjin in all the ways she wants him—no risks, no consequences. Nothing that they could lose.

And she feels it again: the phantom press of Seokjin’s lips against hers, the fluttering of her heart, like a butterfly just about to take flight. All the possibilities they had that day, everything laid out in front of them, like they had the world served up to them on a silver platter.

Of course, it didn’t last. It couldn’t last. The same way this can’t last, a moment that threatens the very line they shouldn’t cross.

She draws away, clearing her throat. “C’mon,” she says, and immediately, Seokjin gets the hint; his arm falls from her shoulders and he takes a few steps back. Yoonji tries not to miss his warmth too much. “Let’s head home.”

. . .

The next week, Seokjin goes out on another date, this time with a girl from one of his classes. For some reason, it hurts a tad bit more.

. . .

The sound of her phone ringing rouses Yoonji from her light slumber, and for a moment, she blinks blearily at her bedroom ceiling, content to ignore it and go back to sleep. But it doesn’t stop—every time the call drops off, it starts up again, like a long endless loop of blaring. After a few moments of this mental war, Yoonji admits defeat; she rolls onto her stomach as she reaches for the phone, tapping the answer button without looking at the screen. “What the fuck do you want?”

There’s a pause, one seems more amused than anything. “We really need to work on your manners,” Seokjin says. There’s something lax in his voice, his normally-crisp way of speaking slightly slurred. “Good evening, Yoonji. Can I come in?”

Yoonji doesn’t lift her head from where she’s buried it into her pillow. “No. Go home.”

“Please?” Seokjin cajoles. Yoonji hears him shift over the line, and a few seconds later, the sound of her doorbell is ringing across her apartment. “I really, really need to use the bathroom. Like urgently. Like super duper urgently, because I’m like, thirty seconds away from pissing in front of your door.”

Yoonji sighs. “Fine,” she says into her pillow. She knows that Seokjin’s heard it, though, because he chirps out a happy yay! and a few seconds later she can hear the tell-tale sound of her door code being entered, Seokjin quickly kicking his shoes off by the entrance. 

“Thank you,” he calls into her bedroom as he breezes by on his way to the bathroom. Yoonji grunts in response, lets out another sigh, and then heaves herself off her bed, padding outside the bedroom

“Make sure to flush, asshole,” she yells towards the bathroom.

Seokjin’s squeaky laugh is audible through the closed door. “I’ll pee in your sink!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

It doesn’t take long for Seokjin to finish, and soon, Yoonji can hear the sound of the faucet running, like Seokjin’s washing his hands. Another few minutes and Seokjin emerges, grinning. “Thank you,” he says again.

Yoonji squints at him. It’s not like he looks like a slob, per se—he’s still better dressed than she is, in his gorgeous black button down and some dark wash jeans—but he also doesn’t look as neat as he did earlier, when he’d left for his date right after their practice. 

“Why didn’t you just go home?” Yoonji asks. “It’s not like you live that far away.”

“I genuinely couldn’t hold it anymore,” is Seokjin’s reply. He takes a few steps forward; this close, Yoonji can take in the details—the way his hair has started to droop, the way his skin is flushed red; the way the collar of his shirt is askew. “I drank a bit too much.”

“Oh, so you were drinking.” Yoonji makes her way to the couch, an unspoken invitation for Seokjin to follow. 

Seokjin does. “I had to,” he says. He flops down on the space beside her, sliding forward, and for a moment, he looks a bit like a teenager again—a mass of long, gangly limbs. “Absolutely couldn’t stand the girl.”

Something sharp and pleased lodges itself deeper into Yoonji’s chest. “I take it the date wasn’t good, then?”

Seokjin snorts. “Worst one I’ve been on yet,” he quips. He lets out a breath, his eyes falling shut as he tips his head back against the couch. “But to tell you the truth, they’ve all been terrible lately.”

“Oh.” There’s something hidden in Seokjin’s words, tucked into the lilt of his voice. Yoonji wants to press, to try and decipher what he’s thinking, but she’s a little too terrified of what she might find there, waiting for her. 

“Well, that’s alright, I guess,” she says, trying to keep it casual. “I mean, like, drinking a lot. As long as you’ll be okay for training tomorrow.”

Seokjin’s lips twist up in a smile, but he clearly doesn’t look pleased. “Right,” he says, something strange in his tone. “Training.” A pause. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good. That’s...good.” Seokjin isn’t even looking at her, his eyes still shut, but somehow Yoonji feels exposed, like she’s been cut open and picked apart. She clears her throat and hops to her feet, desperate for something to do. “Maybe I’ll get you a glass of water.”

She doesn’t wait for him to respond, just escapes into the kitchen. She opens her cupboard, staring at her glasses as she takes a moment to calm herself. She feels a little like she’s on the verge of something transformative, a bit like standing on the edge of a precipice, about to freefall.

She hears the sound of footsteps, knows immediately that Seokjin’s come to follow her. “Don’t worry, I can get it myself,” he says, voice light as he reaches over her head to grab one. Yoonji hears the clink of it being set on the counter, the sound of her fridge door opening. 

It’s a specific kind of torture, badly wanting something you can’t have. Yoonji’s learned to live with it, has had many years to get used to the sensation, but sometimes her resolve weakens, her desire getting the best of her.

“Oppa,” she says as she shuts the cupboard. Seokjin stills from where he’s pouring water into a glass, eyes flickering to her curiously. 

“If they’re so terrible, why do you…” she trails off, wetting her lips. She turns around, leans back against the counter and stares straight ahead, watching Seokjin’s face from her peripheral vision. “Why do you keep going out on dates, then?”

A pause. “I don’t know,” Seokjin admits thoughtfully. He sets the pitcher down on the counter and makes no move to pick up his glass. “I guess I just feel like…I’m looking for something.”

“For what?” Yoonji asks. She doesn’t know where this sudden courage sprung up from—maybe from the way Seokjin had looked earlier, a little mussed up from a terrible date, or from the way he’d spoken, an underlying exhaustion in the tone of his voice. Maybe it’s a combination of both. Maybe it’s none at all.

Maybe it’s from the way Yoonji’s heart is stuttering in her chest, tripping over itself as she feels Seokjin’s gaze on her, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between them.

“For a genuine connection,” Seokjin replies. “For someone I’ll actually like. For someone else I could maybe—” he stops abruptly, but Yoonji can hear the word that he didn’t say. Love. For someone else I could maybe love.

And isn’t that a two-fold implication, one that makes the sharp thing in Yoonji’s chest cry out, digging its claws in deeper, demanding to be felt. Seokjin is going on dates looking for someone else to love. For someone new.

Because Seokjin loves—

The energy in the room suddenly feels charged, stifling. Yoonji can see Seokjin move; he takes a slow step toward her, and then another one, and then another one, until he’s standing right in front of her, serious and sincere and devastating. His face is impassive but his eyes are questioning, and he reaches out slowly, resting his hands on Yoonji’s hips.

It’s not like Seokjin’s never touched her there before—in fact, if she really thinks about it, there’s probably very few places Seokjin’s never touched her before, a consequence of their sport and their partnership. But with this…this intent behind it, it feels novel, fills her with something like anticipation, like desperation, like want.

Seokjin’s hands are as cold as ice, but it sets Yoonji’s skin on fire anyway.

“Yoonji,” Seokjin murmurs. He shifts closer, his shoulders curving inward, his spine bent like a bow. It’s a series of steps after that: the press of his forehead against her shoulder, the blow of his breath against her clavicle, the oh-so-gentle brush of his lips on her skin, where her shoulder meets her neck.

Yoonji stays absolutely still. Seokjin’s lips travel upwards slowly—the exact same path they’d traversed five years ago, in their shared hotel room in Osaka. It’s too much and somehow not enough at all, and Yoonji feels like she’s about to fall apart, trembling like a leaf between Seokjin’s hands.

“God, Yoonji,” Seokjin murmurs against her pulse point, and Yoonji swallows, feeling familiar sparks travel down her spine. Seokjin’s grip on her tightens minutely, his thumb dipping under her shirt to trace light circles against her skin.

He draws back all of a sudden, and Yoonji can read exactly what he’s thinking, can decipher the intention in his eyes. And Yoonji wants so badly that it’s starting to hurt, starting to burst out of her, light beams breaking through the slats of her ribs.

Seokjin leans forward again until their foreheads are touching, until their noses are brushing. Yoonji lets her eyes slip shut, listens to Seokjin’s quiet intake of breath, all of the universe narrowing down into this tiny sliver of space between them.

Then—

“We have training tomorrow.”

Yoonji doesn’t even realize she’d said that until Seokjin freezes, his mouth mere millimeters away from hers. A pause, a moment suspended in time, and then Seokjin is sighing, his breath ghosting against her lips. 

“We do,” he agrees, and then pulls away. He doesn’t meet her gaze as his hands fall back to his sides, as he takes a step back, growing the distance between them.

They don’t say anything else after that. Yoonji busies herself with putting the pitcher of water back into the fridge while Seokjin chugs his glass, looking anywhere else but at her. The air between them is thick with what could’ve happened and what could’ve been. Yoonji is unable to breathe.

“I’ll…I’ll head back to bed,” she mostly tells her fridge, but is actually directed to Seokjin. It’s only pure luck that her voice doesn’t falter. “Just let yourself out whenever you’re done.

She turns to flee the kitchen, back to the safe haven of her bedroom. But right before she manages to leave, Seokjin speaks up.

“Is that all you ever think about? Skating?” 

Yoonji pauses, turns to peek at him over her shoulder. This time, Seokjin is staring directly at her—something embittered in his eyes, in the displeased twist of his mouth. His hands are curled into fists by his sides.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asks him levelly.

Something in her tone seems to make Seokjin’s expression falter, and then he’s backing down, his shoulders slumping. “Nothing, I—nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Good night, Yoonji. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, oppa,” Yoonji parrots, and then escapes into her bedroom.

A few minutes later, she hears the muffled sound of her front door opening, then the little beep of the locking mechanism.

. . .

The first time the Olympics seemed like a reality was the exact same time they first seemed like a reality, a spark that could possibly grow into a flame.

It happened like this: it was the 2017 World Junior Figure Skating Championships in Osaka, and they’d been sitting at the kiss and cry with their coaches, hearts in their throats as they waited for their scores to be read out. It was a flawless run—they had been in-sync, their footwork was clean, and their lifts were executed to perfection. Still, it was difficult to be confident when they’d watched their competition skate and witnessed just how good their peers were.

But somehow, they made it. Their free skate routine had scored the highest out of anyone else’s in the competition, and when the scores were tallied up, Seokjin and Yoonji had come out on top with a 0.78 point lead. It had been a moment of pure disbelief that gave way to pure euphoria—Yoonji was pretty sure her eyes were the size of the moon when she’d turned to look at Seokjin.

Seokjin kissed her on impulse then, uncaring of all the eyes on them. It probably lasted no more than five seconds, but to Yoonji it felt like eternities, felt like everything she knew suddenly falling into place, every thought she ever had reorienting around this one, beautiful boy. When he’d pulled away, he’d been a vision—his eyes sparkling, his cheeks only just beginning to flush red. Yoonji looked at him in a haze, watched as the color spread down to his neck, and thought, I love you, so swiftly and so suddenly that it felt like a punch to the gut.

They celebrated, of course; did their interviews and their press, hugged their families and popped some champagne with their coaches. But all throughout they were giddy, so giddy—anticipation dripping like liquid gold down their veins, making them flush whenever they so much as met each other’s eye. 

And then later, after everything was over, Seokjin grabbed her hand, led her back to their shared hotel room. Backed her against the wall as soon as the door had shut behind them and kissed her again, this time full of passion, full of intent. Yoonji was young and ecstatic and so, so full of love that it hurt, and she’d kissed him back, wound her hands around his neck, and pulled him closer, closer, closer; until they were pressed so firmly together that she wasn’t quite sure where she ended and where Seokjin began.

(Even until now, she thinks she never felt quite as alive as she did in that moment, like everything she ever wanted was right at her fingertips.)

The way Seokjin touched her was slow, methodical, almost like he was afraid of taking too much all at once. He’d kept his grip on her gentle as he ducked his head, dropped a soft kiss by her collarbone. Traced a path up the column of her throat, his tongue coming out to taste her. Yoonji pulled him closer, felt Seokjin’s length digging into her thigh, and forced herself to breathe—felt herself crumble, succumbing to this intoxicating desperation, this intoxicating want that pooled in her stomach. 

But then in a flash, everything came back to her—the pounding of her heart after they finished their routine, the weight of the gold medal around her neck. Their goal, the one they’d agreed on when they were ten and eleven, and the promises they made to ensure that they’d reach it.

Until today, she isn’t quite sure how she’d mustered up the self-restraint. All she knows is that she leaned back against the wall, let out a breath. “We can’t,” she whispered even as she kept Seokjin close. “Oppa, we…we promised.”

Seokjin stilled right then, his hands on her waist, his lips against her neck. “I know,” he whispered, the sound broken. “But God, Yoonji, I…”

A pause, a moment of heightened anticipation. Then Seokjin pulled away, his bruised-red mouth quirked into a half-smile. “You’re right,” he said. “We promised.”

It hurt to let him go. But Yoonji did; let her hands fall to her sides, let Seokjin take a step back, one and then another, until there was a respectable amount of distance between them. He turned away after that to get ready for bed, and Yoonji could only watch his retreating back, felt her heart breaking into a million pieces—she’d known even then that she wouldn’t ever love someone as much as she loves Seokjin. 

That night, after they turned off the lights, Yoonji mustered up the courage, climbed into Seokjin’s bed with him. It was a risqué action, but in the end nothing happened between them; Seokjin just sighed, shifted to make space for Yoonji, then pulled her close. He buried his nose into Yoonji’s hair and breathed her in, and Yoonji closed her eyes, felt every single thing they weren’t talking about, and wondered, for the first time, if that Olympic gold was truly worth it.

. . .

But it was. And it still is. And what they found out was that the reality of the Olympics and the reality of them were two diverging paths, so they made their choice and moved on.

. . .

The next morning when Yoonji arrives at the rink, she’s marginally surprised to find Seokjin standing there with her coffee like he always is. “Good morning,” he says. He doesn’t meet her gaze.

Yoonji takes the coffee from him, opens her mouth to say something—how are you feeling? or does your head hurt? or maybe even something quippy like nice of you to show up today. But she changes her mind at the last minute, brushing a hand against his as she passes as a gesture of thanks, and waits for Seokjin to follow, like he always does.

And the weight of everything unsaid doesn’t dissipate, stays hanging between them like it has for the last five years. But Seokjin still showed up to practice, like he said he would, and Seokjin is still here, quietly falling into step with her like always does. And maybe, maybe that’s enough.

Maybe that should be enough.

. . .

“Seokjin-hyung’s been kind of off,” Taehyung observes, taking the seat beside her. It’s been a few days since that incident at Yoonji’s apartment, and things have mostly gone back to normal. Or well, sort of. “Did something happen between you two?”

Yoonji doesn’t look up from where she’s unlacing her skate. “No,” she answers. She tries not to let her gaze wander to where Seokjin is quietly retreating into the locker rooms to change. “Why are you asking?”

Taehyung hums thoughtfully. “Because you’ve been kind of off, too,” he replies. “Your skating the last few days has seemed somewhat…” he holds out a hand, tilts it from side to side in the universal not that good gesture. “Felt a little lackluster there.”

Trust Taehyung to notice. Yoonji sighs, roughly pulling at her laces. “I mean, what do you know?” She shoots back defensively. 

“Noona,” he says, like it should be obvious. “I’ve been watching you skate for close to a year.”

“You don’t watch me skate, you watch the hockey team practice,” Yoonji points out. “You ogle Jungsook, to be specific.”

“I mean, sure,” Taehyung concedes. “But hockey is boring sometimes, and sometimes you and hyung are just more entertaining to watch.” He shrugs. “Plus, I’m a performer, too. I know how things are supposed to look. Now, did something happen between you two?”

Yoonji pulls off her skate with a grunt, stretching her foot out in front of her “Not really,” she lies. “He just…from what I know, he went on a date a few days ago. He said it went terribly.”

“How terribly?”

“Like, he had to get drunk for it.”

“Ah.” Taehyung mulls that over for a few moments. “I mean, that’s not really a surprise, I guess. After his date with you, I assume everyone else wouldn’t be able to compare.”

Yoonji resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Not a real date,” she says, before bending down and tackling her other skate. “We were both just bored and went out for dinner together.”

“Yeah, but he wanted it to be. You both wanted it to be.”

