Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Beomgyu is awoken to Minjeong telling him to join her in the bottom half of their shared bunk bed—the one they’ve had since they were kids, because codependency in twins is a very real thing, even more so when you’re orphans with no one else but a rich aunt in Canada who periodically sends in money to count on—at midnight on a weekday; he knows that she’s serious (as serious as someone like Minjeong can be, which translates to seriously unhinged and determined).

It takes twenty seconds of him climbing down and Minjeong all but shoving a ripped page from her favorite spiral notebook into Beomgyu’s face for him to start mentally listing everything wrong in his life, including this.

“Minjeong, can’t you think of anything a little more… subtle?”

Beomgyu surveys his gaze from Minjeong to the piece of paper—is that a coffee stain?—she has in her hands—please let that be a coffee stain—grimacing at the scribbled mess Minjeong has the gall to call a “game plan.” If this—the English words BIG, BLONDE, BISEXUAL, encircled multiple times in the red Crayola stick Minjeong randomly found stuck between their couch cushions yesterday—is what’s finally going to cure them of chronic singleness, then Beomgyu would rather just die alone, thank you very much. That, or he’ll have to seek a second opinion, preferably from someone who actually knows a thing or two (he’d settle for one, to be honest) about relationships… or people, for that matter, a.k.a. not Minjeong, who thinks that giving your high school crush’s parents a set of vitamin packets that spell out can i go out with your son is peak romance. That, or maybe he should go see a real doctor; maybe both of them should.

Beomgyu’s about to suggest just that, when Minjeong suddenly blows him a raspberry, spittle landing on his cheek. Gross.

“You total idiot. Subtlety gets you nowhere, brother. Remember the Sungchan incident, senior year?” Minjeong says, chin in her hand. “And to think those vitamins had cost me that entire year’s worth of allowance I'd saved.”

Beomgyu scoffs. “That’s the exact opposite of subtle, and you just proved my point. You can be too much sometimes.”

Minjeong groans and plops her back onto her bed, sheets freshly changed, endless cartoon cats staring back at Beomgyu mockingly. “You just have to hear me out again, just this once. I promise you,” she quickly sits back up, curling the ‘plan’ into her fists, crumpling it with her tenacity, “‘Operation: Pyrixodine’ is going to be a success. I can see the headlines now—” she splays both hands across her chest, swooning, “Soobin and Minjeong, KSU’s hottest campus couple, confirmed! Then, a photo of us sucking mouths at that really cool bridge—not the one near CAL where everyone and their mother has made out on; but that old, creaky, wooden spot in the CS Garden, the one students avoid because of some weird ghost story from the 70’s. Soobin and I will be so powerful that we’ll rewrite campus history with our first kiss there!”

Beomgyu decides against asking her where she got ‘Operation: Pyrixodine’ from, because he can’t handle hearing nerd-speak tonight on top of all this, so he lets her have her delusional fangirl moment—mostly because it’s amusing to watch—for a few more beats before promptly shattering it. “I’m not doing it.”

“But you must,” Minjeong gasps. She wraps an arm around Beomgyu’s shoulders, shaking him, and if he wasn’t wide awake before he definitely is now. “Just imagine: you and Yu Jimin, the songwriter and his muse. I mean, you guys probably won’t be as popular as me and Soobin, of course, but you get my point. One of your songs for her could be featured on the school radio, is all I’m saying. And also…” she sighs, as if the absurdity of her plan has caught up to her, “...I can’t do this without your help. You know that, right?”

Beomgyu pauses, thinks about it, hates how he’s thinking about it, but gives in in the end, partly because he might be an even bigger hopeless romantic than Minjeong is—as if his binders full of sketches and lyrics aren’t already testament to that; but mostly because he can never say no to her. They can never truly say no to each other, no matter what. “Whatever, sure, do what you want.”

Minjeong squeals, hugging Beomgyu so tightly that it makes him regret agreeing, or waking up, for that matter. “Ok, no take-backs! That’s the ultimate twin rule,” Minjeong says, as if she read his mind.

“But can’t you think of any other word besides big?” Beomgyu asks, staring at the depressing sheet of paper that looks like it’s been through war over twenty lifetimes—the red streaks of lines forming “BIG, BLONDE, BISEXUAL” blood shed at the frontlines.

Because, here’s the thing: Beomgyu definitely gets blonde. He recalls how both Jimin and Soobin returned from summer break with fully-dyed heads of gold, and for a while everyone thought it meant they were an item—that is, until Jimin told Aeri who told Haechan who told Jeno who told Ningning who then told the entirety of the freshman student body via her ultra-popular online gossip news column that Jimin and Soobin were nothing more than acquaintances, maybe almost friends. After that, the talk died to a couple of anonymous posts theorizing who friendzoned whom (Beomgyu thinks Soobin was the victim; Minjeong agrees).

Bisexual, he can also understand, because Jimin once posted an Insta rooftop photo of herself, the sky behind her emitting the colors of the bi pride flag, the caption “gave me the blues and then purple pink skies” from Taylor Swift’s ‘invisible string’ giving her away, apparently made all the more conclusive when she liked a comment that went something like “gorgeous” followed by five rainbow emojis.

As for Soobin, the story goes that he went on separate leaves of absence for both semesters of his first year because he got dumped on two separate occasions: first, by his high school sweetheart who complained about their long-distance relationship (she lived in the same apartment complex, but got into a different college); and second, by a senior he met during his summer stint as a tour guide for the National Museum, who cut things off with him because he was going to start military service soon (rumor has it that he still hasn’t, so that must’ve stung extra hard).

But big? What the fuck does that even mean? Beomgyu clears his throat, determined to get some answers out of Minjeong, “I admit I’m shit at English but I can think of beautiful, at least. What is big even supposed to refer to? I know Soobin’s tall, but what about Jimin? Big as in big-brained?” She’s smart, gets the best grades, maybe that’s what Minjeong was going for.

Minjeong narrows her eyes at Beomgyu. “Have you seen Choi Soobin? Like, didn’t you have that one P.E. class together last semester? And you have another one for the fall. So you probably ran into each other in the locker room. You saw him in gym shorts, right?”

“Yeah, so?” A bulb blinks, before fully lighting up, in Beomgyu’s head. “Wait. You don’t mean—”

Minjeong rolls her eyes, as if to say fucking finally. “I’m talking big as in Soobin’s iconic kaiju cock big—obviously.”