Yoonji sighs irritatedly. “Why are you even bothering me about this?” She asks, turning to shoot Taehyung a half-hearted glare. “Go back to watching your girlfriend, or whatever.”

Taehyung shrugs again. “Well, I mean, it was either me or him,” he says. He inclines his head, and Yoonji follows the movement to where Hoseok is speaking to Jimin, every so often turning to her direction with a frustrated expression on his face. “Thought I’d do you a favor. But if you prefer Hobi-hyung—”

Yoonji shakes her head so violently that she gets a bit dizzy. “No, I changed my mind, you’re fine, I like you better,” she says quickly. “What do you want to eat? Noona will buy it for you.”

Taehyung grins brightly at her. “Thank you, noona,” he says easily, reaching out to pat the back of her hand, “but it’s not necessary.” A weighty pause, where Taehyung seems to be choosing his next few words carefully. “You know we all just want you and Seokjin-hyung to be happy, right?”

Yoonji feels a little touched by Taehyung’s earnestness. “I know,” she replies gruffly. “Thank you.”

Taehyung’s smile turns softer. “I believe in you both,” he says simply, a little cryptically, before skipping away, back to where he came from. Yoonji watches him go for a few seconds before turning back to her skate, roughly pulling it off her foot.

When she heads out, she finds Seokjin waiting for her by the entrance, lower lip between his teeth as he types out a reply into his phone. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look up as he follows Yoonji out the rink, into the night.

It’s colder now. Yoonji breathes out, watches her breath turn to mist, turn to atmosphere; tells herself that she’s doing the right thing, that this is how it’s supposed to be between them. This is how it’s supposed to stay.

“I don’t like fighting with you,” she says quietly.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Seokjin finish whatever it is he’s doing on his phone, before slipping it back into his pocket.

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, and his voice is devoid of its usual inflection, of its usual sweetness. “We’re not fighting, Yoonji.”

“I mean, after the other night, I…” she trails off, unable to find the right words. “I just. It feels weird, now, I don’t know.”

“It isn’t,” Seokjin replies immediately. “We’re fine, Yoonji.”

“Yeah, but I mean…” Her tongue feels useless in her mouth, unable to find the right words, unable to say what she wants to. “We promised, didn’t we? Things shouldn’t ever be weird between us. So we can…we can skate better.”

When she turns to face Seokjin, she finds him looking at her, something indecipherable in his eyes. “We did promise,” he agrees, before shaking his head. He stalks forward; Yoonji has to scramble a little to fall back into step with him. For the first time since she’s known him, she feels like she doesn’t recognize him—all his natural warmth faded from his features. 

“Nothing is weird between us,” Seokjin continues. A pause, and then his lips twist into a small, almost sad smile. “Everything’s exactly the same as it always has been.”

. . .

The next week, Yoonji meets Jaehwan.

Chapter Text

“See you tomorrow,” Coach Bang says, dismissing them with a kind smile, and Yoonji smiles back at him, bows in thanks and then skates the remaining distance to the open gate, stepping off the ice. She sighs, stretching a little—practice had been a little difficult today, what with trying to get their sequence down—and she’s exhausted, so ready to grab some dinner and crash in bed.

She sits down on the nearest bench, turning to Seokjin to ask what he feels like eating today, when sees it—Seokjin’s face all lit up in delight, his eyes glued on Jaehwan, who’s waving at him from the bleachers.

Because of course Jaehwan is here. Of fucking course.

“You were so great,” she hears Jaehwan gush, all lovesick as Seokjin steps off the ice. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers, which he passes to Seokjin. “The way you skated was just…wow.”

From her vantage point, she sees Seokjin flush—the tips of his ears turning red. “Thanks,” he says bashfully, ducking his head to smell the flowers. “It was nothing. Just freestyling.”

“You’re phenomenal,” Jaehwan says, not a single ounce of fakeness in his voice. He seems to realize that Yoonji is watching them, because he turns to her direction, his sincere smile never wavering. “You were really great too, Yoonji-ssi,” he calls.

Yoonji plasters on a fake smile, waving at him in thanks, before violently attacking her laces.

Yoonji’s heard all about Jaehwan, from Seokjin and Hoseok from everyone else who keeps wanting to talk to her about these things. Jaehwan had been the guy Seokjin had met in the club when he’d went out with Jimin, whose number Seokjin had tossed in the trash the day after, But in some random stroke of luck (Serendipity, Jimin calls it), they’d run into each other at the coffee shop—Seokjin to grab his and Yoonji’s morning coffees, Jaehwan exhausted from pulling an all-nighter. They’d got to talking, found out that they were actually in the same auditorium-large biology class, and this time, when Jaewhan had scribbled his phone number on a napkin, Seokjin had saved it and texted him immediately right after.

And he’s…great, Yoonji supposes. Yoonji’s already had the pleasure of hanging out with him a few times—one of the privileges (or consequences) of being Seokjin’s oldest, longest, and best friend—and Jaehwan is as kind as he is handsome. He’d politely asked about their viral video, politely fished for information about their relationship, and when he’d received the confirmation that they were not, in fact, dating, proceeded to try and put himself in the running for the best boyfriend ever. He meets up with Seokjin for lunch, walks him to the ice rink whenever he can, and sometimes, just like now, surprises him after practice with flowers and an invitation to grab some dinner.

He’s really great. Yoonji kind of wishes he was less great.

“What are you doing here?” Yoonji hears Seokjin ask while she’s working on untangling a particularly stubborn knot. “I thought you said you were heading to the library to work on a project.”

“I finished early,” is Jaehwan’s reply. “Thought I’d come watch your practice for a little bit.”

“You didn’t have to,” Seokjin replies.

“But I wanted to,” Jaehwan replies suavely. Yoonji mouths but I wanted to to herself, feels herself gag a little, and continues to work on her laces. “Do you have plans for dinner? There’s this pizza place that I’ve been wanting to try.”

“The one that just opened up a few streets down from here?” Yoonji can hear the sheer delight in Seokjin’s tone.

“That’s the one! Wanna head down there now?”

“Wait, I usually just grab something to eat with Yoonji—” and Yoonji tries to look like she’s been diligently working on her skates and not eavesdropping when Seokjin turns to her direction. “Yoonji,” he calls. “Jaehwan and I are going for dinner. Is that okay?”

Of course it isn’t. But Yoonji isn’t trying to look like a bitter or resentful best friend. “That’s fine,” she tells him, looking up to shoot him a small smile. “I’ll just eat by myself and head home.”

Something like worry flickers over Seokjin’s face. “Will you be okay on your own?”

Yoonji shakes her head. “I’ll be fine,” she replies, ducking her head as she finally manages to free her left foot. “Don’t worry about me.”

“At least get someone to walk you home.”

Yoonji represses the urge to sigh. “I’ll be fine,” she says again, and it comes out a little short. She backtracks, not wanting to worry Seokjin. “I think I can hang out with Namjoo and Hobi, actually.”

“Okay.” There’s a moment where Yoonji thinks Seokjin is going to say something else, give her another reminder or something, but he evidently thinks the better of it. “Let me just take off my skates and change then we can go,” she hears Seokjin say to Jaehwan. 

“That’s fine,” Jaehwan says easily. “Take your time.”

It’s not long until Seokjin’s all washed up and ready to leave; Yoonji’s still sitting on the bench, scrolling on her phone and feeling far too demotivated to move when he reemerges from the locker rooms. He doesn’t come near, just calls, “See you tomorrow, Yoonji,” in her direction, his voice echoing in the empty walls.

Yoonji doesn’t look up from her phone, just so she doesn’t have to watch them go. “Bye,” she calls back, and does her best to turn all her attention to the news article she has pulled up.

She honestly has no idea what she’s reading; she thinks she’s read the same sentence five times when someone takes a seat beside her, flicks her gently on the forehead. “You look like an angry cat,” Jimin teases, giggles punctuating his words, and Yoonji sighs, thankful for the chance to put her phone away.

“You are so bold,” she tells Jimin, doing her best to sound slightly threatening. “I’m already regretting befriending you.”

Jimin only laughs at her. “C’mon,” he says. He gestures behind him, to where the rest of their friends are gathered. “Hobi-hyung told me to go get you, you looked so lonely by yourself. We’re all grabbing something to eat together.”

“I don’t want to go with you all,” she says, but she can’t help the smile that blooms on her face as she picks up her skates and her training bag, following after Jimin.

. . .

The next morning, Seokjin shows up to training thirty minutes late. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he calls, completely out of breath. He’s in a ratty hoodie and some sweats that she’s pretty sure he uses as pajamas. “I overslept.”

“It’s fine,” Coach Bang calls back while the rest of them are doing their burpees. “Just get warmed up and try to catch up.”

Seokjin moves quickly; deposits his training bag onto the nearest bench and practically flies to where the rest of them are doing their conditioning. He takes the spot beside Yoonji and stretches for a few moments, before falling into sync with them. The neck of his hoodie is loose, worn out from use. Yoonji can see that he isn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Yoonji,” he murmurs as he does his burpees. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Yoonji grunts in response, keeps her focus on the exercises she’s doing. Tries not to even think of Seokjin right beside her, his bare skin on display, a bold, red mark that wasn’t there yesterday blooming conspicuously on his neck.

. . .

“No, babe,” Hoseok says dramatically. He, Namjoo, Taehyung and Jungsook are all out shopping on a Sunday to—in Hoseok’s words—shake off the energy of a bad week with some retail therapy. Not that Yoonji minds; she’s had a bad week, and she could really use the bad energy-shaking. One that preferably involved her loud friends and their dramatic asses, if only to keep her mind off the hickey she’d spotted on Seokjin’s neck.

She’s getting so much more than she bargained for, really.

Namjoo ignores him. “But I really think there’s something about it,” she insists. She’s trying on a coat she’d found—a long, frankly garish looking red thing that makes her look like a high fashion model that just stepped off the runway. “I think it looks good on me.”

“It does,” says Taehyung, the first devil on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“Namjoo-unnie is always so pretty,” says Jungsook, the second, starry-eyed devil on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“Of course it looks good on you,” Hoseok says, like it’s obvious. “You have the proportions of a model. But that doesn’t mean you should buy it. The color is an eyesore.”

Namjoo keeps checking herself out in the mirror. “I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully. “I think it would make a great statement piece.”

“What?” Hoseok says, baffled. “If you want a statement piece, I’ll find you a better statement piece, just—”

“It’s on sale,” devil number one chimes in.

“Seventy percent off,” devil number two adds.

“Yeah, and don’t you think there’s a reason for that?” Hoseok shoots back. When Namjoo doesn’t respond, too distracted by the coat, Hoseok looks around frantically, his eyes landing on Yoonji. “Noona,” he says, and Yoonji almost laughs at the desperation in his voice. “Please help me convince my girlfriend that walking around in a coat the same color as a fucking tomato is not a good look for us.”

Yoonji hums. “Why not?” She asks. 

“Noona,” Hoseok says again, unnecessarily stressed.

Yoonji can’t help it, she bursts into laughter. “Alright, alright,” she says. “Namjoo, Hobi’s right—if you bought that thing, I would have a very difficult time taking you seriously.”

“You hardly ever take me seriously, though,” Namjoo quips back.

Yoonji sighs fondly. “Look, just—” she rummages through the rack in front of her, pulling out the darker red coat that had caught her eye earlier. “Here, try this on. I think it’d look better on you.”

Namjoo’s eyes light up at the sight of it. “Thank you,” she chirps, immediately shrugging off the coat he’s wearing in favor of grabbing the one Yoonji’s holding out to her. 

Thank you, Hoseok mouths to her, hanging the first coat back up where they found it. Yoonji shoots him a thumbs up, shakes her head, and goes to wander around the store some more. 

She’s not really one to do physical shopping; she buys most of her things online, preferring the convenience over the social interaction. Besides, it’s not like she needs a lot of clothes—most of Yoonji’s life consists of school and training. She doesn’t mind using her clothes over and over.

But Seokjin’s birthday is coming up, and she wanted to try and get him something nice. Just to make up for how strange everything seems to be between them recently.

It’s not that she and Seokjin haven’t been speaking—it’s kind of impossible not to speak to each other, especially when they see each other everyday—but all their conversations have been a little superficial lately. Lacking in depth, lacking in warmth; lacking in the intimacy they usually share, the inside jokes and the shared amusement. To add to that, Seokjin’s been a little distracted whenever they’re off the ice, always on his phone, a small smile blooming on his face. Probably texting Jaehwan. Who also probably gave him the hickey the other day.

God. Yoonji’s trying not to think about it, she really is.

She wanders away while Hoseok and Jungsoo are giving their opinions on the coat Namjoo’s tried on, running her hands through the racks of clothes and trying to spot something cute. They have a bunch of nice sweaters at the other end of the shop; Yoonji makes her way to it.

She’s so focused on the sweaters that she doesn’t realize that Taehyung’s followed her, starts rummaging through the clothes rack right next to her. “What are you looking for, noona?” He asks, pulling out a sweater with some graphic print on the front. He runs over it with a critical eye.

Yoonji shrugs. “Don’t know, really,” she says distractedly. She pulls out a beige sweater, wrinkles her nose at the material, and hangs it back up. “Just something that oppa might like.”

“Oh.” There’s a moment where neither of them say anything, busy with the clothes in front of them. Then, Taehyung turns to her. “How are you feeling, by the way? He asks. “With the whole Jaehwan thing.”

Yoonji resists the urge to sigh. “Fine.”

“I mean, you don’t have to lie,” Taehyung says knowingly. “I know you were a little disappointed that you guys didn’t get to hang out today.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “I’m not,” she says, wonders if she says it more often she’ll start to believe it herself. “I mean, he has other things to do now. Other people to see.” She clears her throat. “He seems happy. I’m happy for him.”

“You’d be happier if they weren’t together, though.”

“Well, we can’t always get what we want now, can we?”

“You could’ve, though,” a new voice pipes up. It’s Jungsook, who’s standing a little ways behind them. There’s a slight frown on her face. “I mean, like. Seokjin-oppa’s always been yours, in a sense. It was really just a matter of taking the next step.”

Yoonji shakes her head again, moves away from the sweaters and to the accessories. “No,” she says. There’s a few caps on display, Yoonji picks one that catches her eye. “How many times have I told you guys, it’s not that easy?”

“It could’ve been,” Jungsook insists, romantic as ever.

“It isn’t,” Yoonji stresses. She puts the cap back down, picks up the one next to it—a plain black one with some skull detailing and a few metal rings hooked onto the bill. “He’s…there’s far too much to think about.”

“If you both are trying to convince noona to finally accept her feelings for Seokjin-hyung, I’m afraid it won’t work,” comes Hoseok’s dry voice. “Trust me, I’ve been trying for years.” He makes his way beside Yoonji, shooing Taehyung and Jungsook away. “Go,” he says. “Namjoo’s trying on an outfit, and she wanted to see what you both thought.”

Taehyung and Jungsook’s eyes light up comically, and then they’re scrambling to the other side of the store, towards the dressing rooms. Yoonji tries not to laugh as she watches them go.

“Does it bother you?” She asks Hoseok when they’re gone. “That they both have such a big crush on her, I mean?”

Hoseok snorts. “No,” he replies. He picks up one of the caps from the rack in front of him, inspecting it closely. “I mean, why would it? Namjoo’s gorgeous and they both don’t mean anything by it. They’re harmless.”

“You say that now,” Yoonji jokes, “but when the two demons try to seduce your girlfriend in the dressing room…”

Hoseok laughs. “They’re harmless,” he repeats fondly. A few seconds of silence where they both inspect the caps in their hands. “But they’re right, you know.”

“About what?”

Hoseok doesn’t look at her. “It could’ve been easy for you both,” he says, sighing. “But you just…you both just make it so unnecessarily complicated.”

Yoonji shrugs. “It’s not unnecessarily complicated, we’re just taking precautions,” she says. “Making sure we don’t fuck up what we’ve been working for.”

“I know,” Hoseok says. “But something tells me what you’re both doing now is more likely to come back and bite you in the ass.” He rolls his eyes. “Remember Pyeongchang?”

As if Yoonji could ever forget. “Yeah,” she says. “And we came back stronger in Beijing. The only reason why Pyeongchang was such a disaster was because of what happened in Juniors.”

“No, it’s because you guys refused to talk about what happened and repressed your emotions so badly,” Hoseok replies. “You still repress them, by the way. You both just learned to live with the repression.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Yoonji shoots back.

“I guess,” Hoseok says, “except for the fact that it’s unnecessarily painful.” A pause, and then he lets out a sigh, shoulders slumping. “I’m tired of arguing with you about this, noona.”