Beomgyu’s jaw drops. He isn’t exactly shocked—given that privacy and modesty are foreign concepts to them, especially in Minjeong’s case; more like, he’s disappointed in himself for not catching on more quickly. Of course that’s what Minjeong meant by big; she’s that sort of virgin, after all. Not like Beomgyu’s one to judge, though, given that the only action he’s had in all his twenty years of (barely) living is with his right hand.

Minjeong doesn’t let up, even after Beomgyu’s made it painfully obvious by contracting all the muscles in his face that he does not want to hear about Choi Soobin’s penis any more than what he’s been unwillingly made aware of. “It’s like Godzilla lives in his pants, and Tokyo lives in mine,” Minjeong concludes, and Beomgyu gags.

“Ya! Minjeong-ah, do you seriously have no shame?”

“Man, fuck you,” Minjeong says, punching Beomgyu’s shoulder. “As if you don’t daydream about motorboating Jimin’s gigantic tits on the daily. See? Big.”

“I do not!” Beomgyu answers defensively, despite knowing that Minjeong can see right through him. It’s not true, for the record… at least, not all of it. He sighs, exasperated. “I can’t believe we’re related, let alone twins.”

“And yet here we are, with the birth certificates and baby photos to prove it.” Minjeong purses her lips, then smiles, and Beomgyu notices the subtle bags under her eyes. She really stayed up all night plotting this, didn’t she?

Minjeong yawns, more performative than anything else. That’s one of the few things they have in common (aside from looks, obviously): an annoying habit of yawning to end the conversation, even if they don’t feel sleepy at all. “We better get back to bed. We can discuss everything in detail tomorrow.” She pats Beomgyu’s back. “Hurry back up, future boyfriend of Yu Jimin.”

Beomgyu chuckles, climbs back to the top bunk and replies, eyes closed, “Good night, future wife of Choi Soobin.”

Chapter Text

The first step to any plan (successful or not), as Minjeong has since come to know and live by, is the sometimes arduous—but always rewarding—task of collecting data. That’s how she learns, how she formulates the best strategy.

In preschool, that meant observing which actions of her classmates were met with the most praise from teachers, and eventually applying that to her own behavior. Plan: successful.

In elementary up to middle school, that meant befriending every section—knowing what they needed, what changes they wanted to witness—and using that to help her in her campaigns for student council. Plan: successful.

In high school, that meant going through every pharmacy and wellness store to find out which vitamins were best suited for two office workers in their late 40’s. Plan: not successful.

In college, that means logging into the uni student forums and reading up on Choi Soobin, certified #1 hottie (not a known fact yet, but Minjeong will be sure to change that once they start dating) of KSU. It’s not an easy task, considering Soobin seems to be dead-set on being an enigma, with no social media accounts to speak of or stalk, and only a close-knit circle of friends that hover around him all the time—impenetrable castle walls blocking the path to Minjeong’s prince. But as they say: the internet knows everything, and the heroine always wins in the end, so Minjeong is at least able to find out why Soobin was a no-show last year, and what his class schedule for the upcoming fall semester looks like. She can thank Tim Berners-Lee and Ning Yizhuo for those bits. Plan: success to be determined.

It’s not nearly enough—and the information she was able to gather on Jimin was easily thrice this much—but it’s a start, and definitely better than nothing. Now it’s up to Beomgyu to do the rest.

It’s the evening after Minjeong first told Beomgyu of her plan, and they’re going over the details now, cross-legged on their bedroom floor, the fluffy carpet soft against Minjeong’s calves.

“Why do you like him again?” Beomgyu incredulously asks as he eyes the full plan Minjeong just printed out (on account of Beomgyu complaining about the coffee stains), and she has to resist rolling her eyes.

“Considering he’s going to be your future brother-in-law and everything, I’d really appreciate it if you’d remember the details of how he and I met. Not unless you want me to invite Lee Heeseung to do the speech at our wedding instead.”

Beomgyu frowns, before letting out a snort. “You know I would never let that happen.”

Back in high school, there’d been this weirdly intense beef between Beomgyu and his bandmate Heeseung, which was only made worse by Minjeong’s equally as weird and intense crush on the vocalist, and his prompt rejection of her confession. It was a whole mess that led to the twins not talking to each other for an entire week, and ended with Minjeong tearfully admitting that she only pursued Heeseung to spite Beomgyu, whom she'd felt was never home anymore during a time when she needed him most. It’s mostly become an inside joke between them now, the passage of time giving distance to whatever hurt existed then.

After that fiasco, the criteria ‘doesn’t have beef with my brother’ shot straight to the top of Minjeong’s Ideal Boyfriend checklist—granted, it’s not a difficult box to tick; since Beomgyu, while reserved, is pretty outgoing—his feud with Heeseung being the exception, not the rule.

Minjeong’s only ever interacted with Soobin a handful of times, but her gut tells her that he’ll get along with Beomgyu quite well.

“It’s not like I don’t remember how you two met,” Beomgyu says. “It was in front of a vending machine, right? Outside the perfume shop you worked at for the summer, then at the student lobby during class registration period. You came straight home both times to tell me all about it, how the glow of the machine made it look like a movie… or was it a Taylor Swift song?”

Minjeong vigorously nods. “Yeah, like Cruel Summer, exactly… So why the questions, then?”

“That doesn’t really answer why you like him, though,” Beomgyu clarifies.

Minjeong purses her lips. Shouldn’t the fact that Soobin offered to buy her a can of americano when Lingo’s faulty vending machine decided to steal her money, and that they met again a week after that, Minjeong returning the favor when Soobin didn’t have enough cash in his wallet; be enough of a reason to believe that they’re perfect for each other?

“Ya, Beomgyu-ya,” she deflects with a hushed tone, “you don’t hear me asking you what you like about Jimin aside from the fact that she’s the ocean to all your wet dreams, do you?” She’s exaggerating, of course, and maybe she doesn’t want to admit that she’s in constant awe of her brother’s ability to come up with lyrics like “I am born to grasp, to witness the moment that unfolds when Monday comes, to tune in to your holy steps at the gate’s pass” to describe someone literally just walking to campus at the start of the week.

Beomgyu clears his throat, but not without blushing bright, a sign that there was some truth to what Minjeong just said. “Whatever,” he dismisses, “so walk me through how we’re going to do this again.”

Minjeong immediately obliges, getting into the steps of the plan. “So I’ve done what I can in terms of knowing the basics. Jimin’s pretty much an open book, being the queen of SNS and everything, so I did find out through her IG highlights that she likes going to a lot of gigs, concerts, and shit like that. I can bring up that you’re in Applied Music, and that you’re in a band, too.” She pauses for a moment, remembering something. “Wait a sec. Did you make an Instagram account for Blue Hour like I told you to?

Beomgyu flinches in the way that can only mean that no, he definitely did not.

Minjeong sighs, slumping her shoulders. “What did I tell you? Jimin’s most active on Insta, and once I get her to follow Blue Hour’s account, it won’t just mean Jimin seeing you on her feed, but it’ll get people talking about who this band KSU’s royal highness is suddenly liking posts of is. See? Hitting two birds with one stone. This plan doesn’t just benefit you romance-wise, but it’ll help your career, too.”

Beomgyu shakes his head, almost as if in disbelief. “Why are you taking Biochem again? You should be doing sales with this pitch.”

Minjeong groans, then chuckles. That was funny, she has to admit, but Beomgyu’s not getting away that easily.

“It’s just that,” Beomgyu starts again, “we don’t really have much material to show people. You know we’ve been on hiatus for a while now.” Minjeong notices him looking toward his desk, at the stack of notebooks and sheet music there, before looking back down to his curled fists, picking at his nails.

Minjeong places a commiserating hand on his shoulder. “But she’s at least inspired a little of your spark back, hasn’t she? I’ve seen your recent stuff, Beom. They’re really impressive. Besides,” she shrugs, “Frank Ocean hasn’t put out an album in seven years and he still has fans waiting for him to drop music. Just post a story of you guys goofing off with your instruments, and it’s bound to mean something to some people.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow and swats Minjeong’s hand off. “I can’t believe you just compared us to Frank Ocean. That’s not even remotely close to similar. But okay, I’ll maybe talk to Chenle about setting up an Instagram.”

Minjeong catches the corners of his mouth turning upward still, and she knows that making the comparison cheered him up (and probably even convinced him to listen to her).

“Now on to the Soobin part of the equation. This guy…” Minjeong points at the 1x1 ID photo that Soobin uploaded into the university student portal—printed in black and white on the page because colored ink is expensive—tapping her finger on the paper, “is a mystery. Which makes him that much more attractive to me, funnily enough. Anyway, you’ve already changed classes so that five of those align with Soobin’s, right?”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Beomgyu says, “—hey, stop glaring at me like that. I’m kidding. It’s fine.”

“Good. I only managed to book Art Appreciation with Jimin on Wednesdays, but that’s a non-issue, since I’m going to be in the dance team with her after classes soon anyway.”

“Wait, what?” Beomgyu asks with a jolt, “So that’s why you’ve been going back to ICONIC these past few weeks. I was pretty happy when Sooyoung-noona mentioned it to me, too. That’s great news, Minjeong-ah.”

Minjeong nods. “Yeah, I’m just lucky she still lets me use her studio for free. I felt kinda bad about it, but she insisted. I figured that you’d be spending all that time with Soobin, and I knew I had to step up, so when I saw that the dance team had a new slot open, I immediately signed up to audition.” She shrugs and says it so casually, as if it’s not that big of a deal, even though both of them know it is. Dancing used to be a huge part of Minjeong’s life up until the end of middle school.

“When’s the audition?” Beomgyu asks after a quiet moment.

“The 15th… so, tomorrow actually.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen. “Shit, hey, good luck—I mean, make sure to get in, or else the plan’s going to fail miserably. No pressure, though,” he says with a smirk, which Minjeong happily accepts with a grin.

“Thanks, Beom. Don’t worry, I’ll give a full report on what she looks like up close and personal.”

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

The next day, as Minjeong stands in her pink sweats in the middle of KSU’s biggest practice room, waiting for the song to start—waiting for her heart to stop beating as if it’s about to jump out of her chest and dance alongside her on the wooden, polished floor; she looks at the group in front of her—eyeing one girl in particular—and is suddenly reminded of how the rest of Beomgyu’s lyrics went, ink and charcoal transforming to flesh and blood in the form of Yu Jimin: big, blonde, and beautiful in bright red crayon—wait, she thinks, that’s not how it went, not how it goes.

This is just the beginning, Minjeong recalls scribbled inside the pages of her brother’s Moleskine; the days that will wait for me, it continues as she watches Jimin open her mouth, a mole just below her lips; when I tune in to your voice, as Minjeong’s feet shift to position, as Jimin’s hair glows underneath the fluorescent lights.

“Okay, Minjeong-ssi, show us what you’ve got.”

Chapter Text

This is all Minjeong's fault, Beomgyu thinks in seething annoyance, as their new P.E. instructor partners him and Soobin up for the presentation that counts for 25% of their final grade.

“Since you're the last two left from Ms. Ha's class, I'll just match you guys up. You can do First Aid for Water Safety. While it doesn't really sound that exciting, it's actually one of, if not the most, important topics, so make sure not to half-ass it,” their instructor says, a finality to his cursing, one that leaves no room for refusal. He pauses and adds, looking at Soobin. "Your blond might go green from the chlorine, by the way. Make sure to put on some conditioner to protect it during class."

Okay—to be fair—nobody could have predicted that the renowned Park Jimin would be coming back to teach in KSU for this semester, having just gotten home from his nationwide showcase tour. This resulted in all but two students enrolled in Beomgyu's initial P.E. elective to drop and switch to Jimin's ballroom dance class, leaving their own section dissolved. Hence the transfer to the only open class with the same schedule, Instructor Lee Taeyong's Swimming 101.

But it's Minjeong's fault that he's here with Soobin now, having forced him to take up the same classes as him; and it's her fault that Beomgyu is currently thinking of what Soobin would look like in his swimming trunks, her wistful voice repeating in Beomgyu's head as she talked about Soobin's—and this is Beomgyu paraphrasing for propriety (and his sanity's) sake—larger-than-average package. Let's just say that Beomgyu has a vivid imagination, and he doesn't like that Minjeong got the idea of this stuck in his head.