“Then stop.”

Hoseok shakes his head. “I just…I want you to be aware of exactly what you could lose,” he says quietly. “He’s not going to wait around forever, you know.”

Hoseok’s words make something lodge in her throat. “I’m not asking him to,” Yoonji replies, as evenly as she can. “Like—like he’s dating Jaehwan now, isn’t he? I haven’t said a single thing about that.”

Hoseok sighs. “I know,” he says. “I know.” Another moment of silence where Yoonji just keeps looking down at the cap in her hands, turning it around slightly.

Finally, Hoseok speaks again. “You getting that for hyung?” He asks, nudging her lightly on the shoulder. There’s something sad in his voice. 

Yoonji clears her throat. “Thinking about it, yeah.”

“It’s cute. He’d like that, I think.” Hoseok puts the cap he’d been playing with back on the shelf before throwing an arm around Yoonji’s shoulders. “Come on, my stupid noona, let’s go to pay for it.”

Yoonji snorts, elbowing Hoseok in the side. “Call me stupid again and I’ll make sure Taehyung and Jungsook end up in a throuple with your girlfriend.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes fondly. “Guess we can be single together,” he says, and bodily steers Yoonji towards the cash register.

. . .

Jaehwan is here at the rink again. It’s the third time he’s surprised Seokjin after practice this week. Yoonji’s kind of annoyed that she’s starting to see him more often than her own parents, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“You can’t get enough of me, can you?” Seokjin teases as he steps off the ice. He doesn’t look too bothered by that fact. 

“How can I?” Jaehwan replies easily, “when you look at me like that?”

She’s also kind of annoyed that she has to bear witness to all this flirting. But again, that’s neither here nor there. 

A little ways away, Assistant Coach Kibum is snarking at Zamboni driver Minho again, and she tries to turn her attention onto them. But her ears don’t seem to want to cooperate because somehow, she’s still hearing their conversation, clear as day.

“Do you mind if we just head straight to mine?” Seokjin is asking.

“Ooh, trying to skip to the good part of the evening, are we?”

“No!” Seokjin exclaims, laughing, and she can almost see him now—ears flushing red, color high on his cheekbones. “God, no. I just need to be stricter with my diet. But I can cook you something else, if you want.”

“I don’t mind,” Jaehwan answers. “You’re a good cook. I’ll eat anything you make.”

For some reason, that gets Seokjin out of the rink in record time, calling out a “Bye, Yoonji,” when he’s already close to the exit, almost like he’d only just remembered. It’s a completely harmless action, but it still manages to make Yoonji feel like shit anyway.

She ignores all her friends’ looks as she heads to the locker rooms. 

. . .

Seokjin is right on time for training the next day, but it’s obvious it had been a struggle for him to get there—his hair is sticking out in all directions, and his shirt is a little rumpled. His eyes are hooded, like he can barely keep them open, and there’s a new bruise on his neck, right next to where the other one is slowly fading.

“I wasn’t able to get your coffee this morning,” he says groggily. “Sorry.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “That’s fine,” she says, before heading to the locker room to get ready for their physical therapy.

. . .

It’s not like she and Seokjin have never fought before—sixteen years of friendship under their belt means that they’ve had their fair share of disagreements, arguments, and in some instances, yelling matches. It’s just that they always made up immediately after, whether it’s with an awkward sorry, or a more elaborate, heart-felt apology. It’s just that they never let things between them fester, grow acrid and bitter until they grow resentful of each other; it’s just that, at the end of it, they always talk. Make an agreement to do better, to be better, to hear each other out more and to stay friends, like they always have. 

But see, Seokjin had said they weren’t fighting. And he is right, in a sense; nothing that happened between them can even be considered a disagreement. They had a moment, and then it ended, and then they’d moved on. Seokjin went and dated someone else, some he seemed to actually like, and Yoonji just did the same as she always did, focused on her training and their skating and her goals. It’s uneventful, except it’s not, because there’s a strange, underlying tension between them, one that makes Yoonji feel like she’s walking on eggshells, the ground beneath her feet about to give at any moment.

She wants to apologize. She wants to scream. She wants to beg, please oppa, just talk to me like you used to. But doing all that would be dramatic and frankly unnecessary, because she and Seokjin aren’t fighting.

It reminds Yoonji of Pyeongchang.

. . .

(“You guys need to get it together,” Coach Bang said. He’s not angry, but he’s clearly disappointed, lips pinched in a frown, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know what’s going on, and frankly, whatever’s between you two is none of my business, but you need to fix whatever it is, stat.” 

Yoonji kept her head bowed, didn’t say a word. Beside her, Seokjin was in a similar position, unable to meet Coach Bang’s eye.

Coach Bang sighed. “Everyone had been so excited to watch you both skate after Osaka,” he said. “But you both just—” he didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to. Yoonji knew exactly what he was going to say.

Their skate was shit. They’d been too awkward around each other, too stiff; Seokjin hadn’t even able to muster up his usual I glove you before they stepped on the ice. They fell out of step in their short dance, messed up an easy lift in their free dance. They trained so hard for this moment and then fumbled at the eleventh hour. They didn’t even make it to the podium.

Coach Bang pointed at them. “Fix this,” he said. “We worked so hard to get you both here.” A heavy pause. “If you don’t, you can say goodbye to your chances at an Olympic gold.”

It hurt to hear. But Yoonji knew that Coach Bang was right. They skated so well just months prior. Now, after that one moment, after that one kiss, it felt like they were children again, clumsily stepping onto the ice for the first time.

Coach Bang left after that, not bothering to stick around for their inevitable conversation. The air around them was heavy with shame and disappointment.

It’s Seokjin who broke the silence first. “Sorry,” he offered. The word was so simple, yet Yoonji could hear everything it contained, everything he wasn’t quite sure how to put into words. “At Juniors, I shouldn’t have—”

Yoonji shook her head. “No,” she said, because she didn’t want to hear it, because she knew her heart would shatter, hearing Seokjin apologize for that one kiss like he regretted it. “No, please don’t apologize for that.”

“But I have to,” Seokjin insisted, stubborn like always. “I just—” he let out a breath, scrubbed a hand down his face. “I ruined everything. I made things so awkward between us.”

Yoonji wanted to say, no, you didn’t. Wanted to say, it was my fault too, I kissed you back. Wanted to say, you’re breaking my heart right now, oppa; I love you, and you’re breaking my heart.

Instead, she kept silent. Felt tears well up in her eyes. 

“We…we made rules, didn’t we,” Seokjin kept talking, the words spilling out of him like he couldn’t control it. “We said we wouldn’t fall in love with each other. We also said that if something was off between us, we’d apologize and talk about it immediately.” He drew in a sharp inhale. “I broke both those rules, and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Yoonji.”

Yoonji shook her head, let her tears spill down her cheeks. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she said, her voice cracking. “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t only you. I also…” she trailed off. “I also did, oppa.”

Seokjin blew out a breath, and then it was silent between them, nothing left to say. Yoonji closed her eyes, and felt terrified—unsure of what to do or say. Unsure of how to make this all better; her heart cleaving cleanly into two.

This was an idea so intoxicating that it could ruin them. Yoonji wanted it so bad, hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss, about them, but the consequences were—if it didn’t work out, if they tried and they fucked it all up, it would destroy every single thing they worked for. 

She could lose her chance at the Olympics. She could lose Seokjin. And really, Yoonji didn’t know which prospect was worse.

It was Seokjin who spoke again. “We don’t—we don’t have to do anything,” he said so quietly that Yoonji had to strain to hear him. “Like, I know it’s a scary thought. We could just…pretend.”

Yoonji’s heart stuttered. “Pretend…?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin replied. “Pretend like it never happened, if you want.” He looked at her then, and his eyes had been filled with a sadness she’s never seen him wear. “That way, you can still get your shot at gold.”

And Yoonji had no idea how to do that anymore, every fundamental part of her transformed in the press of Seokjin’s lips against her skin, in Seokjin’s mouth against hers. But she’d been terrified of losing Seokjin, terrified of losing her shot at the gold that she found herself agreeing, scooting closer to rest her head against Seokjin’s shoulder. Seokjin wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her, just until she managed to pull herself together.

“Will we be okay?” She asked, right before she pulled away. She didn’t know where that question came from, or what it even meant, but Seokjin had sighed like he understood anyway.

“We will,” he said so fiercely that Yoonji couldn’t not believe him. “Of course we will.” A pause, then Yoonji felt the press of lips against her temple. “You’re my forever girl, aren’t you?”

And after that, when they returned to Seoul, she and Seokjin never spoke of the kiss again.)

. . .

The day before Seokjin’s birthday, Yoonji takes the seat next to him while he’s lacing up his skates. “What time do you want me to come over tomorrow?“ She asks, leaning back against her hands.

And that makes Seokjin freeze. “Um,” he says. His eyes are wide, and they dart from his feet to Yoonji and then back again.

“Actually,” he says, his voice pitched higher than normal, “I kind of…have plans?”

And—oh. “What?” Yoonji gets out, something aching in her chest.

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin says immediately, abandoning his skates to face her. Guilt is written all over his face, almost like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “It’s just that Jaehwan’s going to visit this grandparents on Sunday and he wanted to celebrate my birthday before leaving. He said he had a whole surprise planned and I…I couldn’t say no.”

Yoonji’s heart is hammering. She tries her best to mask it, shooting Seokjin a shaky smile. “I…I see,” she says after a moment. “No, no, it’s fine, I get it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. Just because we usually hang out for birthdays…” she trails off, shaking her head. 

Seokjin’s guilty expression hasn’t faded in the slightest. “Yoonji—”

“No, really, it’s fine,” Yoonji interrupts. She bends over,  pretends to tighten her skate. “Go…go have fun with your boyfriend, or whatever.”

A pause. “He’s not my boyfriend,” Seokjin says. There’s something strange in his voice as he says it. 

“Your…significant other?” Yoonji scrunches up her nose. “I have no idea how couples call each other nowadays. But yeah, oppa, just have fun. Don’t worry about me.” Something occurs to her. “So I suppose you won’t be in for training tomorrow?”

“Ah, yeah,” Seokjin replies, sheepish. “I was going to tell you and Coach Bang later, but—”

“No need to explain.” Yoonji doesn’t really know where she’s mustered up all these words; all she knows is that Seokjin deserves to spend his birthday with whoever he chooses. “Just…have fun, okay? Stay safe. I’ll give you your present some other time.”

She makes to leave, but she’s stopped by a hand on her wrist. “Wait,” Seokjin says a little desperately. Yoonji blows out a quiet breath, schools her face into something unassuming, before turning to look at Seokjin.

There’s something conflicted in his eyes. “You…” he trails off, licks his lips. “You got me a present?”

And a cake too, one that’s currently chilling in her fridge. It’s an expensive chocolate one she’d spent hours searching for after seeing it on Instagram; she’d been planning to bring it over to Seokjin’s place when she went over. But, well, he doesn’t need to know that.

“I get you a present every year,” she tells him, like it’s nothing.

“Yeah, but I thought…” Seokjin looks pained. He shakes his head, seems to compose himself. “Never mind. It’s nothing. I’m sorry again, Yoonji. And thank you for getting me a present.”

“I mean, it’s nothing special, really,” Yoonji says, feeling her face heating up. “Probably not as nice as Jaehwan’s surprises, or whatever.”

Something flickers across Seokjin’s face. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness anyway,” he says. He hesitates, looks like he’s about to say something else, but changes his mind at the last second. “We can do something else some other time.”

“Okay,” Yoonji says. “Sure.” And then she takes a few steps forward and gets on the ice, desperate to do anything to distract herself.

. . .

Later, once Seokjin has left the rink, eyes glued to his phone like he always is nowadays, Yoonji sidles up to Hoseok. “I have a super expensive chocolate cake in my fridge,” she tells him. “Help me decide what to do.”

Hoseok pauses. “Was it for Seokjin-hyung?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not giving it to him…why?”

“He has birthday plans with Jaehwan.” 

“Ah.” Hoseok’s eyes get a sad, pitying look. “Well, keep it and give it to him next time, I suppose.” A pause. “Did you want Namjoo and I to come over and keep you company?” 

Yoonji lets out a breath. “Yes, please,” she says in a rush, and doesn’t even react when Hoseok pulls her into a tight hug and pets her on the head like a cat.

(Yoonji drops off the cake and the present at Seokjin’s apartment two days later, just so  he can still enjoy it close to his birthday. Seokjin takes them from her at the door with a grateful smile, and Yoonji pretends she can’t spot Jaehwan, a few meters behind him, sporting a bed head and watching some TV.)

. . .

It gets worse. Or maybe better, depending on who you ask. Suddenly, Seokjin is in a perpetually good mood. He’s always fucking smiling, no matter how hard their training is, no matter how long they have to skate. Always glued to his phone during breaks, laughing at whatever texts Jaehwan sends him. It makes Yoonji feel like shit.

But it’s fine. It has to be fine. It has to be enough—Seokjin still skates with her at the rink, Seokjin still turns up to training most days. Seokjin still gets her her morning coffee even though he doesn’t meet her eye as he passes it to her, even though doesn’t make any more bad jokes or talk about his day or discuss whatever random thought he had the day before.

It’s all fine.

. . .

Hoseok leans towards her, a smile fixed into place. “You’re frowning again,” he hisses from the corner of his mouth. “Please fix your expression before someone else sees it.”

Yoonji turns to glare at him, lets out a sigh, and then for the eightieth time tonight, schools her face into something more pleasant.

They’re having some drinks to belatedly celebrate Seokjin’s birthday a week after, which is nice and all, except for the fact that Jaehwan is also here. Sitting next to Seokjin and hovering around him and being all funny and sweet and loving. 

Yoonji’s having a little bit of trouble pretending to be happy about it.

“I swear,” Jaehwan is saying, in the middle of some uninteresting story, “this guy was just not waking up. Jin and I tried literally everything; we called for him, we shook him, we even yelled fire! in the hopes that he’d wake up—absolutely nothing.”

The rest of the table titters. Maybe it wasn’t as uninteresting as Yoonji thought it was.

“And then what did you do?” Jimin asks, concerned.

Jaehwan hums. “Well, I told Jin to go ahead—because he had a class, right—but he refused to leave without making sure the guy was alright.” He leans back, lets his arm rest on the back of Seokjin’s chair. “So we waited around for another fifteen minutes for the infirmary people to come, and they did, but the guy was truly knocked out. You would’ve thought he was dead, if not for the fact that he was still snoring.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Eventually he woke up,” he says, taking over seamlessly. “And he was like, ‘What? Who? Where am I?’” He snickers. “He was incredibly disoriented. But he was completely fine, just a case of some meds making him drowsy.” He sighs. “Then since I already missed about half an hour of my class, Jaehwan and I just decided to go out for lunch.” He wrinkled his nose. “Bad decision on my part, really. My professor hates me enough as it is.”

“Professor Choi does not hate you,” Jaehwan argues.

“He does! I’m pretty sure I bombed the last exam—”

“And I’m pretty sure you did fine,” Jaehwan insists. “I reviewed with you, remember? We went over all your notes. You knew your stuff.”

“But—”

An elbow jostles her side. “Frowning,” Hoseok says again, a slight warning in his tone. Yoonji rolls her eyes, elbows him back, and gets up from her seat.

“I’m just going to pee,” she says to no one in particular, and escapes to the bathroom.

It’s fine, she thinks as she washes her hands in the sink, stares at her reflection in the mirror. I mean, sure, she hadn’t known that little story about Seokjin’s university classmate when usually he texts her first whenever things like that happen, and sure she didn’t know about Seokjin bombing his last exam, but really, it’s all fine. It doesn’t…it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change their friendship. Yoonji is still Seokjin’s best friend.

Something in Yoonji’s gut twists uncomfortably, like a serrated knife impaling itself deeper, and she has to blink a few times to stave off her tears. Really, there’s no reason for her to be crying. No reason to be all hurt just because there’s someone out there who knows Seokjin like this, knows all his bad jokes and little stories and passing thoughts. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change sixteen years.

She means to return to the table after she leaves the bathroom, but her feet take her elsewhere, past their table and out onto the terrace of the bar. It’s not exactly snowing—Yoonji can see snowflakes as they flurry by, but the temperature’s too warm for them to stay, melting as soon as they hit the ground.

She sighs, leans against the railing and looks up, watching the night sky. Out here it’s quiet, the bustle of the bar muted behind glass doors, and Yoonji takes a moment to let her mind wander, to shut her eyes and let everything wash over her. To sound out every emotion to their fullest extent, let their intensity pull her under, just so it’s easier to return to the table, easier to face Seokjin as if nothing's wrong.

Easier to pretend.

But the door behind her slides open and then shuts, the sound of footsteps on wood. “You’ve been gone for quite a while,” Seokjin’s voice says, all casual.

And isn’t that just something—the way Yoonji feels like she doesn’t really know Seokjin anymore, doesn’t know what he’s been up to or how he’s been doing or what he’s even fucking thinking, but Seokjin still knows all of Yoonji’s favorite hiding places, can still easily find her wherever she goes.

“Hobi’s getting a little worried,” Seokjin continues. “He’s trying to pretend he isn’t, of course, but it’s Hobi. You know how he gets when he lies.”

“Yeah,” Yoonji agrees, before silence falls over them once more.

Yoonji wants to turn around and face him, but she’s afraid—afraid of how Seokjin might look, afraid of what her face might give away. Afraid that she’ll lay eyes on him and burst into tears, cough up her heart from where it’s been lodged in her throat, present it to him all bruised and bleeding.

She needs to pretend. For her sake and for Seokjin’s sake, and for the sake of their partnership. 

“You coming inside?” Seokjin asks. From the sound of his voice, he’s made no move closer. “It’s getting really cold out.”

“Maybe in a minute.” 

“Is there something wrong?”

“No,” Yoonji says, and hates herself for how short it comes out. She clears her throat and tries again. “Everything’s fine, really. You can go ahead.”

There’s a moment where it’s clear that Seokjin doesn’t leave. “Yoonji,” he begins quietly, and the way he says her name makes her heart splinter, cleave cleanly into two. “If this is about Jaehwan—”

“Why would it be about Jaehwan?”

“I don’t know,” Seokjin replies, but the tone of his voice suggests otherwise. “If you don’t like him—”

“I never said that,” Yoonji interrupts. She lets out a breath to try and calm herself down. “I never said anything like that at all.”

A pause, and then Seokjin lets out a sigh. “I know,” he says, and Yoonji hears everything in it—the desperation, the sadness, the heartbreak. Everything they don’t talk about, everything that they keep unsaid.

The last time everything seemed fine between them, Seokjin had pressed her against her kitchen counter, want pouring out of him in waves. His hands on her hips, his lips on her skin, and Yoonji had felt like she was falling apart, rendered into nothing by the feel of Seokjin against her. 

And in retrospect, maybe they weren’t fine at all. Maybe nothing about their relationship had been fine, even though they’d done their best to pretend that it was, that they hadn’t fundamentally changed what they were to each other. Maybe the last time things were truly fine between them was five years ago—before the kiss, before Osaka. Maybe everything after that had only been a desperate simulation.

A desperate simulation she needs to hold on to. Because this—this could ruin everything.

The door opens, and shuts. “Jin,” she hears Jaehwan’s voice, and the way the nickname rolls off his tongue so easily makes Yoonji want to scream. “Why are you…” he trails off, probably spotting her. “Am I interrupting something?”

A moment of silence. “No,” Seokjin says, a forced lightness in his tone. “No, you aren’t interrupting anything.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Um, so there’s cake,” Jaehwan says a little awkwardly. “Taehyung and Jungsook prepared it as a surprise.”

“We’ll be right there.” The door opens, and shuts again. Even still, Yoonji knows she hasn’t been left alone.

“You should go.” Yoonji is a little surprised by how steady her voice comes out. She takes a deep breath, braces herself; turns to look at Seokjin over her shoulder. “You don’t want to make Jaehwan sad.”

But the sight before her isn’t one that she could’ve ever prepared herself for. Seokjin, she finds, is only in a sweater and a scarf, and he looks absolutely devastated. His hands are curled into fists at his sides, and he’s trembling minutely, either from the cold or from something else. 

“Yoonji,” he says, and her heart breaks at the sound of his voice. “Please just—”

“Just what?” Yoonji asks. A pause where they can  only look at each other, where Yoonji can read everything on Seokjin’s expression—the want and the ache; the way his heart is quietly breaking in front of her.

Yoonji swallow. “You should go, oppa,” she says, doing her best to muster up a smile. “I’ll…follow in a bit, don’t worry.”

The only reply she gets is silence. Seokjin looks like he still wants to argue, but eventually he shakes his head, heads back inside. The door slides open, and shut, and then Yoonji is left staring at her distorted reflection, left alone with her thoughts.

She’s doing the right thing. She knows she is; she and Seokjin promised, decided that things have to get set aside to preserve them—their partnership, their shot at gold. They had a taste of each other once and then fucked up. It can’t happen again. 

But then why, Yoonji thinks as she makes her way back inside, taking the seat next to Hoseok, why does the right thing feel so terrible?

. . .

The next week, Coach Bang tells her that Seokjin texted him and mentioned he was going to take the week off from training. Yoonji resists the urge to text him, to ask why he didn’t tell her; to drop by his apartment and check if he’s okay.

It’s pointless, anyway, she tells herself. He’ll be back the week after. He just needed a bit of time for himself. 

But the week after, she shows up at the rink at five in the morning and Seokjin still isn’t there.

. . .

They take a break for the holidays. So when Yoonji sees Seokjin the rink again, it’s after New Year, and Yoonji and Jimin are in the middle of some circuit training while they wait for their time on the ice. He isn’t dressed for training—dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a dark blue t-shirt—and he doesn’t make eye contact with her as he passes, just approaches Coach Bang and asks to speak to him privately.

“Do you know what that’s about?” Jimin huffs when they’re in the middle of a set.

Yoonji shrugs, taking a sip of water. “I’ll try and ask him later.”

In the end, she doesn’t have to—Seokjin hangs around the rink and watches her skate, waiting for her to finish. The instant she steps off the ice, he’s out of his seat and making his way to her.

“Nice of you to show your face,” Yoonji says when he’s within earshot, doing her best to keep her voice light. She’s missed him—three weeks isn’t a terribly long time, but she felt every day of it, something in her chest aching whenever she’d turned up at the rink and found herself alone. “You have a lot of catching up to do.”

Seokjin doesn’t crack a smile. “Yoonji,” he says, “can I speak to you privately?”

Yoonji’s brow furrows, but she nods anyway. “I mean, I’ll just get changed first, but yeah, sure.” She pauses. “Here, or…?”

Seokjin shakes his head. He looks strangely pale, like he’s nervous. “Can we do it at your place?”

“Oh, um. Yeah, sure,” Yoonji replies. Seokjin smiles at her, the action shaky, and Yoonji smiles back at him, quickly unlaces her skates and gets ready to leave.

The walk home is terribly awkward. Seokjin is fidgety and he doesn’t really respond when Yoonji tries to press him, so they end up walking in silence, directing their attention to other things. 

It’s never been this way between them before. Their shared silences have always been easy, comfortable. Yoonji hates how on edge she feels.

As soon as they get to Yoonji’s apartment, Seokjin takes off his shoes, hovers awkwardly by the door. He’s acting like he’s never been inside Yoonji’s apartment, like he hasn’t slept over countless times.

It makes Yoonji feel a little anxious.

“You can, uh, sit down if you want,” she says, trying to veer back into normalcy. Seokjin startles like he hadn’t even realized he was standing, and then nods once, going to sit on the couch. Yoonji takes the seat next to him.

For a minute they just sit in silence, nothing but the low hum of the heater punctuating their silence. Seokjin’s face is impassive, but his jaw is clenched, his spine ramrod straight. Something like dread settles in Yoonji’s stomach.

In the end, Seokjin blurts it out, no preamble whatsoever: “I’m thinking of retiring.”

At first, the words don’t register. But then her mind kicks into overdrive, all the implications of his words sinking in, and Yoonji's heart stops in its tracks.

“Wh-what?” She stutters out.

“Like, from skating,” Seokjin clarifies. He takes a deep breath, wringing his hands in his lap. “I’m thinking of retiring from skating.”

It’s a little ironic, she thinks, that this is the closest she’s been to Seokjin in weeks, that he’s sitting on her couch, in her apartment like he always has before, but everything that’s coming out from his mouth feels like a dagger straight to the heart.

“What?” She says again. “But…but why?”

Seokjin shrugs. “I haven’t been feeling it lately,” he says. He’s not meeting her eye. “And, you know, I’m—I’m getting kind of old to be an athlete. Kind of tired of the lifestyle too.”

“Bullshit,” Yoonji shoots back. If there’s one thing Yoonji knows about Seokjin, one thing she’s entirely sure about even despite their recent distance, is that Seokjin loves skating—loves the ice, loves the hard work, even loves the stupid cold that seeps into their bones and stays all the way until after training. “That’s…that’s bullshit, oppa.”

Seokjin lets out a heavy sigh. “What do you want me to say, Yoonji?” He asks rhetorically. “I don’t have a better explanation for you. I just…I want to live my life.”

“No one’s stopping you.” 

“Skating is.”

“You never had a problem with it before.”

“Yeah, well, people change,” Seokjin answers shortly. Another deep breath, almost like he’s trying to stop himself from lashing out. “Look. There’s just…there’s a lot of things that have to get cast aside when I’m skating. And I’m starting to feel like it isn’t really worth it anymore.”

Yoonji is spiraling. Her heart is hammering in her chest, and her stomach is churning violently, and she’s spiraling, unable to see straight, unable to think straight. Unable to do anything except look at Seokjin, feel her already-battered heart break into a million more pieces.

“This is because of Jaehwan, isn’t it?” She asks, her heart clenching painfully.

Seokjin startles. “What? No, this isn’t about—okay, well, maybe partly,” he amends, his head tilting to the side thoughtfully. “I mean, I guess that since we…since we started going out, he made me realize just how many things I’ve been missing out on.”

Yoonji feels ill. Violently ill. “Oppa, if you’re about to throw away an Olympic-level career for some boy—”

“He’s not some boy,” Seokjin bites back, “and I’m not throwing it away for him.” He pauses, and Yoonji can see him carefully choose his words. “I want to have a life, Yoonji. A life outside of skating. Is that so hard to understand?”

He takes a deep breath. “Don’t worry, I already spoke to Coach Bang,” he continues before Yoonji can say anything. “I’m not officially resigning yet—it’ll just be a hiatus for a few months. So that on the off chance I change my mind, I can still come back. But right now…yeah,” he finishes, a little stilted. “I just wanted to let you know so I wouldn't be leaving you in the dust.”

Wouldn’t be leaving you in the dust. That’s rich, it really is. “Aren’t you?” Yoonji accuses. “We’re a fucking ice dancing team, Seokjin. How the fuck can I—the Olympics—”

“I already spoke to Coach Bang about that too,” Seokjin says. He’s still not looking at her, his gaze still glued to the wall on the opposite end of Yoonji’s living room. “I mean, it’s not the worst case scenario—you can still find a new partner. I guess you guys would just have to train a little harder, but that shouldn’t be a problem, I think.” He shrugs, the action is a little stiff. “Besides, you only really need two years to make it to the Olympics, and you still have plenty of time until then.” 

Then his mouth quirks up in a small, insincere smile. “I have no doubt you can do it though, Yoonji. You’ve always been a lot better than me.”

And the easy way says all that, like he’s thought about it, like he’s rehearsed it—that fucking hurts. “We’ve always been better together,” Yoonji begins, her voice low. “I’ve—oppa, you have to know I can’t do this without you. I can’t do any of this without you.”

“Yoonji—”

Yoonji shakes her head, unwilling to let him finish. “I thought you said you’d skate with me forever,” she says desperately, the words tumbling from her lips before she can stop them. She looks at Seokjin, begs with everything in her for him to turn and face her. Look at me. Please fucking look at me. “You—you said I was your forever girl.”

And it works—Seokjin’s head whips around to face her, his eyes wide with surprise. But his surprise instantly gives way to anger, red-hot and seething. “No,” he says, and it’s the first sincere thing Yoonji’s heard him say since they started this conversation, the first thing that didn’t sound practiced to death. “No, you don’t get to do this to me.”

“What?” Yoonji’s heart is hammering in her chest: from the emotion, from the adrenaline, from finally having Seokjin’s full attention on her. “What do you mean?”

Seokjin shakes his head, and Yoonji can see tears dotting the corners of his eye. “You don’t get to pretend like I’m the bad guy, sitting here and breaking your heart like you haven’t been doing the exact same thing to me for the last five years. The last five years,” he emphasizes. “And I’m tired.”

“I’m not fucking pretending—what are you even talking about?”

Seokjin ignores her, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re just so—so fucking hard to love,” he spits out, his voice filled with raw emotion. “I’ve been in love with you for so long but it still isn’t—you never make it any easier for me. All you ever think about, Yoonji, is that fucking gold medal.”

He breaks off, averting his gaze once more. When he speaks again, his voice is a little calmer. “And I’m just tired. Tired of being around you, tired of always putting you first when you won’t even do the same for me—tired of being hopelessly in love with you and knowing you refuse to even entertain the thought of us.”

“I—I mean,” Yoonji says, scrambling for words. “It’s not that I don’t—”

“You don’t what?”

A pause.

Seokjin turns to her, desperation in his eyes. “You don’t what, Yoonji?”

Yoonji tries to speak, finds that she can’t, unable to force the words past the lump in her throat.

Seokjin laughs, the sound derisive. “See,” he says, “you can’t even say it. You can never bring yourself to say it out loud.”

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t,” Yoonji insists. “I just…if I said it, it would—I don’t want to ruin anything between us.”

Seokjin makes a noise. “You really don’t get it,” he says, his voice pained. “Yoonji, everything between us has already been ruined. Ever since Pyeongchang, hell, ever since fucking Osaka, nothing about us has been right.”

“And that’s my fault?” Yoonji shoots back, hurt. “Because if I recall correctly, it was your idea to pretend that nothing ever happened.”

“Because of you!” Seokjin explodes, no longer able to hold back. “You wanted that gold so bad, you’ve always wanted that gold, and you were so fucking heartbroken when we skated like shit because we couldn’t get it together after I fucking kissed you. I love you, and I just wanted to give you what you wanted.”

A moment of silence where neither of them say anything. Seokjin is breathing heavily, his eyes still wide, desperate as they regard her. And all Yoonji wants—no, needs—is to have Seokjin closer, to be able to reach out and touch him, to wrap her arms around his shoulders and just hold him. 

But Seokjin’s dating Jaehwan now, and Yoonji isn’t a shitty enough person to come in between that; but Seokjin is too far away for her to reach for now, separated by light years and galaxies and solar systems.

Seokjin takes a breath, wetting his lips. “I fucked up,” he says quietly. “I’ll admit it, I fucked up. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to have you right there, to see you every morning and every evening and every weekend but not be able to do anything about it. It was torture—it’s been torture, but I endured it for years. But now I just—” he shakes his head, his voice faltering, “I met someone who’s good to me, someone who makes me smile, and I just…I want to be happy, now.”

Yoonji doesn’t know what to say to that. She keeps her mouth shut, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. 

“Jaehwan is nice,” Seokjin continues, his voice still quiet. “He’s nice and he’s funny and he’s been so, so good to me. He’s never once complained whenever I had to ditch him for training, and I just…I want to try and give him what he deserves, too.” A tear falls from his eye, streaks down his cheek. “Given some time, I think maybe I could—maybe I could even—”

He stops, presses his lips together and shakes his head. But he doesn’t need to say it; Yoonji’s known Seokjin for so long that she can tell what he’d been about to say.

“You could even love him,” she finishes quietly, her heart splintering into pieces.

The look in Seokjin’s eyes tells Yoonji everything she needs to know. “I just need to move on,” he says, his voice full of sadness. “From skating and from you, most especially. I don’t…I don’t think I’d ever be able to love anyone else if I saw you everyday.” The curve of his lip is a soft, sad thing. “I don’t think I’d want to, either. And that isn’t—that isn’t healthy for me.”

Yoonji has nothing left to give him—no words, no thoughts, no actions. Her heart has been mangled into something unrecognizable, laid on the floor by Seokjin’s feet. 

Seokjin looks away, taking a deep breath to compose himself. “I should go,” he says, getting to his feet. He doesn’t look back at Yoonji as he heads to the entryway, slipping on his shoes. “I’ll…I’ll see you around, Yoonji.”

And then he slips out the door, the beep of the locking mechanism signalling his departure. Yoonji stares at the space he’d vacated, does her best not to think of anything at all.

She only manages to last five minutes until she breaks down.

. . .

The next morning, she’s at the rink earlier than usual, numbly watching as Minho smooths out the ice for training today. There’s nothing left inside her. No other emotion she can muster up.