“We got a pretty easy topic,” Beomgyu remarks as they head out of the pool area. Fortunately, Taeyong spared them from the mortifying ordeal of getting into the pool on the first day, opting for a quick orientation and run-over of the class syllabus. Beomgyu initiates the conversation because he needs to talk or he won't be able to stop thinking about Soobin and his huge dick, and partly because he's also noticed that Soobin isn't much of a talker himself. Beomgyu’s discovered that from observing him for the past few days, other discoveries include: how Soobin tends to sit at the second to the last row in lecture halls (read: he is a creature of habit), how he always writes with this tacky-looking carrot-shaped pen in class (read: either he’s into novelty items or this was a gift from someone he’s close to), and how he only ever eats with the same set of friends during lunch (read: he isn’t fond of engaging with people outside of his circle).

“Ah, yeah. I'm a relatively new swimmer, so I couldn't have done any of the demos on swimming strokes,” Soobin says, and this is the first time Beomgyu's heard his voice up close. In all of their previous classes, he's made sure to keep a respectable distance, lest Soobin think that he's stalking him (even though he kind of is, but Soobin can't find out about that). Soobin's voice sounds nice, Beomgyu thinks: low and solid with just a hint of breathiness. And Soobin looks nice, too: those dimples appearing even when he’s just speaking, so deep that Beomgyu gets the tiniest urge to poke his cheeks, if only to find out just how deep they go.

“Really? This is a beginner's class, though, so I don't think the instructor's expecting much. You have nothing to worry about.”

Soobin just gives him a polite nod after that.

Damn, Minjeong was right. This guy is mysterious. Beomgyu wonders how long it's going to take for him to have a conversation that’s more than two exchanges with him—much less actually befriend him—then privately sighs at the thought that it might take ages. He hopes that his twin is faring better than he is; he supposes that she is, considering that she successfully got into the dance club and is probably chatting Jimin up about him out there somewhere. She's so much better at this stuff than he is—well, it is her plan, after all.

Soobin pauses when they come to a fork in the hallway, pointing his thumb to the left. “I’m headed this way, so…”

When Beomgyu turns the same direction as him, he notices Soobin’s brows knit together, and his heart starts pounding like crazy. He needs to take control of the situation before Soobin suspects him any further. “Oh, you have Wednesdays 3 P.M. with Prof. Kim Doyoung?” he remarks as he turns on his heels. “I do, too. Sorry, Looks like you haven’t gotten rid of me just yet.” He says it in the friendliest, most nonchalant tone he could muster, and hopes that Soobin doesn’t see through it.

“But I wasn’t trying to get rid of you, Beomgyu-ssi,” Soobin says with a smile, and Beomgyu thinks wow, even the way he says his name sounds nice. No wonder Minjeong is smitten.

Soobin drops his gaze as they walk the long stretch to the room, and almost mumbles what he admits next. “I was supposed to be taking second year courses this semester, but I took a leave last year so I’m still at freshman standing. All my batchmates have moved on to taking major subjects, while I’m stuck here. I guess what I’m saying is…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I’m just glad that I get to see a familiar face in my classes.”

Beomgyu blinks. Once, twice. Gulps. This is it, he thinks. This is his chance to get closer to Soobin. To find out more about him, to cozy up to him enough that he could implant the idea that Soobin just has to date his sister—he could see it now: their plan a raging success. This just might work. He clears his throat, adjusts the strap of the bag hanging to his shoulder, and decides to respond with a joke. “Especially if it’s someone this good-looking, right?”

Soobin’s eyes widen, and Beomgyu immediately regrets what he said. He still manages to keep that goofy smile plastered on his face, but in his head he’s already cringing in a grimace. How could he forget? This is Choi Soobin he’s talking to—mysterious, aloof, and cool Choi Soobin. He’d never be charmed by shit like this, by Beomgyu’s usual antics, this overplayed display of faux hubris. Now he’s definitely blown his shot at getting on Soobin’s good side, and Minjeong is totally going to berate him when he gives her his status report later today. He’s so sure of this—that is, until Soobin laughs, his nose crinkling and dimples flashing, so prominent it almost makes Beomgyu feel trapped in them.

Soobin nods. “Yeah, you could say that that’s just an unsuspected bonus.”

Beomgyu resists the urge to tell him how Soobin’s not so bad himself, but he doesn’t want to give the wrong idea and look like he’s flirting with him. Soobin’s bisexual and just got out of two nasty breakups, after all; and not to toot his own horn, but Beomgyu’s been hit on by a few guys himself before—although he’s never really reciprocated, considering he just doesn’t swing that way. Besides, he’s here to hook Soobin up with Minjeong, and nothing else.

So instead he just walks to the second to the last row of seats and plops his bag down on the table, smiling when Soobin wordlessly sits beside him.

At one point in Prof. Kim’s lecture—he’s one of those overzealous teachers who think that not a day should be wasted on not learning—he catches Soobin looking his way from his peripheral vision. When he turns his head, he finds Soobin looking at a page on Beomgyu's notebook, at the few, messy lines etched there.

Soobin sees him and turns away, as if shy that he got caught. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Beomgyu shrugs, chin in his palm. “It’s fine, they’re only lyrics. They’re pretty cheesy for a love song, huh?” He takes this opportunity to bring up his sister. “Minjeong—my sister—tells me that they’re all great and romantic, but I dunno. She’s just very supportive of my work like that.” Great job, he thinks to himself, go and cast her in a positive light.

Soobin’s expression seems perplexed. Beomgyu thinks he’s definitely going to bring up the new fact that Beomgyu has a sister, but is surprised when he asks instead, “Cheesy love song? But I thought they were kind of… sad.”

Now it’s Beomgyu who is confused, mirroring the furrow of Soobin’s brows. He lowers his gaze to try and understand how Soobin could possibly find his lyrics about Yu Jimin’s ethereal beauty sad—is he calling Beomgyu a pathetic simp?—and almost gasps out loud when he sees what Soobin actually read, realization hitting him lightning fast; the words Eternal winter, now I just miss you staring back at him in all their black ink weight, forlorn and heavy.

“Shit,” he exclaims, and immediately closes his notebook, dragging it across the wooden desk to his bag. He notices that Soobin’s gone still beside him, and is about to apologize for startling him, when Mr. Kim suddenly calls them out from up front, telling them to keep quiet or he’ll be throwing his marker straight at them—“I used to be a pitcher in junior league baseball, just so you know!”—and Beomgyu loses his chance.

And he doesn’t get another, because as soon as they’re out of the classroom, Soobin’s friends arrive and pull him away to who knows where, not even giving Beomgyu so much as a glance. It’s for the better, Beomgyu thinks as Soobin looks over his shoulder to give him an apologetic grin goodbye; he doesn’t really know how he’d explain his reaction to him seeing those lyrics, anyway.

· · ─────── ·ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ· ─────── · ·

“You’re very much fucking welcome, Beom,” Minjeong exclaims as she ceremoniously opens the door to their bedroom, making a loud thud as she does so. She drops her bag to the floor and opens her arms, looking up at Beomgyu as if waiting for a hug. Beomgyu is definitely not going to do that, though, considering how sweaty she looks from dance practice. Instead he stays glued to his bed, laptop sitting atop his knees as he does his daily quests on The Star Seekers.

“And what exactly am I supposed to be thanking you for?” Beomgyu asks, not tearing his eyes away from the screen. He could see Minjeong slump her shoulders from his peripheral vision, and it makes him chuckle.

Minjeong sighs, and immediately takes the first two steps up their bunk’s ladder to close Beomgyu’s laptop.

“Hey, I was in the middle of—”

Minjeong cuts him off. “Hello, haven’t you been checking your Insta notifs?! I got Jimin to follow your band’s account, obviously!”

“Oh…” Beomgyu says, and after seeing how Minjeong appears offended at his lackluster response, changes his reaction to an “Oh! Fuck, no way!”

Minjeong rolls her eyes and slinks back to the floor, rummaging at her bag. “Seriously? I thought you’d be way more excited. Anyway, it was pretty easy—I didn’t even have to ask her to do it—but I still had to find the right timing to bring it up, you know. It’s a good thing I had one of your Moleskins as bait. And she fell for it—hook, line and sinker. She told me that your lyrics were so honest, and you should’ve seen her face, Beom—you’d think that she’d already fallen for you! I was tempted to tell her that the songs were about her too, but thought that it’d be too early. You should reveal it to her with a guitar in hand, singing…”

As Minjeong goes on talking—fantasizing, really—it slowly dawns on Beomgyu, little by little: why his notebook wasn’t in his bag in this morning, and was instead in his desk drawer; how he chalked it up to drowsiness, concluding that he probably forgot to put it back in after jotting down an idea last night; how he should really be labeling his notes to avoid mixing them up again, maybe stop buying identical notebooks in the first place.

But more than that, he just remembers the absolute mortification he felt when he realized that Soobin’s seen the words to the song he has no plans on ever releasing to the public, his heart laid bare in front of someone who is essentially a stranger to him. It doesn’t sit right with him, and he knows he shouldn’t get upset at Minjeong, but his feet move before his brain does and all of a sudden he’s already climbed down, looking Minjeong right in the eye. This is all her fault, he thinks, as he has his fists clenched to his sides.

“Ya, Minjeong-ah,” he starts, and Minjeong flinches and turns to him from where she’s crouching down, quiet and wide-eyed. She knows he's serious with the tone he’s taking. “Don’t take my things without permission next time.”

“But we agreed that I could show her your songwriting…” Minjeong refutes, but her voice is soft, as if to calm Beomgyu down. To make him remember, understand what she did—to see the progress they’ve made because of it.

Strings of guilt wrap around Beomgyu’s heart, but he ignores them in favor of pure frustration. “Even then, you should’ve told me when you were going to take it; now, because of that… because of you, I—” He could almost drop to his knees at this point, but he remains standing, determined not to break down this time.

“Did something happen?” Minjeong finally stands and walks over to him, a commiserating hand on his shoulder, then his back, soothing circles.

“Nothing,” Beomgyu says, even though there’s not an ounce of truth to it. He considers brushing it off, but thinks better of it. This is something she should know. “It’s just that your 'future boyfriend' saw the stuff I wrote about the accident—” he feels Minjeong freeze beside him, and decides to reroute the conversation for her sake—for both their sake, really.

“Anyway, it’s my fault. I was careless, brought the wrong notebook, and left it open in class. I don’t even know why I didn’t recognize it as that notebook right away.” He bites his lip at the thought of forgetting that he wrote those lyrics, at the thought of forgetting anything having to do with his parents.

Minjeong wraps her arms around Beomgyu’s waist, and he can feel the sweat on her temple as she gently presses her head against his shoulder. He isn’t disgusted by it like he would’ve been a few minutes ago, and instead leans into that familiar comfort, allowing his anger to dissipate. Because right now, he knows that they’re the only two people in the world who get it. Get why he’s acting this way, why she has to say the words, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Beomgyu says as he brings a hand up to pat her head. Sometimes he forgets how taller he is than her; they’re usually at an equal height when sitting down on the floor, talking about the next wild idea Minjeong has for them to try out. “He doesn’t even know the context, anyway. He just knew that they were…” he thinks back to how Soobin looked earlier, confused but so sure of what he said: “sad.”

And because he doesn’t want that singular word to color this evening—Minjeong looked so accomplished earlier, and he’s not one to stomp out his sister’s wins—he steers the atmosphere elsewhere. “Can you believe that that’s all he said? He’s not very verbose or eloquent, it seems. I have no idea why you like him; I thought you always went for those Shakespearean types. Isn’t Sungchan majoring in Lit? Looks like a downgrade to me, sis.”

Beomgyu hears Minjeong snort, and when she gives him a good slap on the shoulder, he knows that he’s succeeded in lightening the mood. “May I remind you that Soobin is taking up Mass Comm?”

“Maybe he should think of shifting, then.”

Minjeong pouts, and Beomgyu thinks he’s exhausted enough of that schtick, and he’s ready to move on to something else. “I’m kidding. He’s nice.” There’s a pause before he adds, “Thanks, by the way. For getting Jimin to follow us and showing her my lyrics and all. I thought I’d be embarrassed by it, but I’m glad she liked them.”

“Well, that’s not for free—remember, we’re helping each other out here, okay? So what did Soobin say about me?”

“Uh…”

“You haven’t talked to him about me at all, have you?” Minjeong doesn’t even try to hide her disappointment.

Beomgyu groans. “Look, it’s just that I didn’t want him to feel like I was creeping up on him, so I only really got to talk to him earlier today when we were partnered up for swim class and—”

Both of them pause, and Minjeong gets this look on her face, that look that Beomgyu knows all too well. Oh no. He can almost see the images that she’s already conjuring in her head.