“Oh, you’re early,” someone says, and then Jimin is next to her, dropping his training bag onto the ground beside her. He takes a seat, stretching a little. “Is Seokjin-hyung finally coming to train today?” 

Yoonji shakes her head. “No,” she says, and her voice sounds distant even to her own ears. She hesitates, but eventually decides to say it. “Actually, he…he isn’t coming back at all."

. . .

In Beijing, Seokjin and Yoonji had been triumphant.

They were the dark horse of the competition, a team no one really expected much from after their disappointing skate in Pyeongchang. They weren’t the favorites, they didn’t have extensive press outside of South Korea, they weren’t ones to watch out for. Their names were only mentioned as an afterthought, like a consolation prize: you won’t win but congratulations on making it to the Olympics all the same.

But then they’d stepped on the ice, and well—they’d shocked the world, really.

They scored a career-best of 210.55, rocketed all the way to fourth place, just behind the Americans who’d nabbed the bronze. They had everyone talking, discussing their routines and their chemistry and how they should’ve scored higher, should’ve made it to the podium at least—no one, they murmured, no one skated like the Koreans did in this competition. 

They didn’t win, but they had been triumphant nonetheless.

After the awarding, Seokjin had turned to her, and the expression on his face was one she could never forget—a gorgeous smile paired with a determined fire in his eyes. “Next time,” he promised her as he threw a hand over her shoulders. “We’ll get it next time.”

And Yoonji reached up to hold his hand, looked at him, and felt happiness, only happiness. 

. . .

But how quickly time flies. How quickly a year changes things.

. . .

“He retired?” Jungsook asks. She looks almost like she’s about to cry—her eyes wide, her lower lip in a pout. “Like he actually—he’s actually giving up skating?”

Yoonji shrugs, keeping her eyes trained on her food. “Technically, he said he was taking a hiatus,” she replies, as she mixes her salad. “But, you know what those are like.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says knowingly. “They always say they’ll come back but they never will.”

“But…but he loves skating,” Jungsook says, her voice taking on a heartbroken quality to it. “He can’t just give it up.”

“Well, he did.” Yoonji doesn’t really want to talk about it, but everyone else deserves to hear it—they’re all friends after all, and they should all know the reason behind Seokjin’s sudden disappearance from the rink.

“What are you going to do?” It’s Namjoo who asks, and she sounds worried. “Unnie, you can’t skate without a partner.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “Dunno,” she says tonelessly, stabbing at a piece of lettuce with her fork. “I’ll keep training, I guess. Try to look for a new partner.” She lets out a sigh. “There must be someone out there.”

“Fighting,” Namjoo says kindly.

This whole time, Hoseok hasn’t said anything. When she finally looks up at him, a little curious, she finds him watching her, something sad in his gaze. 

“He wasn’t going to wait around forever,” he reminds her quietly.

There’s a sudden lump in Yoonji’s throat. “I know,” she gets out, and then looks away, tries to blink back the tears that had sprung up so suddenly.

. . .

In theory, training solo isn’t so different from training with Seokjin. Aside from the fact that there’s no more lift practice, it stays mostly the same—off-ice conditioning and ballet and calisthenics paired with some freestyle skating whenever she gets her time on the ice. The other things aren’t so different, too: she only has to wake up fifteen minutes earlier in the morning to make sure she has time to grab her morning coffee, and she spends more time with the others now. And nowadays, she mostly eats alone—breakfast and dinner with only herself for company.

In theory, it isn’t so different. And yet, Yoonji feels like her world’s been flipped upside down and drained of color; feels like every new day is just a painful reminder of the fact that Seokjin retired, Seokjin isn’t here anymore, Seokjin left her. Of sixteen years of skating together, of being together, all over.

It’s a little funny; Yoonji had never realized how often she thought of Seokjin until he just wasn’t there anymore, the space he’d left behind a chasm she doesn’t know how to fill. She’s heard it said countless times, never let someone occupy your mind, never let them reside in your thoughts. But Seokjin had been with her before she even understood what that meant, had slipped into her consciousness and laid down the foundation, built himself a home in her dreams. He’d been second nature to her—easy as breathing, as sleeping; sitting at the back of her mind through every thought she ever had, every decision she ever had to make.

Through everything, she thought of him. And now, with absolutely nothing left in her, she still thinks of him.

It’s difficult to unlearn a habit once it’s seeped in so deeply, but Yoonji tries, anyway. She wakes up and she trains and she does her absolute best not to think of Seokjin, to not feel like she’s been split cleanly into two, half of her missing, half of her gone.

. . .

February comes, and it brings a lot of things with it—mind numbing cold, a few meters of snow, and Coach Bang’s pitying gaze as he pulls her aside to speak with her.

“If we really want to target Milano Cortina we really have to start now,” he tells her. His voice is gentle and his eyes are kind, almost like he knows exactly how Yoonji feels—like she’s a cracked mirror barely holding herself together, liable to fall apart at any given moment. “There aren’t a lot of male ice dancers, and most everyone’s already been paired up. But we have to start looking as soon as possible—he’s going to need as much time as possible to get up to speed.”

The words hurt to hear. But Yoonji tries not to let it show on her face, does her best to keep herself calm, to keep her voice level. “Yeah, sure,” she says. “That’s fine. The earlier we start training the better our chances are.”

Her words make Coach Bang smile at her, but it doesn’t last long—his expression falters, replaced by something a little more worried. “I know it hurts,” he says, and he doesn’t even need to clarify for Yoonji to know exactly what he’s talking about. “You skated together for a long time. Of course it hurts. But you have to keep your chin up, okay?” He reaches out to pat her on the back. “We’ll get over this. I promise. You can still get your shot at gold.”

And for the first time ever, Yoonji finds that the thought of that Olympic gold doesn’t bring her joy; does nothing to lift her out from the numbness that’s seeped into her. But still,  she does her best to respond, mustering up a smile just so he doesn’t worry too much. 

“Thank you, Coach,” she says, and holds her expression for as long as it takes him to turn away.

. . .

(“Happy birthday,” Seokjin said, grinning wildly. He was eleven, and he’d just come home from spending the weekend at his uncle’s place in Chungcheongnam. He’d had his training bag in one hand and a box of strawberries in another, and in true Seokjin fashion, he promptly deposited them onto Yoonji’s lap. “This is for you!”

Yoonji stared down at them, a little surprised. “Thanks,” she replied. She paused. “Um, what’s this…?”

“Your birthday present!” Seokjin sat on the seat beside her and dropped his training bag on the floor without a care in the world. “My uncle has a strawberry farm and he grows the best strawberries. I picked the prettiest ones for you.”

Seokjin’s words made Yoonji feel warm. “But why?“ She asked, setting the box aside carefully. 

“`Cause it’s your birthday. Duh.”

“No, like, does it make a difference if they’re pretty or not?”

Seokjin made a face. “Yoonji, nobody wants to eat an ugly strawberry.”

“But ugly strawberries can be delicious too!” Yoonji insisted. “It doesn’t matter if they’re pretty or they’re ugly—what matters is how sweet they are.”

Seokjin sighed, the action full of fondness. “You’re right,” he said. “My mistake. Next time I’ll only pick strawberries as ugly as your face.”

“Hey!” Yoonji said affronted, but she couldn’t stop smiling. There was a moment when neither of them said anything, just stared at each other with matching grins on their faces.

Then—”Kids, get your skates on,” Coach Bang called from behind them, and the both of them startled, turned around to give him a nod. Then it was back to normal—the both of them putting on their skates, getting ready to train.

Eventually Yoonji made a small noise. “Thank you for the present, oppa,” she said as politely as she could. 

From the corner of eye, she could see Seokjin shake his head. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something but changed his mind, reached over to pat her on the back instead.

It was the first birthday present she ever received from Seokjin. Over the years, she’ll come to receive more, but nothing ever felt quite as special, quite as sweet as this one.)

. . .

Yoonji’s birthday is a nice affair. Hoseok and Namjoo convince her to skip training for the day, and she sleeps in, only getting out of bed when it’s time to head to her classes. Afterwards, Hoseok picks her up and they walk around the city, do a bit of window shopping. And when the sun starts setting, he takes her to a small barbecue restaurant, where Namjoo, Jimin, Taehyung and Jungsook are waiting, with excited grins and a cake for her to blow out.

It’s fun. Yoonji eats good food and laughs with her friends, ignores the conspicuous hole brought about by a particular absence—a phantom limb, lingering. Does her best not to let the overwhelming sadness creep up on her, bowl her over when she looks around the table and finds herself missing a pair of kind eyes, a private smile reserved just for her.

(Seokjin does greet her later, when she’s already lying in bed. It’s nothing special, just a short message—happy birthday yoonji! hope you had fun today! He sends it thirty minutes before the day ends, like an afterthought to a more interesting, more eventful day. It makes Yoonji feel like shit.

thanks, she types out in reply, and then rolls onto her stomach and hides her face in her pillow.)

. . .

Her new skating partner’s name is Yoo Kihyun. He’s her age, recruited here from the ice rink over at Goyang. He’s a single male figure skater who’d wanted to try something new. He was also the only one Coach Bang could find at the last minute.

He’s…okay, Yoonji thinks as she watches him skate, doing an intermediate footwork sequence that Coach Bang had taught him to fully see what he’s capable of. He doesn’t have Seokjin’s natural poise, or Seokjin’s hidden grace that only seems to come out whenever he steps foot on the ice, but he’s not bad. It’ll take a lot of work to get him to competition speed, but they still have some time. And he at least knows the basics, so they don’t have to start from scratch. It’s just a matter of them getting on the same page, and then staying on the same page.

“I think he’s fine,” Yoonji tells Coach Bang later, once Kiyun has left with a small wave goodbye. “I mean, I don’t—I don’t mind. It’ll take some effort, but I think we’ll be able to work together.”

Coach Bang’s smile is a little sad. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says, and then excuses himself to make a few phone calls.

. . .

Days pass. And then weeks. And then the last conversation she had with Seokjin becomes old news to their friends, forgotten in the face of schoolwork and new relationships and ice rink news. 

Namjoo and Jungsook’s hockey team wins the intercollegiate finals. 

Hoseok and Taehyung perform in a dance recital. 

Zamboni driver Minho, in a fit of courage, finally asks Assistant Coach Kibum out; Yoonji had only been able to muster up a bit of amusement at how Minho had blurted it out in the middle of one of Coach Kibum’s tirades, and at how Coach Kibum had gotten all flustered before he agreed, said yes but sounded absolutely resigned, like he already hated the idea. 

And see, that’s the thing—everyone else does something else. Everyone else moves on. But Yoonji stays stuck, unmoving, chained down by the weight of sixteen years and everything it meant to her. Of everything Seokjin meant to her—words she never said out loud but now wishes she had, because anything, literally fucking anything, would be better than this limbo she’s stuck in. She’d been terrified to ruin their partnership and now they’re not partners; she’d been terrified to lose him and now he’s gone. Maybe, maybe if she had taken the leap, he’d still be here—maybe, if she tried, it wouldn’t have been so bad if it all went to hell. She would’ve had him—all of him—maybe for just a split second, maybe for just a heartbeat, or maybe for years to come, and it would’ve been worth it.

But now she’ll never know, because she doesn’t even speak Seokjin anymore. Seokjin asked for space to get over her and Yoonji would be a terrible person if she didn’t even respect that.

So she keeps her distance. Sticks to her daily routine. Only sees him once, in the coffee shop she frequents before afternoon training—him and Jaehwan sitting at a table, their heads bent as they study together. Seokjin’s cheeks have softened without the rigorous daily training, Jaehwan has his foot hooked around Seokjin’s ankle.

It’s cute, a little sweet. He looks happy. They both look happy.

Yoonji turns and leaves without buying anything.

. . .

“We should go to a club again,” Jimin tells her while they’re skating figure eights around the rink. Kihyun isn’t training today—he said something about a deadline he really needed to meet, but swore up and down that he’ll be there tomorrow. Or was it the day after tomorrow? Yoonji didn’t really care much, honestly.

“It’ll be fun,” Jimin continues, undeterred by her lack of response. “It was really fun last time and it sucks that you weren’t able to go.” When Yoonji doesn’t say anything, he rolls his eyes a little, pouting. “C’mon,” he begs. “It’ll be a nice way to celebrate the spring. And maybe meeting new people will help you get out of your weird funk.”

“I’m not in a funk,” Yoonji mumbles in reply. Jimin ignores her.

“You deserve to be happy too, noona,” he says earnestly.

Yoonji sighs. “I am happy, Jimin,” she says monotonously, speeding up her steps. Jimin doesn’t let her escape though, picking up his pace to glide effortlessly next to her. “Right now, I just want to train and get Kihyun up to speed so we can bring home the gold medal in 2026.”

“But 2026 is still so far away,” Jimin complains. “You deserve a break too.” A pause, where Yoonji does her best to ignore him. “Hoseok-hyung and Namjoo-noona have said they want to go. And I’m sure Taehyungie and Jungsookie would jump at the chance. If you want, I can even ask Seokjin-hyung—”

And Yoonji doesn’t understand why, but the sound of Seokjin’s name uttered so easily like that—like they haven’t all but lost contact with him—makes Yoonji screech to a halt. She feels, for the first time since this whole thing shitshow started, angry; at Seokjin, at Jimin, at the whole fucking world that’s been moving on like Yoonji hadn’t just lost the best thing in her life.

And at herself. Yoonji is so, so fucking furious at herself for letting Seokjin slip away.

“Jimin, I’m not fucking going.” The words come out harsh, and Jimin blinks, taken aback by the sudden vitriol. Yoonji opens her mouth to say something else, decides against it, and then just shakes her head, skating to the edge of the rink and stepping off the ice. 

It takes a moment, then she hears Jimin speak. “Noona, I’m—I’m sorry,” Jimin calls out from behind her, and then she hears the sound of his skates moving frantically as he chases after her. “I didn’t realize it was still such a sore spot—”

Yoonji whips around, anger coming over her in waves. “Of course it’s a fucking sore spot,” she says, barely able to control her voice. “It was sixteen years. He up and left me after sixteen fucking years.”

“I—I know,” Jimin says. “But I—”

Yoonji cuts him off. “How the fuck would you feel if you’d lost your skating partner, your best friend?” She asks rhetorically. “How the fuck would you feel if your best friend just decided he’d had enough of you, dropped you out of nowhere just like how oppa dropped me?”

“I understand,” Jimin says, “But noona—”

“I am allowed to feel how I fucking feel.” The words spill from Yoonji’s lips like a dam breaking, anger and heartbreak and pain spilling out from her in waves. “So no, I am not over it, I am never going to be fucking over it, and I am not going to the fucking club with you, Jimin, just so you can try to foist me onto random people in some stupid attempt to try and make me happy.”

That makes Jimin bristle. “Well, I’m sorry if I care about your well-being,” he spits, and for the first time since she’s known Jimin, she sees his resolve harden, his sweet nature turning into steel. “I’m sorry that one of us here is actively trying to help you move on from this—this depression you’re in.” He raises an eyebrow. “A depression you caused yourself, by the way, because things could’ve been so, so easy for you. You literally had everything you ever wanted right there and you blew it.”

Yoonji kind of wants to smack him. “It was never going to be fucking easy,” she spits back. “Don’t talk about shit you don’t fucking know.”

“It was,” Jimin insists stubbornly, anger all over his face. “You know it. I know it. Everybody in the whole fucking world knows it. You were just too afraid to take the leap.”

“I wasn’t fucking afraid, I was just—”

“Yeah? You were what?” Jimin challenges. He’s drawn himself to his full height, his chest puffed out and his head held high. “Tell me, noona, because I don’t understand it either. Seokjin-hyung waited for you. He tried over and over. But sooner or later, he was bound to get tired.”

Yoonji’s eyes burn. “You don’t—you don’t know shit,” she tells Jimin desperately. “I—you have no fucking clue—”

Jimin doesn’t back down. “I think it’s great hyung met Jaehwan,” he says. “At least now he knows how being loved is supposed to feel. It’s better, healthier for him to try and move on then to sit around waiting for someone who’ll never give him the chance. And I don’t know why no one ever helped him realize this.” He pauses, an angry fire burning in his eyes. “Face it, noona. You’re a coward and you lost him.”

“What’s going on here?” Someone interrupts loudly, and Yoonji startles, turns to find Hoseok a few meters away, brow furrowed and mouth pressed in a stern line. Behind him is Taehyung—whose eyes are larger than Yoonji’s ever seen them—and his gaze darts from Jimin to her and then back again.

And in an instant, Yoonji comes back to her senses, and all the fight drains out of her. She shakes her head, sits herself heavily on the nearest bench, feeling a little weak. “Nothing,” she says. She takes a deep breath, keeps her gaze trained on the floor. “It’s nothing. It was just…a minor disagreement.”