“Swim class?” She stammers, which is so unlike her. “What do you mean swim class? You and Soobin? Swim class? Together? Like, Soobin in swim class—swimming—pool—water—wet…”

It’s confirmed. Beomgyu has effectively made Minjeong malfunction with that piece of information. He privately scolds himself for letting it slip that easily, that casually. “Our class got dissolved, so we were transferred to a different one, which just so happens to be Swimming 101. Hey, wipe your mouth. You’re getting slobber all over the carpet.”

Minjeong shakes her head, as if bringing herself back to reality. She grips Beomgyu’s shoulders. “You know what this means, Beom?”

“I don’t think I want to know what it means.”

“It means that I have an excuse to gawk at Soobin’s—”

Beomgyu immediately covers her mouth with his hand. “TMI!” He tuts as he climbs back up to his bed. “I’m calling it a night. Oh, wait. Have you eaten dinner?”

Minjeong nods. “Yeah, Jimin treated us to this fancy sushi place just outside campus. She was actually sweet enough to get us bags to take home, too.” Beomgyu hears the rustling of plastic as Minjeong continues, “I’ll put this in the fridge. Your girlfriend’s loaded, y’know. And she isn’t at all snobby about it—good choice.”

“She isn’t my girlfriend yet.”

Minjeong sighs, so loud it’s as if the entire apartment is sighing with her. “Haven’t you ever heard of the word ‘manifestation’? Besides, you should get used to saying it. Listen to me: My boyfriend, Soobin-oppa,” she says, giggling like some lovestruck schoolgirl—which she is, technically.

Beomgyu mocks her as he pulls the blankets over his body. “My boyfriend, Soobin-oppa” he repeats in sickly sweet exaggeration, before quickly clearing his throat and following with “My girlfriend, Jimin-noona,” because saying the first one made him feel weird, even if it was spoken in jest.

“See? Didn’t it feel right saying that? You just have to repeat it enough times, so when the real thing finally happens, it’ll feel at home on your tongue.”

Beomgyu can only turn around to face the wall, closing his eyes but finding it too bright to sleep. “Can you turn the lights off?”

“Sure thing, bro,” Minjeong says as she flips the switch. “I’ll wash up and head to bed myself.”

“G’night,” Beomgyu replies. He waits for Minjeong to leave the room before he mutters to himself, “My girlfriend, Jimin-noona.” Minjeong was right, it does feel right, saying it like this. So he says it again, forming the syllables as carefully as he could: “My. Girlfriend. Jimin. Noona.” And it’s these words—this thought alone—that he brings with him as he falls asleep, off to dreamland.

Chapter Text

It’s been easy befriending Jimin.

To be fair, Minjeong’s never had much trouble making friends in the first place. Sure, some people don’t like how… over-the-top she can be, but at the end of the day those people don’t matter to her and she’s not one to invest time or energy in changing their minds. Because for the most part, she’s happy with the friendships she’s made and maintained in her life: there’s Ryujin and Yeji, who’ve basically been married since preschool; Chaeryong and Lia, who just made it official last week after pining for each for the entirety of high school; Daehwi, and by extension, whoever new guy he has for the month; then in college she’s started hanging out with this cool grunge chick named Hyeju, who looks tough on the outside, but can’t help but blush whenever she gushes about her girlfriend Chaewon.

And what if she’s literally the only person who’s been single (since birth) amongst her friends, twin brother-slash-true best friend notwithstanding? Romance is a whole ‘nother ball game, and let’s just say that Minjeong isn’t the best at the sport—scratch that, even she admits that she’s bad at it.

So, yeah, it’s been easy befriending Jimin, and that’s fine and dandy and a sign that the plan is going the way it should be. Recently, however, Minjeong is getting the sense that it’s only been easy because Jimin is just friends with everybody.

Which is why she feels guilty when Beomgyu puts his arm around her shoulder on Friday night when she arrives home. He looks so proud, beaming as he says, “Jimin’s been liking all of our posts and stories, sis! Way to go.”

Minjeong’s throat goes dry. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that getting a ‘like’ from Jimin isn’t anything special. She’s seen the truth at practice, how Jimin scrolls through her feed during breaks and double taps on every single post she comes across. It’s no different from receiving hearts from a bot.

When Minjeong doesn’t say anything, Beomgyu ruffles her hair. “Don’t worry about Soobin. Did you know that he plays TKK too? I’ve been bugging you to try it for years but now that your boyfriend’s into it you might actually make an account, at least.”

“TKK?”

Beomgyu snorts. “See what I mean? Now you’re interested.” He retrieves his laptop from his bed, balancing it on one leg to show Minjeong the screen, window open to a game that she hasn’t seen Beomgyu play in years. “The Kwangya Keepers!”

“Oh, of course. But I thought you stopped playing that.”

“All part of the plan, right?” Beomgyu cocks his eyebrows, putting the laptop back up on his bed. “He’s even invited me to hang out at a PC café next week, can you believe that? It'd be like elementary school again. I’ll be sure to talk about you, too, so you can stop looking so disappointed in me. Soon, you'll get your guy, and I’ll get mine—er, I mean, I’ll get my girl. Jimin.” He shakes his head, “Yeah, you know what I mean.”

Minjeong ignores how flustered Beomgyu seemed just then and only gives him a smile instead.

“Well, look who’s finally pulling their weight around here,” she jokes despite herself, plopping her backpack on the desk, emptying its contents for the weekend. “I’m fine, by the way, just tired from practice. There’s this interuniversity showcase coming up and your girlfriend thinks a newbie like me is good enough for the dance break. Who knew that filling the spot their center left would mean I would actually be taking her parts?”

It was a fluke—one Minjeong was incredibly thankful for—that Kim Jungeun had to move abroad in the middle of the school year, resulting in a newly opened spot on the team. When Minjeong came across the flier for auditions, she hadn’t danced in front of anyone for years, but she knew it was imperative that she maximized the chances of spending time with Jimin. So she showed up in front of the ICONIC studio a few days later, heart pounding and fingers crossed; and felt relief in the knowledge that Sooyoung still hugged her the same way—as if Minjeong never quit, or in this case, as if she never wanted to let Minjeong go again.

She also taught the same way, with a reliable strictness that managed to bring the best out of Minjeong, managed to make her tap into something she thought she’d lost the day her parents stopped attending her performances—not because they didn’t want to, but because they just couldn’t anymore. But she’s found that it’s still here, this dormant part of her, the Minjeong who could still dance—the Minjeong who still wants to dance.

“Just goes to show that she has a great eye for talent. I couldn’t have picked a better candidate myself,” Beomgyu exclaims, voice strained, bringing Minjeong back to the present. He already climbed to the top bunk and is now hanging his head upside down at the edge of the bed, his hair looking even longer than when he’s right side up. His lanky legs are propped up on the wall, and for a moment Minjeong thinks that they should really think about getting new beds.

“Auntie called today, by the way,” Beomgyu adds before Minjeong could suggest that they go to the nearest furniture store first thing in the morning.

“Asked us what we were getting ourselves into. Well, her exact words were more like,” Beomgyu clears his throat and proceeds to do the best impression of their aunt, one he’s mastered since preschool, “what your sister is up to, which she probably managed to rope you into as well!” He chuckles, then winces, because it’s apparent in the red of his face that he really needs to roll over and stop making his circulatory system work double-time.

Minjeong laughs when she sees him looking obviously light-headed. “So did you tell her all about our plan?”

Beomgyu presses the ball of his thumb just over his right eye, and starts rubbing circles. “Sorry, I wasn’t aware that we’re to include her in our progress reports. I’ll make sure to mention how you’ve been salivating like a dog over the thought of Choi Soobin in a pool the next time we talk. He doesn’t really look that impressive, for the record.”

Minjeong grins, arms crossed and her tongue poking the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, and I’ll tell her you’ve discovered the free, prescription-free alternative to Sildefanil in the form of Yu Jimin liking your Insta posts. Also, as if I’d trust your opinion on what ‘impressive’ looks like on a guy.”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes at her. “Is that supposed to be, like, the generic name for an antidepressant, or something?” He completely ignores Minjeong’s comment about Soobin—who she is sure has a pool physique that is more than impressive—and starts typing on his laptop, muttering, “a joke hits best when it immediately lands the first time, you nerd.” When the search results load, he closes his eyes, head tilting as he purses his lips.

“Nah, I like seeing other people put in the extra effort,” Minjeong replies with a chuckle, “and love the priceless looks on their faces once they figure it out.”

Beomgyu glares at her for a few seconds before admitting that okay, that was kind of funny, with a soft laugh.

While it’s fun to joke about the exaggerated Pavlovian responses they’ve developed due to their respective crushes, Minjeong also knows that Instagram notifs simply aren’t going to cut it. Beomgyu may be excited about them now, but he probably won’t feel the same when it’s been months and he’s still in the Instagram-mutual zone that so many of Jimin’s admirers (and friends?) find themselves stuck at.

In other words, Minjeong needs to step up her game.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

With five minutes left until her shared Art Appreciation class with Jimin ends, Minjeong ponders on the feasibility of human cloning. Surely, replacing Jimin with a clone to present to the public while Minjeong spends time with the original would be the better (albeit less ethical) option to this: chin in hand, pencil tapping on the desk, unable to get within a 100-meter radius to Jimin lest Minjeong earn the ire of her legion of loyal followers. It’s like a cult at this point—one she doesn’t really see herself joining.

Minjeong really should have seen this coming. She knew Jimin was popular, but she might have underestimated just how popular she truly is. Never mind, Minjeong thinks. She’s no stranger to trial and error, after all, so she’ll just have to adapt to the situation, and adapt in ways that don’t involve test tubes.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

Later that day after dance practice, Minjeong is approached by another freshman on the team, Yooyeon, who asks if Minjeong could stay behind to help her with a tricky sequence that involved a lot of formation changes.

“You have some of the most precise footwork I’ve ever seen,” Yooyeon says, hands clasped with her chestnut-dyed hair in a messy bun. “And that’s something I need to work on, so if it’s not too much to ask…”

Minjeong thinks that Yooyeon has always executed her moves with a clean vibrancy, so she’s a little surprised at the request, especially considering how Minjeong only joined three weeks ago. She doesn’t really have any reason to refuse, though; her first class tomorrow isn’t until 10 A.M., and today’s session was relatively chill, so she still has a lot of energy left over.

“No problem,” Minjeong says, and as if those were the magic words to summon the one person that is causing her problems, Yu Jimin walks over to them.

“Hey, what’s up?” Jimin looks from Yooyeon to Minjeong, her blonde ponytail swaying from side to side, a dancer of its own accord. It’s been a while since Minjeong’s seen her up close like this: still and not in motion, alone and not surrounded by drones.

“Ah, hello, sunbaenim. I just asked Minjeong if she could help me out with the routine for the showcase. We won’t be too long, so you can—”

“Actually, Yooyeon,” Minjeong interjects, “I have a great idea.” The chance to spend time with Jimin doesn’t come up often, and Minjeong is determined not to let the moment pass without making the most of it.

She looks over to Jimin and turns on what Beomgyu calls her ‘sales pitch voice.’ “But of course, it’d only work if Jimin-sunbae is free, and up for it.”

Jimin furrows her brows, seemingly amused, before smiling. “Sure, I could stay and join you two.”

“Oh,” Minjeong says, surprised and relieved that she didn’t have to pull out the big guns (i.e. her puppy dog eyes) to convince her to stay. She didn’t even have to ask.

“Ah, wait a sec. I just remembered that I have somewhere to be tonight…” the expression on Jimin’s face falls, and Minjeong could likewise see herself falling to her knees, begging at this point. You can’t swing the carrot in front of her and snatch it away like that!

Fortunately, it looks like her dignity is spared, at least for today. “Never mind,” Jimin dismisses as she pulls her phone from her pocket. She starts typing something, presumably a text to whomever she’s supposed to meet. “I’ll just postpone. It's no big deal.”

“But sunbaenim, if you’re busy then it’s fine. I’m sure Minjeong and I can handle it,” Yooyeon says, and Minjeong resists the urge to inform her out loud that the correct response to Yu Jimin choosing them over her previous appointment is a ‘thank you.’

Jimin waves her hand as she pockets her phone back. “Don’t worry about it. They’ll understand. Besides,” she pulls the two younger girls into a hug, and turns them to the side so they’re all facing the full-length mirrors of the practice room. “How can I ever resist these hardworking and adorable hoobaes of mine?”