There’s a moment of silence, a sound of some shuffling. “Jimin, I’ll deal with this,” she hears Hoseok say, and then the next moment he’s sitting on the seat beside her, his presence a little comforting.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle. “Hey,” he says. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

Yoonji shakes her head. “It was nothing,” she repeats. “It was just…Jimin wanted to go to a club and I told him I didn’t want to go.”

Hoseok hums. “That’s it?” 

Yoonji’s mouth feels dry. “He…he also may have mentioned inviting Seokjin-oppa,” she admits quietly.

“Ah.” Hoseok shifts to lean back on his hands, extending his feet in front of him. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, clearly choosing his next words carefully. “Well, hyung is our friend,” he eventually says. There’s a forced casualness to his tone. “He and Jimin text a lot.”

Yoonji’s head whips up at that little tidbit. “They do?” She gets out, her heart stuttering uselessly in her chest.

“They do.” There’s something strange in the curve of Hoseok’s smile—kind of like he thinks something is funny, but can’t bring himself to laugh. Irony, Yoonji’s brain supplies, for some strange reason. Situational Irony. “Actually, if I’m being honest, he texts all of us, but he mostly keeps in contact with the maknaes.”

“Oh.” Yoonji’s throat feels thick with emotion, with unshed tears. “He doesn’t—he doesn’t text me.”

Hoseok’s gaze turns a little pitying. “Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?” He asks.

And one day, Yoonji thinks—maybe one day everything about Kim Seokjin will stop affecting her like this; maybe one day her heart will cease to flutter at the mention of his name, cease to ache whenever she remembers how lovely he is. Maybe one day, Yoonji will wake up and she’ll be okay, moved on and well-adjusted and happy with her life, nothing but fondness and love for her memory of Seokjin. But right now, everything, every emotion she’s been keeping at bay washes over her—the hurt and the sorrow and the anger and the frustration and the yearning, the all-encompassing yearning that starts from deep within her bones, from her very foundation. The way she had Seokjin for so long, and then lost him just like that. The way she loved him for so long and never did anything about it.

Jimin was right: she is a coward.

“I miss him, Hobi.” The words slip from her mouth before she can even think too much about it, settling in the air around them. “I miss him and I want him and I love him so, so much.”

It’s the first time she’s ever said those words aloud—first time she’s ever let them exist outside her thoughts. She’s heard saying things out loud makes them real, makes them true, but maybe this little barrier had been a moot point, a threshold she’d built up to be bigger than it was. Because spoken aloud or tucked neatly into her thoughts, it’s still the truest thing she’s ever known.

Hoseok’s sigh is quiet. “I know,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Yoonji to hear. “He knows, too.” A pause, where neither of them say anything. “And that’s why he had to retire.”

. . .

“I didn’t mean to fight with you yesterday,” Jimin tells her the next day. He’s looking at her with a downturned mouth and puppy dog eyes, and in his hand is a large pastry which he presents to her. “I just—I was so—I’m very sorry,” he finishes.

Yoonji takes the pastry, unable to help the amused quirk of her mouth. “Very eloquent there,” she teases.

“I’m serious!” Jimin stamps his foot, but he doesn’t look too upset. “I didn’t mean to call you a coward, or to educate you about your relationship with hyung. You were right, I shouldn’t have talked about things I don’t know.”

Yoonji waves a hand. “Apology accepted,” she replies easily. “But look, you were right. I was a coward. He put himself out there and I didn’t do anything about it.” She shrugs. “Now he’s gone.”

Jimin doesn’t comment on that. And then, “He asks us about you sometimes, you know?”

Yoonji’s chest clenches painfully. “He does?”

“Yeah,” Jimin replies. He hesitates. “He still…he always likes to hear that you’re okay.”

It’s funny, the effect he still has on her even though he’s gone. Yoonji shuts her eyes, takes a deep breath, staving away the sudden tears that spring to her eyes.

“Let’s head to training,” she says, and turns away from Jimin before he can say anything else.

. . .

It’s a few days later that Yoonji finds herself at the kiss and cry with Kihyun, strangely nervous. Coach Bang had made them learn a routine over the past few days—nothing too crazy, just something simple so Kihyun could get a feel of what ice dancing was really like. To her surprise, Kihyun had picked up on the whole thing fairly quickly; his footwork has been clean, and he’s already been able to perfectly execute a few easy lifts off-ice. The only thing left for him to do is to skate it.

She has absolutely no reason to be on edge; she knows she’s a good skater, and Kihyun isn’t half-bad himself. Stepping on the ice for her, for both of them is second nature—they’ve done this long enough that they know how to manage their weight, to keep their balance. But Kihyun’s never skated with anyone before, and Yoonji, well. She’s never skated with anyone else.

Normally when she’s this nervous, Seokjin would know immediately—he’d calm her down with a few words, or hold her hand and tell a bad joke. Pull her close and whisper I glove you, before they step on the ice, like it’s precious, like it’s a secret only the both of them share. 

But now Seokjin isn’t here, and Yoonji is left with only herself to deal with her nerves.

She hopes, distantly, that Kihyun would say something—anything, just so she can turn her attention to him and forget about the way her heart is hammering in her chest like she’s at the Olympics all over again. But Kihyun stays silent as they wait for the music to play, and Yoonji feels small, feels like she’s drowning all over again.

The last time she hadn’t heard Seokjin’s I glove you, they’d skated Pyeongchang. Yoonji had gotten into her head about the kiss and about everything between them, and she hadn’t been able to shake it off when the music started. She thinks, as the music plays, the both of them in their starting positions, that it’s a little similar to how she feels right now—all her thoughts hurtling in different directions at light speed, unable to form one single, logical train of thought.

The glide of her skate against the ice. She’d been seven when she first laid eyes on Seokjin, clumsy on his skates like a newborn deer. Kihyun’s arm wraps around her waist, and it’s bizarre, it really is. He doesn’t quite grip her with the same pressure as Seokjin’s does; Seokjin’s fingers were long, the tips of it curved like swan’s necks. Yoonji loves them: she loves everything about Seokjin.

They pull apart, execute a series of spins. The day Seokjin told her he was retiring, she felt a little dizzy, just like this—like the whole world spinning while she stayed rooted in place. Everyone else does something else, she thought. Everyone else moves on. Kihyun pulls her back in, his forehead pressed against hers. The last time everything seemed fine between them, Seokjin had pressed her against her kitchen counter, want pouring out of him in waves—his hands on her hips, his lips on her skin. Kihyun shifts closer, their noses bumping into each other clumsily. But the last time everything truly was fine between them was before Seokjin kissed her in a rush of adrenaline, in a rush of euphoria; kissed her in front of their parents and their coaches and their own wildly-beating hearts. 

A step sequence they do side by side; Seokjin had been by her side while they’d eaten ice cream by the river. A little jump skip; Seokjin regifted her his Valentine’s chocolate, Seokjin promised to pick strawberries as ugly as she was. Another five spins—God, Yoonji hates spins—then a hard pivot to prepare for a lift. It’s cold out, but Seokjin always knew when to swap her iced americanos for something warmer. She skates backwards, sees Seokjin triumphant, sees Seokjin with a determined fire in his eyes, we’ll get it next time. Sees Seokjin with his head bent in a coffee shop, cheeks softened without the rigorous daily training, Jaehwan’s foot hooked around his ankle.

Her ankle falters. She doesn’t quite take off right. Kihyun catches her but he doesn’t quite grip her with the same pressure as Seokjin does. She slips through his fingers the way Seokjin slipped through hers.

Then they tumble in a heap of limbs and skates, and Yoonji shuts her eyes as she falls, feels a little like she’s flying until her head collides on the ice with a thud.

There’s a loud gasp. And then—silence. Yoonji keeps her eyes closed, her chest heaving with breaths, hears nothing but the pounding of her heart in his ears.

Everything goes a little hazy after that. She doesn’t quite remember how she gets off the ice, but when she comes back to her senses, she’s sat in a little room, the doctor onsite hovering around, checking her for a possible concussion. Yoonji lets them examine her, does as she’s told to do; doesn’t speak unless she’s spoken to, and even then she doesn’t say much, just yes, no or maybe.

She thinks she’s fine, but she doesn’t really know. She doesn’t really know anything nowadays, can’t really think of much else aside from Seokjin.

But then there’s the quiet creak of the door hinge, like someone’s slipping into the room. A quiet shuffle of footsteps and then a “Yoonji,” in a familiar voice, all sweet and loving when he says her name.

And Yoonji’s eyes blow wide.

At first she thinks she might be hallucinating it, her injured brain dreaming up Seokjin standing by the door and looking at her worriedly, dressed in a cap and some dark jeans, wearing a black bomber jacket with a streak of pink up his left arm. But then he moves, crosses the space between them with a few long strides, crouching down in front of her with eyes  so tender that it steals all the breath from her lungs. 

“Hey,” he says, his tone worried. He reaches out, his hand coming up to rest on the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “I saw your fall. Are you okay?”

And that’s. “Oppa,” she gets out, her voice cracking around the word, and finally, finally, she caves—throws her arms around Seokjin’s neck as she lets everything go, hugs him as she finally, truly falls apart. Seokjin’s arms come up to hug her as she sobs wrack through her body, his nose pressed to her hair, breathes her in as she just cries—for everything she had, for everything she lost. For him, for her. For them and their partnership, for them and their sixteen years.

She’s missed him so, so much.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Yoonji hears Seokjin murmur to her, his hands gentle as he rubs comforting circles on her back. “Don’t cry, Yoonji. I’m here. You’re okay now, and I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

I’ll always be here, he says. Yoonji cries and cries and cries, and it feels a little like catharsis.

She’s only distantly aware of Seokjin speaking to someone—she’s not sure if it’s the doctor who’d assessed her, or Coach Bang, or someone else who might’ve slipped in the room—but she doesn’t bother to check, just keeps holding Seokjin, her face into his shoulders, her hands gripping his jacket like a lifeline. Content to just hold him for as long as she can, for as long as she’s allowed to, because she knows this can’t last; sooner or later, Seokjin is going to pull away, put some distance between them. Sooner or later, he’ll be too far for her to reach.

But she has him now, like this. So she drinks her fill of him, takes as much of him as she can get. As long as he’s here, she thinks to herself. As long as he’s still here.

She isn’t quite sure how much time passes, but when she eventually feels calmer, she steels herself, forces herself to let go. Seokjin’s face is bright, so bright; Yoonji has a little trouble meeting his eye.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she says, averting her gaze. She takes another deep breath, lets it out in a shuddering exhale. “I didn’t mean to—”

Seokjin shakes his head. “No, don’t apologize,” he murmurs. There’s two fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face up; and Yoonji comes face to face with Seokjin. His expression is gently worried, and the cap he’s wearing is the one she’d gifted him for his birthday—Yoonji can see the familiar skull pattern sewn into the fabric. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” His other hand runs down the back of her head, checking for lumps. “Are you hurt? That was a pretty bad fall.”

Yoonji takes stock of herself. “No,” she answers after a little while. There’s a slowly growing warmth in her chest—one she hasn’t felt since the last time she saw Seokjin. “No, I just—I just want to go home.”

She knows that, in saying this, she’s putting an end to this pocket of comfort; Seokjin will draw away again and go back to wherever he’d been hiding, and Yoonji will be left all alone once more. But Seokjin’s always had a way of surprising her, and this moment is no different. 

He hops to his feet, holds out a hand to her. “C’mon,” he says, when Yoonji just stares at it, unsure. “I’ll walk you home.”

The warmth in her chest only grows. Yoonji takes another deep breath, holds it in her lungs before blowing it out slowly. “Will you stay?” She asks hesitantly, her voice coming out small.

Seokjin’s mouth curves up into a small, private smile. “Of course,” he says, like it’s that easy, like there isn’t so much for them to discuss. And maybe it is that easy; maybe, despite all the mess, the singular fundamental truth of them is that they’ll always return to each other, like cherry blossoms in the spring.

Yoonji takes Seokjin’s hand. Seokjin twines their fingers together, doesn’t let go even as he fetches her training bag from where she’d left it, making her excuses for her. Jaehwan is here too, Yoonji suddenly realizes—sitting by the bleachers and watching someone else skate on the ice. He shoots her a small smile when he catches her staring, but his eyes are filled with a strange sort of sadness. With an inevitability he obviously doesn’t want to face.

Then Yoonji is being pulled down the hallways and out of the rink, Seokjin’s hand still in hers. It’s chilly out—the last few dredges of winter still clinging on as the seasons change, but Seokjin grips her hand tighter, and Yoonji feels warm all over.

. . .

(“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Seokjin said, sitting on the benches, his arms crossed and a pout on his face. “Seriously, it doesn’t. I can skate.”

“You can’t,” Yoonji replied immediately. She was fourteen and Seokjin fifteen, and yet some days—most days—she felt a lot older than he was. “You sprained your ankle, oppa.”

“It’s not that bad,” Seokjin said, stubborn as ever. “I can take it.”

Yoonji rolled her eyes, let out a deep sigh. “You need to recover,” she told him bluntly. “If you skate before you’re recovered, your injury will only get worse.”

“Okay, but that’s assuming I’m not yet recovered—”

“Oppa,” Yoonji said, and Seokjin fell silent immediately. She shook her head, bending over to tighten her laces, getting ready to go back onto the ice. “Why are you even here?” She asked. “Like, go home.”

The pout on Seokjin’s face grew more pronounced. “Leave me alone,” he complained. He leaned back on his hands in an attempt to look more casual, even as his ears flushed red. “What’s wrong if I just want to watch you skate?”)

. . .

Yoonji wakes up to the sound of something cooking.

At first, she thinks she’s still dreaming, her mind still wrapped in a cloud of sleep. But then gradually it starts to fade—all her senses returning to her, the memories of the evening hitting her all at once. 

She sits up abruptly. Stumbles out of the bedroom. Finds Seokjin standing in her kitchen, by her stove, frying up some eggs. He’s still wearing his jeans, but over the course of the night he’s lost his jacket and his cap, leaving him with only a plain white t-shirt.

“You’re still here,” she blurts out. Her voice comes out hoarse from sleep.

Seokjin stills, but only for a split second. “Of course I am,” he replies, and his tone light. “My stove stopped working again.” He inclines his head. “Can you get the bread?”

Something in Yoonji’s heart aches at the sight of him, but she nods anyway, heading further into the kitchen to pop some bread into the toaster. Seokjin shifts to accommodate her, and for a moment she flashes back to their lazy Sundays together—their breakfasts and their pleasant companionship. When she’s done with the bread she transfers the rice from its container into little bowls; when she’s done with the rice she gets started cutting up some fruit.

Seokjin hums as he plates the eggs, but he doesn’t say a word—not even when they get started on their breakfast, a quiet facsimile of their days before. His cheeks bulge out as he eats. Yoonji doesn’t want to look away from him ever again.

“Can we…talk?” The words fall out of mouth before she can second-guess herself. She half expects Seokjin to react—or at least, to look up and meet her eye—but he doesn’t, just keeps his attention on his plate of food. He keeps chewing, and Yoonji just keeps staring at him, her heart growing exponentially with every passing second. 

Finally, when she feels like she’s about to burst, Seokjin swallows down his food, looks up at her. There’s a sad glimmer in his eye, one that he does his best to mask with a smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I think we should.”

Seokjin takes the fruits to the living room. Yoonji washes their plates before joining him, taking a seat on the couch and tucking her feet under her. She can’t help but think of the last time they were here, sat like this—Seokjin’s jaw clenched, his spine ramrod straight. He’d been a vision even then, even when he’d been breaking Yoonji’s heart.

Yoonji doesn’t know what to say to him. Doesn’t know how to say it; the words bubbling up her throat woefully inadequate in capturing the chasm of her feelings—the sadness, the fear, the wanting. She wants Seokjin here with her. For now, for always, for forever.

“Please don’t leave me again,” she says.

Something pained flashes over Seokjin’s face. “Yoonji—”

“Please,” Yoonji says, the word coming out raw. She takes a deep breath, does her best to hold Seokjin’s gaze. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do with myself without you.”

Seokjin doesn’t say anything in reply. Yoonji pushes herself to continue. “I didn’t want to lose you. I never wanted to lose you, oppa, and it fucking killed me when you left me all alone. You’re my best friend, oppa. And then suddenly you were gone.”

“And then I felt so fucking lost, I—” she breaks off. There are tears welling up in her eyes, and she swipes them away. “You have half of me, oppa. You have to know that. You have half of me and you took that with you when you left.”

She knows she isn’t making much sense, unable to properly formulate her thoughts. But Seokjin is looking at her like he understands anyway, tears in his own eyes.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he says. “But you know I—”

Yoonji shakes her head, cutting him off. “Please,” she begs. “I know it’s selfish of me but please—please don’t leave me again. I don’t even care if you give up skating, or if you continue to date Jaehwan. I don’t even fucking care if I never win that stupid gold. I just want you, in whatever way I can have you, in whatever form you’re willing to give me. Just don’t leave.”

She takes a deep breath, and then she feels it spilling out of her; the words she’d held back for so long, the words Seokjin deserves to hear. “I love you,” she says, her voice cracking. “I always have, and I always—I always will.”

Seokjin’s eyes widen as she says it, and for a moment neither of them speak, the words hanging heavily in the air around them. Yoonji stares at him, thinks: please. Because there’s no doubt about it: break her down into bone, draw out a map of her heart—sketch out the avenues and the backroads and the alleyways—and it’d only be Seokjin, at the end of it all. There’s no one else Yoonji could ever love.

Seokjin swallows, his throat working. Says, “Actually, Jaehwan and I broke up,” in a tone so light that it almost hurts to listen to.

“What?” Yoonji says, taken aback. Her heart kicks up a notch in her chest, but she ignores it, tells herself not to get too excited. “When?”

Seokjin shrugs. “Just last night, actually.”

“Oh my God, why?” A flash of a memory—Jaehwan, sitting on the bleachers, resignation all over his face. “Was it because of me? Fuck, oppa, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin anything—”

“Calm down, Yoonji.” Seokjin shakes his head. “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s been ruined for quite a while now, actually.  

There’s a strange tilt to his mouth—he isn’t smiling, but he isn’t quite frowning either. “But you said,” Yoonji points out, feeling a little caught out. “You told me that you could—you could love him.”

“I could,” Seokjin agrees. The lightness in his tone is slowly fading, replaced with something a little more thoughtful. “But Jaehwan’s—well, he’s a lot more perceptive than you would think he is.”

He looks away. “I tried, I really did,” he says. “I did my best to stay away from you. I spent a lot of time in school or with Jaehwan or just…doing anything, really, so I didn’t have to think about skating or about you. But then I ran into Hobi once in the supermarket, and we got to talking, and he mentioned how you found a new partner. And it really—it gutted me.”

He takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising with the action. “I tried to pretend that it didn’t affect me, but I wasn’t as good as pretending, it seems. Jaehwan picked up on it, and he was…” he trails off, shaking his head. “At first, he tried to be supportive. It was his idea for us to go to the rink to watch you yesterday, you know? Thought that it was what I needed to move on. But I think he realized after you fell that it wasn’t—that I was a lost cause, basically.”

“A lost cause,” Yoonji repeats. Her heart is still hammering frantically in her chest.

“Yeah.” When Seokjin turns back to look at her, there’s something painfully vulnerable in his eyes, like he’s just laid himself bare for her to see. “And Jaehwan deserves better than a lost cause.”

Yoonji doesn’t deserve him. Five years of holding back, of pretending there was nothing, and he’s still here, still looking at her like she’s the best person he’s ever known. “I don’t deserve you,” she tells him quietly.

The corner of Seokjin’s mouth tugs up. “You don’t,” he agrees easily. “But you have me anyway.” He hesitates then reaches out, the tips of his fingers brushing the back of her hand. “Ball’s in your court, Yoonji.”

And this, here, might be the last chance she gets to make it all up to him, the benediction she prayed for but never deserved. Seokjin’s been patient—so, so patient—and he’s here, offering himself up to her once more. And Yoonji’s still terrified, still scared shitless of taking that next step, of how once they do, there’s no going back, but she’s even more terrified of losing Seokjin all over again, of having him slip through her fingers because she didn’t ever try.

She wants to try now. Even if it’s to have Seokjin for five seconds or for five lifetimes; even if it blows up in their faces—she still wants to try.

“Oppa,” she begins. Seokjin is looking at her with an open expression, ready for whatever she’ll tell him. “You don’t—if you don’t want to, you don’t have to go back to skating. But I…” she looks down at her lap, takes a deep breath. “I’m ready to try. I want to try,” she amends a little clumsily. “I love you, and I want to try being with you.”

A pause, a heart wrenching moment where Seokjin doesn’t say anything. Yoonji’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of her skin. “Like, if you still want to,” she adds belatedly.

Her words make Seokjin chuckle, something wry in his voice. She feels him shift, turning to face her—one of his hands reach out to hold hers, his thumb gently brushing her knuckle.

“Oh, Yoonji,” he murmurs, exasperated. A pause. “Can you look up at me for a moment?”

Yoonji lifts her head. Finds Seokjin staring at her with something like fond exasperation, wearing that small, private smile she's grown to recognize. 

“If we do this,” he says, “you can’t change your mind.”

Yoonji nods once. “I won’t,” she replies.

“I’m serious. No take-backsies.”

“No take-backsies.”

“You can’t be all over me one day and pretend that we’re nothing the next day.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Yoonji insists. There’s a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, straining to break free. “Like,  do you really think I’d be like that?”

“I don’t know, you’re like a cat sometimes,” Seokjin complains. “I just want to make sure that you don’t regret your decision.”

Yoonji shakes her head. “I won’t,” she says with as much certainty as she can muster. “Oppa, I promise. I’m scared, but I…I’ve wanted this just as much as you did.”

Seokjin lets out a breath, his grin growing. “I know,” he says, then tips forward, pressing his forehead against Yoonji’s. His hands come up to cradle Yoonji’s face, his thumb brushing circles on the high point of her cheekbone. “I know you did.”

And it’s still a little bit terrifying, the thought of them together; the thought of everything that’ll change and everything that’ll stay the same. This is uncharted territory, after all—there’s still a distinct possibility that a relationship could ruin them, destroy the sixteen years of friendship in one fell swoop. But there’s also the distinct possibility that it could work, that this is exactly where they were supposed to end up; that this is the singular most important relationship of Yoonji’s life, and she gets to have it with someone she’s loved since before she even really knew what love was.

She doesn’t know. They both don’t know. All they can do is shut their eyes and try.

Seokjin leans forward, just enough so their noses are brushing. He’s still so methodical about touching her. Yoonji stays still, every single part of her coiled up, anticipating.

“Oh, one more thing,” Seokjin says, like it just occurred to him. He doesn’t pull away as he says it, and his breath ghosts against Yoonji’s lips. 

“What is it?”

A pause. “Let me be your skating partner again.”

Yoonji has to swallow down a laugh at that. “I don’t know, you’re going to have to ask Kihyun about that,” she teases. “He transferred all the way here from Goyang, don’t you know?”

Seokjin’s sigh is a little irritated. “Well, he can transfer back,” he says. “It’s not even that far. I mean, he should understand, at least.”

“Understand what?”

“That I love you.” Seokjin always gives it away so simply, so easily, like they’re always just there, balanced on the top of his tongue. “And that I want to skate with you forever.”

His words make Yoonji’s smile finally break free. “Forever’s a long time,” she tells him, the familiar words falling from her lips. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Seokjin replies flippantly. “You’re my forever girl, aren’t you?” And then he closes the distance between them before Yoonji can retort, his lips soft, his movements gentle.

Yoonji lets her eyes slip shut, smiles into his mouth; reaches up to pull him closer and kisses him back.

. . .

The next week, Yoonji arrives at the rink to find Seokjin waiting for her right by the door. “Good morning,” he calls, a gorgeous smile lighting up his features when he spots her. He’s dressed in training attire and he’s got an iced americano in his hand, one that he holds out to her once she’s close enough. “Your favorite.”

Yoonji feels a smile bloom on her face. “Thanks,” she says, taking it from him.

Seokjin hums in response, and then he’s throwing an arm around her, pulling her close as they walk into the rink. Yoonji does her best not to curl into him too much—it’s kind of ridiculous how giddy she feels whenever she’s around Seokjin, her heart fluttering and butterflies in her stomach. Sometimes, she wonders vaguely how much longer this feeling will last—not because she doesn’t love him, but because it’s Seokjin. Someone she’s literally seen eat six lobsters in one sitting and while simultaneously worrying about suddenly turning into a lobster himself.

Yoonji takes a sip of her drink. “You excited to start training again?” She asks.

Seokjin hums. “More nervous, I think,” he replies thoughtfully. “I was gone for so long. What if I can’t keep up anymore?”

Yoonji bites back a laugh. “That’s what you get for retiring,” she teases.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “It was a hiatus,” he replies primly.

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is,” Yoonji insists, just to be a little shit. The playful glare Seokjin shoots her makes her laugh. “No, but seriously oppa, you’ll be fine. Maybe a few days of torture, but you’ll get back into the swing of things.”

“Ugh, I guess,” Seokjin complains, making a face. “Wish it were zero days of torture instead.”

Yoonji reaches up to hold his hand. “That can be arranged,” she jokes. “I mean, I still have Kihyun’s number saved somewhere—”

“Wow, look at that, I’m suddenly so excited to train,” Seokjin says flatly. “Training’s the best. I love training.”

Yoonji bursts into laughter. “Glad to hear it.”

Seokjin looks at her, rolls his eyes at whatever expression Yoonji’s got on her face, before leaning over to brush a soft kiss on Yoonji’s temple.

Spring has finally arrived; Yoonji can see it in the flowers that have started to bloom, in the birds that have started to return to their nests. She and Seokjin head to the benches, drop their training bags onto the ground and go put on their skates, comfortable quiet ringing out between them. Around them, the familiar morning scene in an ice rink unfolds—the noise of the Zamboni, the sound of Assistant Coach Kibum complaints. It feels like home. 

Yoonji looks up at Seokjin, takes in the lines of his features—the smooth slope of his nose and the impeccable curve of his jawline—thinks, I love you. Reaches out to brush a hand down his arm to tell him that. And by the way he turns to grin at her, she knows he understands. 

Chapter Text

Mediolanum Forum - Italy, 2026

“Stop biting your nails,” Seokjin scolds. 

On a normal day, Yoonji would be able to think of a retort off the top of her head—something witty and slightly scathing, enough to make Seokjin pout, but not enough to actually hurt him. But right now, her brain has run straight out of words, straight out of anything except this constant buzzing, running like an engine left whirring for too long.

“Seriously Yoonji,” Seokjin says. “Stop it.”

“I’m trying,” Yoonji hisses back. She curls her hands into fists, feels the overwhelming urge to pick at her fingers run through her, and then uncurls them again, using her index finger to scrape at the skin beside her thumb. There’s a tiny bit of loose skin there, edges jagged from where she’d been biting it earlier, and Yoonji scratches at it, thinks fuck it, and lifts her thumb to her mouth to bite it off. 

“Yoonji,” Seokjin says, exasperated. “God, just—” all of a sudden she’s being turned bodily towards Seokjin, his hands gripping her wrists and holding them down. “Relax, okay?”

Yoonji shakes her head. “I can’t,” she tells him. There’s no possible way for her to relax, not while they’re waiting for their turn to take the ice. In front of them, the Germans execute a gorgeous sequence—a series of spins that gives way into a lift—and it serves to make Yoonji feel more nauseous, her heart hammering wildly in her throat.

She’s never been this nervous before a performance before. But then again, there’s never been a performance this nerve-wracking before—their closest shot to the Olympic gold she’s been dreaming of for years. Yoonji wants to scream, wants to throw up, wants to run laps around the arena just to expend all her energy.

“You’re okay,” Seokjin tells her, because he understands what she doesn’t say, because he’s on the same page as she is. “Just take a few breaths for me, okay? Come on. Inhale, exhale, let’s go.”

Yoonji nods and does as she’s told, times her breaths to the speed of Seokjin’s. “You’re okay,” Seokjin says again, and his hands move lower to gently uncurl Yoonji’s fists, slot his fingers in between hers.

Yoonji knows he’s also on edge—he’s been blinking quite a bit for quite some time now—but he’s always been better at pretending than she is. It’s the exact same reason why all the interviewers adore him; Yoonji has the tendency to be silent and moody whereas Seokjin is a media darling, impeccably polite and charmingly funny.

Also, he’s incredibly handsome. Yoonji’s pretty sure that plays a part in that too.

“You’re not breathing,” Seokjin says lightly. Yoonji levels a glare at him and pointedly takes a few lungfuls of air.

Right now, there’s nothing she wants more than to close her eyes and wake up in their bedroom, Seokjin’s fingers drawing shapes against her skin as he quietly reads beside her. To curl into him and press her ear against his chest, listen to the sound of Seokjin’s heartbeat, steady and sure. She’s found recently that it’s grown to be her favorite sound—something about it always manages to calm her down. 

“Yoonji,” Seokjin says, a reminder, and Yoonji obediently takes another gulp of air.

They’re the last to perform for the free skate—their rhythm dance score rocketed them all the way to the top of the leaderboard, a 0.9 lead from the second place. Now it’s only a matter of holding onto that lead, to skate better than everyone else so they can cinch that gold.

They’re so close. Yoonji can almost taste it.

The Germans execute their last complex lift, finishing with a flourish. There’s a moment of silence and before the audience roars, getting to their feet as they applaud. Yoonji tenses, her heart caught in her throat. They only have to announce the scores, and then it’s their turn to take the ice.

Seokjin sighs. “Hey,” he says gently, and then all of a sudden Yoonji is being pulled closer, her body flush against Seokjin’s. Yoonji leans into the hug, relishing in the feeling of Seokjin’s arms around her, her face turned to the side so as not to smear her make-up on Seokjin’s costume.

“You know,” she says, “I don’t think you crushing me like this is beneficial in your crusade to help me breathe.”

She feels Seokjin’s laugh against her. “The hug is for me,” he tells her. “Why, am I not allowed to want things anymore?”

Yoonji does her best to shake her head. “This is a give-and-take relationship,” she replies. “Which means that you keep giving, and I keep taking.”

Seokjin sighs. “Damn,” he says, then he’s pulling away, his hands coming up to cup Yoonji’s face. His expression is bright, the curve of his mouth soft “Hey, listen. We can do this. We’ve been preparing for this our whole lives.”

“I know,” Yoonji says. “It’s just—we’re so close—”

“We are,” Seokjin agrees. “And all we have to do now is get out there and do our absolute best. Just enjoy the moment. Everything else will follow.”

Yoonji nods, letting herself take another deep breath. In the distant part of her mind, she hears the Germans’ scores being announced, followed by wild applause—they’re in first place, she thinks a little dazedly, feeling her nerves wash over her all over again.

Seokjin’s eyes soften, and then he’s leaning in, brushing a feather-light kiss against her lips. “Trust me, Yoonji,” he says. “We got this.”

The conviction in his voice is so strong that Yoonji can’t do anything else but let herself trust him, let herself believe it. “Okay,” she says, taking another deep breath, holding it in her lungs before letting it out. “Okay.”

Seokjin’s lips curve up slowly, his eyes searching her face for any remaining hint of doubt. “I glove you,” he tells her like he always does, his voice earnest as anything. Yoonji feels a sense of peace wash over, resolve hardening like steel in her gut, and when they take the ice, the smile on her face is genuine.

. . .

They skate like their lives depend on it. Their feet don’t falter, don’t break. Their steps are steady, their movements in sync—every step Yoonji makes Seokjin is right there beside her, every lift she prepares for Seokjin is right there to catch her. They have a flawless run, a flawless performance, and when the music ends, Yoonji can only think, we fucking did it.

And then the applause is thunderous, the cheers even louder, and something like pure euphoria washes over her as she straightens up, wrapping Seokjin in a tight hug. Seokjin holds her, breathes her in—his hand on the back of her head, his nose buried in the junction between her shoulder and neck. When they pull away a few moments later, she finds the same ear-splitting grin on his face, the same overwhelming happiness in his eyes.

They join hands and they bow. Turn to the other side, bow again. Seokjin’s grip is tight in hers. Yoonji never wants to let go.

They skate off the ice hand in hand, still in disbelief. A whirlwind of hugs, handshakes, and congratulations then they’re seated at the kiss and cry, waiting for their score to be announced.

It’s a moment where neither of them speak, Seokjin’s grip still tight in hers. And then the announcer is reading out their score are read out— 133.65, which brings their total score up to a 222.75, which means they have a 2-point lead from the Germans, which means—

Yoonji’s eyes blow wide, and she’s on her feet without realizing it. Beside her, Seokjin lets out an exultant laugh, the sound disbelieving. He’s on his feet too—jumped up in one swift movement once they’d tallied the scores, and when Yoonji turns to look at him, she finds him already looking back.

It’s a simple fact of nature—the way they collide, the way they fall into each other. Yoonji holds Seokjin’s face in her hand and kisses him with all that she has, every overwhelming emotion pouring out from inside her. Coach Bang lets out a surprised laugh, and the audience around them cheers louder, but none of that matters to her—not when Seokjin grips her tighter, pulls her closer; not when she can feel Seokjin’s smile against her lips, sweeter than victory.

They did it.

. . .

Seokjin’s always been a little bit of a mama’s boy, so his parents are the ones Yoonji sees first when they head backstage while the podium gets set up for the awarding. Seokjin’s mother pulls him into a tight hug immediately, her eyes watering with pride, while Seokjin’s father looks on at them, less emotional but no less proud.

“Oh, my son,” She hears Seokjin’s mother whisper to him fiercely. “You did so, so well.”

Seokjin, ever polite, just whispers back, “Thank you, eomma,” before he pulls away, going over to speak to his father.

“Yoonji, dear.” Yoonji tries not to startle too much when Seokjin’s mother calls her name. She knows both of Seokjin’s parents, of course—there’s no way she doesn’t, especially after knowing Seokjin for as long as she has—but ever since she and Seokjin started dating, she’s felt a little more reserved around them, this weird need to impress washing over her. Seokjin always tells her she shouldn’t be, and that she’s overthinking it— they already know you and they love you, he always says with a dismissive wave of his hand, but Yoonji can’t help it. She just wants to show them that she’s a good match for Seokjin.

When Yoonji turns to look, she finds Seokjin’s mother staring at her, a kind smile on her face. “You were spectacular too,” she says, pulling Yoonji into a hug. “When you and Seokjin started skating, I honestly never thought you’d get this far.”

Yoonji can feel herself getting a little embarrassed. “I mean, if I’m being completely honest, neither did I,” she confesses, a shy grin taking over her face. “At the time, the Olympic gold was just some far off pipe dream.”

“But you did it.” Seokjin’s mother is as lovely as he is, the resemblance to him striking in the way she smiles. She hesitates, then reaches out to cup Yoonji’s face. “I’m incredibly proud of you, too.”

Yoonji’s own parents are next, waiting patiently a few meters away, ready to offer up their congratulations. Yoonji feels happy tears spill down her cheeks when she lays eyes on her mom’s expression, lit up and grinning widely.

She spends about five minutes just hugging her mom, crying into her shirt. Her mom presses a kiss on her head, whispers, “I’m so, so proud of you,” her voice thick with emotion. “You finally did it.”

When she pulls away, she throws her arms around her dad. Her dad laughs, hugging her tight and she feels a little like she’s five years old again.

Beside her, she sees her mom pull Seokjin into a hug, offering her congratulations. Seokjin laughs, all bashful at the attention, his ears flushing red.

There’s something strange glimmering in her mom’s eye—like she’s privy to something no one else knows. She whispers something in Seokjin’s ear, the movement of her mouth too small for Yoonji to catch the words, but whatever she says makes Seokjin flush redder, and he shakes his head, laughing.

And it’s heartwarming, the way everything worked out, the way everything fell into place. She watches their families merge: watches as Seokjin’s mother links her arm with her mom, beginning to gossip like school girls; watches as her dad invites Seokjin’s father for a day of golf. It’s almost as if they’re a unit now—one large, extended family, brought together by their two children with a shared love of the same sport. Yoonji watches them, and feels herself glow.

Seokjin nudges her. “What are you thinking?” He murmurs.

Yoonji shakes her head. “Nothing,” she tells him. “I’m just happy.”

. . .

“Hiiiii,” Taehyung says when they pick up the phone, his face occupying the whole screen. He shifts, adjusts the angle of the camera; when he moves back a little, Yoonji can see a baby seated on his lap, a pink little bow on her head and staring curiously at the camera. “Look, Da-Eun! Say hi! Hi, uncle Seokjin and auntie Yoonji!”

Da-Eun just blinks, confused, and proceeds to stuff a chubby little fist into her mouth. 

“Aw,” Seokjin says. “She’s so sweet.”

Taehyung gently picks up her other hand, manually waving it at the camera. “Hi!” He says, pitching his voice higher, and it makes Da-Eun smile around her fist, dimples digging into her cheeks. “My name is Da-Eun!”

“Kim Taehyung, you better not be pimping my baby out for views again ,” Yoonji hears Hoseok say from off-camera. A few seconds later and he pops up on the screen, squinting suspiciously. His face relaxes when he spots who it is. “Oh! Noona! Hyung!”

Yoonji laughs. “Hi, Hobi!”

“Congratulations!” Hoseok’s grin is wide and infectious. “We watched the whole thing live from here and your skate was absolutely stunning. Had us gasping in the living room like—” he puts two hands on his chest, gasps to demonstrate; beside him Da-Eun looks up at him and giggles, incredibly taken by her dad’s antics. “Seriously! I think Namjoo even cried.”

“She definitely cried,” Taehyung volunteers. “She heard the chords to Trivia: Love and immediately started tearing up. Said she never expected to hear it in something as big as the Olympics.”

Yoonji rolls her eyes fondly. “What is she talking about, of course it was going to play here,” she replies. “She knew it was going to be a part of our routine. I specifically asked her if we could use it.”

“Yeah, but I guess it just really hit her then,” Taehyung says, shrugging. “I mean, you put her in next to some of the greats. Her song next to Tablo and Epik High as a representation of Korean Hip Hop. She got all emotional about that.”

“Well, that’s what she gets for writing such great songs,” Seokjin deadpans. “If she wrote shittier songs, we wouldn’t have used one at all.”

Hoseok gasps, covering Da-Eun’s ears. “Don’t swear in front of Da-Eun!” 

“Poopier songs,” Seokjin amends. “Sorry, Da-Eun.”

“Is that oppa?” Yoonji hears someone ask, and then two more familiar faces pop up on screen—Namjoo and Jungsook. “Oh,” Namjoo says, gasping when she spots them. “Seokjin-oppa! Yoonji-unnie! Congratulations on your gold!”

“Abloo,” Da-Eun babbles, raising both her arms towards Namjoo. The timing of it makes it sound like she’s congratulating them too, even though Yoonji knows she’s probably just asking to be picked up.

Namjoo pays no attention to her. “Seriously, you guys were amazing,” she says, her eyes bright. “Like, you’ve always been good but this routine was another level, really.”

“I cried watching you,” Jungsook volunteers. 

Yoonji can feel her face grow warm. “Thanks, guys,” she says, leaning towards Seokjin. “It was—you know—I mean—”

“What Yoonji means to say,” Seokjin cuts in, “is that we sincerely appreciate your support and we love and miss you all.”

Yoonji elbows him. “Way to make it sound like a press statement.”

“What?” Seokjin asks, affecting an affronted tone. “What’s wrong with me practicing for our interviews?”

“Abloo,” Da-Eun says again, arms still outstretched. This time Namjoo notices; picks her up from Taehyung’s lap and blows a raspberry on her chubby cheek, making her squeal.

“We definitely have to see each other when you guys get back,” Jungsook says, bending over to rest her chin on Taehyung’s shoulder. “We have so much to celebrate.”

Yoonji can feel her smile threatening to take over her face. “Just tell us when and we’ll be there.”

“It’ll be a triple celebration,” Namjoo says, a little distracted as she bounces Da-Eun on her hip. Jimin’s bronze and your gold, as well as your en—”

“Namjoo,” Seokjin suddenly interrupts. There’s a slight warning in his tone.

Namjoo looks up. “What?” She asks, a furrow in her brow. She seems to read something in his face, however, because her expression goes slack. “Oh. Oh. I mean…absolutely nothing, that’s all.”

Yoonji feels like she’s missed something. “What?” She asks. “What’s going on?”

It’s Hoseok who answers. “No, nothing,” he says, and he’s obviously trying to hold back his laughter. “It’s nothing.”

Yoonji narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t tell me you’re expecting another baby again.”

Hoseok makes a face. “God, no. Not yet, at least. Still sticking to this one for now.” He turns to Da-Eun, and Yoonji watches as his expression softens at the sight of her. “Aw, c’mon baby girl. Come to appa.”

Da-Eun squeals, delighted at the attention. “Appa,” she echoes, and allows herself to be passed to her favorite parent.

Taehyung laughs. “Anyway, we’ll hang up now,” he says, waving goodbye. His expression’s changed—his smile now seems a touch more smug than it used to be. “Bye, noona, bye hyung! Congratulations again!”

“Bye, guys,” Seokjin says, smiling. “We’ll call you guys again later!” And then there’s a few more seconds of smiling, before the screen goes dark.

Yoonji turns to Seokjin, an eyebrow raised, who’s decidedly not looking at her. “What was that all about?” She asks.

Seokjin shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s nothing,” he says, far too quickly that it sounds suspicious. He’s obviously hiding something; the tone of his voice is light, but his ears have started to turn red again. “Let’s go and congratulate the other athletes, yeah?”

Yoonji squints at him suspiciously, but eventually decides to let go.

. . .

She’s not entirely sure how it happens; one minute they’re surrounded by so many people—coaches and athletes and backstage personnel, and the next they’re alone in their dressing room, the shut door muting all the commotion outside. Yoonji collapses on the nearest couch, spent; she’s already exhausted and they haven’t even gotten their medals yet.

They’ve got about five minutes until they need to head to the podium. Yoonji intends to make full use of the time.

“Budge over,” Seokjin says, sounding just as exhausted, and Yoonji groans, shifting to one edge of the couch so Seokjin has enough space to sit. Except Seokjin doesn’t, not really—he throws himself bodily on the couch, wriggling around until he’s got his head on Yoonji’s lap.

Yoonji groans again. “Can’t you sit down like a normal person?” she complains, even as her left hand falls to rest on Seokjin’s head, carding through his hair. “You’re like a leech, seriously.”

“No,” Seokjin says, his eyes slipping shut as he snuggling into her further. “This is who I am, Yoonji. You better accept it.”

Yoonji makes a face. “I want a refund,” she says.

She feels Seokjin shake his head. “No take-backsies, remember?”

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have agreed to that,” she mutters, but the fond smile growing in her face belies her words. It’s a moot point anyway; it’s been years since they’d agreed to try their hand at dating, and Yoonji’s long come to terms with the fact that she’d be stuck with Seokjin—all his clingy habits and all. But she isn’t complaining, because they’re better together than they were when they were just friends, because being with Seokjin just feels right . Because she gets to wake up next to Seokjin everyday, gets to kiss him and hold his hand and look at his face and feel stupid amounts of love pour out from inside her.

She’s looking at him now.

One of Seokjin’s eyes pop open. “You’re staring at me,” he observes, his tone lazy. One of his hands reaches up to try and hold Yoonji’s; Yoonji lets him search fruitlessly for a few moments before she eventually gives in, allowing Seokjin to catch her hand.

“Just wondering if I can put you back in the market,” she replies. “Now that I’ve gotten my Olympic gold, I have no more use for you.”

Seokjin pouts. “Hey,” he says. “I have other uses, too.”

“Oh, really?” She teases. “Like what?”

“I’m handsome for one,” Seokjin says. His eyes have fallen shut again, and he’s playing with her fingers, tugging at them gently.

“That’s not a use.”

“It’s an aesthetic use. You look at my face and all your problems disappear.”

“Mm, I think your face is the cause of all my problems.”

“That’s understandable too,” Seokjin says dismissively. “After all, how are you meant to resist my roguish charms?”

Yoonji flicks him on the forehead lightly. Seokjin makes an affronted noise but doesn’t open his eyes, a strange tilt to his mouth.

“Anything else?” She asks dryly. 

Seokjin hums in thought. “I’m a great cook,” he says decisively. “Practically Michelin star level.”

“Yeah? According to who?”

“Me.” Seokjin shrugs. “Admit it Yoonji, you love my cooking.”

“I will admit no such thing,” Yoonji says, even though privately she thinks that there’s hardly anything she loves more than Seokjin cooking for her, whether it’s simple eggs in the morning or a full spread of dishes for dinner.

Seokjin ignores her. “And,” he says, and here, the tone of his voice changes, something like a nervousness seeping into his tone. He shifts, a little then falls still, still keeping his eyes shut. There’s a slight tension to the set of his jaw. His hand has slowed in its movement, thumb rubbing soft circles on the back of Yoonji’s hand.

“I think,” he begins slowly, “I’d make a great husband.”

Yoonji’s brow furrows, and she’s just about to open her mouth and ask what Seokjin’s talking about when she feels it—the brush of his thumb against her knuckles, the slow slide of something metal onto her ring finger.

And—oh. Oh.

“I glove you,” Seokjin says. His eyes are still closed, but there’s something tugging at the corner of his lips, a knowing smile just waiting to break free. Yoonji’s eyes are wide, and they dart from Seokjin’s face to where their hands are joined, something silver and glinting on her left hand. 

When she looks back, she finds both his eyes open, staring straight at her. “Wanna legally be my forever girl?” He asks. 

And that’s. Yoonji rolls her eyes fondly, leans down; kisses him in response.

. . .

Min Yoonji, Kim Seokjin win Olympic ice dancing gold

South Korea’s favorite figure skating sweethearts Min Yoonji and Kim Seokjin took home ice dancing gold at the 2026 Winter Olympics in Italy.

Performing to a medley featuring songs from Korean Hip Hop legends such as Tablo, Epik High, and Dynamic Duo, the pair captured the gold medal in the Mediolanum Forum with a total score of 222.75, a career best for them. 

This is not their first Olympic circuit; previously they finished 4th at the 2022 Beijing Olympics and 16th at the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics. They’ve captured the world’s hearts with their incredible skills and their undeniable chemistry, and it’s clear that as time goes by, they only get better and better.

“Amazing. It’s an incredible moment for us,” Kim Seokjin said following their win. “The performance was truly very special and memorable to us. The gold medal is the cherry on top of the cake; I think that I’m just glad that I get to experience all this with my best friend.”

Interestingly, Min Yoonji turned up to the podium and to the press conference wearing a ring on her left hand. Could there be wedding bells for these two in the near future?

. . .

(“What are you thinking about?” Yoonji asked. It had been late in the evening—the clock on the dashboard reading 1:17 am , and she and Seokjin were sitting in her father’s car, parked in front of the ice rink.

It was her idea to sneak out. They’re headed to Osaka tomorrow, to compete at the World Junior Figure Skating Championship and she couldn’t sleep, her brain whirring with both nervousness and excitement. Seokjin protested when she told him about her plan, discouraged her from borrowing her father’s car, but he still tumbled straight out of bed to meet her, getting into the passenger with barely a word of complaint.

It had been late in the evening, and there they were, staring up at the facade of their ice rink, their home; the place they’ve spilled blood, sweat and tears in.

Seokjin’s eyes flashed, teasing as he turned to look at her. “You,” he said.

Yoonji rolled her eyes. “That was a serious question.”

“And that was a serious answer.”

There was a lull in the conversation, only the quiet hum of the engine punctuating their silence. Yoonji kept silent, unsure of what she’s looking for, of what she’s waiting for.

Eventually, Seokjin spoke again. “We’re going to Juniors tomorrow, Yoonji.”

“We are.”

“And you know, I just thought,” Seokjin puffed out his cheeks, blew out a breath as he thought. “Like, I just thought it would be nice. If we skated together forever.”

It would’ve been easy to dismiss it as an impossible fantasy—a product of their overtired minds, unable to shut down. But something about the way Seokjin said it made Yoonji’s breath hitch. “Forever’s a…long time,” she said as steadily as she could manage.

“I’m aware.” Seokjin’s voice was dry, but there was no hint of humor on his face. “I want to do it still.

And then something like a giddy anticipation unfurled, rolled over them like a heatwave. Yoonji didn’t look away from Seokjin, felt a little like they’d been frozen in time—like this moment was something so much bigger than the both of them.

“Then let’s,” she said, the words falling from her lips before she can even really think about it. “Skate together forever, I mean. We’ll skate together until we get that Olympic gold, and we’ll skate together even after that.”

Seokjin’s eyes glittered beneath the pale moonlight. “Yeah?” He asked. “You mean that?”

Yoonji met his eye, nodded once. “I do,” she said.

For a moment, Seokjin didn’t speak—just kept staring at her, eyes clear. Then, he shrugged. “Alright,” he said easily. “We’ll skate together forever, then.”

“We will,” Yoonji affirmed, the word underscored by the sudden thump of heart. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin said. Then the corners of his mouth quirked up into a small, private smile. “You can be my forever girl.”)