Minjeong regards Jimin’s reflection in front of her, the physical weight of her arm around her shoulder. This is the same mirror she’s watched Jimin from for the past few weeks: clean and huge and all-seeing. It’s where she’s seen Jimin clap and count down the beats, seen her both serious and playful as she guides the team, seen her come alive in a way that she rarely is outside of this room. As if its very walls were her skin, the floors her bones, music from the speakers Jimin’s own heartbeat.

And for the first time, Minjeong considers Jimin differently, no longer the three-dimensional manifestation of lyrics on Moleskin, not your muse, not our goal, not my target. Right now, she sees Jimin as she is: a person who loves and breathes dance, possibly in the same way that Minjeong does.

At the back of Minjeong’s mind, beyond the surface triumph she feels at this turn of events, is the quiet thought that it might be them doing Jimin a favor here, and not the other way around.

It’s more of a gut feeling than anything else, one that calcifies heavy inside of Minjeong as the hour passes, settling at the pit of her stomach once they’re finished, Yooyeon having all but mastered the sequence she was having so much trouble with earlier.

“I’m so proud of you. You could practically do it in your sleep now,” Jimin says as she locks the practice room. It’s bright in the hallway outside, and Minjeong can see a sweat bead make its way from Jimin’s forehead to the corner of her eye, which she wipes away with her ring finger, much like one would do to a teardrop.

Yooyeon blushes. “And it’s all thanks to your help, sunbaenim, and of course, you too, Minjeong. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Minjeong replies, even though a thank you seems more appropriate.

They walk across the quad and exit the campus through gate 3, where Yooyeon spots her mother’s car. Before she goes, she gives Jimin and Minjeong one last bow. “I’m sorry I couldn’t join you for dinner; I promise to make it next time. I’ll be going now. Get home safely.” Yooyeon’s mother rolls her window down and gives the two a polite nod, and once her daughter is seated beside her, drives back into traffic, headed home.

“I guess it’s just you and me for tonight,” Jimin says, tipping her chin as she starts walking. “It’s not that far from school, come on.”

Minjeong follows her, her footsteps synchronized to the alternating swing of Jimin’s golden mane.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

After relaying their orders to the counter and finding an empty booth, Jimin excuses herself to the restroom, leaving Minjeong to idly look around the restaurant. Their spot is situated beside the storefront, and when she looks through the glass outside, she notes how it really isn’t that far—just a couple blocks, a ten-minute walk, tops—from KSU.

The last time Jimin treated the juniors out, it was at this high-end Japanese restaurant in inner Gangnam; the trip entailed a 30-minute ride in Jimin’s family van, driven by her own chauffeur.

This place is simpler, much quieter with not as many people, too. It smells of homemade Korean cooking, inviting and warm, and Minjeong considers that she might like it better here.

“You’re a great teacher, you know,” Jimin remarks as she slides back into their booth, right across from Minjeong. Minjeong didn’t even notice her approach, her footsteps light as air.

“Earlier in the practice room, it’s like I could see the light bulbs switching on in Yooyeonie’s head every time you explained how she could remember a step better.”

Minjeong smiles as she fiddles with the napkin dispenser. “That means a lot coming from you, considering all the freshmen on the team follow your every move.”

Their conversation stalls when their food arrives. Minjeong could cry at how heavenly the first bite is, meat tender and cooked to perfection. She continues her earlier thought and concludes that she does like it here better. The sushi was impeccable, don’t get her wrong (even Beomgyu agrees), but nothing could beat the meals she grew up with, especially when prepared with so much care and flavor like this.

Jimin and Minjeong easily fall back to talking after that. When Jimin mentions that she went to Yippi’s as a kid, the dance academy just a few buildings away from ICONIC, Minjeong almost spits out her stew in surprise.

“No way! I used to go—still go—to ICONIC.”

Jimin laughs, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Seriously? So you were there during the whole rivalry the two owners had? It was so dramatic,” she says before bringing a spoonful of rice to her mouth.

Minjeong snorts. “Yeah, but it was fun at times. I remember how the competition definitely pumped everyone up during classes. And Beomgyu always told me that the best part of watching my dance exhibits was seeing our Sooyoung-nim and your Jiwoo-nim glare at each other from the sidelines.”

It’s natural to bring Beomgyu up in conversation, but Minjeong is suddenly reminded that bringing Beomgyu up is the entire point. Why else would she be here?

“It’s so weird to think that we’ve most likely crossed paths before, isn’t it? I could’ve given you the stink eye and you just don’t remember. I mean, I looked different back then, of course, the hair color for starters.” Jimin flips her hair, catching a stray lock in her hand and twirling the strands around her finger.

The word BLONDE in capitalized, bold, red letters flashes in Minjeong’s mind, and she decides that she needs to get her head in the game as soon as possible. She’s already wasted so much time at this point.

“Now that I think of it, it made sense my brother would say that; he’s never been too into dance—” she bites her tongue, privately reprimanding herself for saying something as idiotic as that. True as it may be, you don’t just say that to a dancer, much less to the dancer you’re trying to hook your brother up with. “I mean, he doesn’t dislike it, but he’s always been more into the band stuff.”

“Blue Hour!” Jimin exclaims, and if she suspects Minjeong of trying to change the topic back to her brother it doesn’t show on her face. “They’re working on something, right? I’ve seen their posts. Seems big. Any spoilers from an insider?” She winks, such a small thing to cause Minjeong to squirm in her seat.

Well, at least she remembers the band name, Minjeong thinks.

At the mention of Instagram, though, Minjeong realizes that Jimin hasn’t used her phone at all, not since she sent the message that effectively canceled whatever her previous engagement was. It’s a nice change, finally seeing her as a person, and not as an extension of her phone. And while Minjeong feels a bit guilty to whomever was on the other line, she also wants to trust Jimin when she said that it was no big deal and that they’d understand.

“Sorry, but my lips are sealed,” Minjeong answers, before quickly adding, “but in exchange for the meal today, if you want, I could invite you to one of their future demo recording sessions.”

Nailed it, Minjeong thinks, when excitement flashes across Jimin’s face.

“Really? You could do that for me?”

“Twin sister privileges,” she says, just as two women enter the restaurant in a huff. Minjeong is seated parallel to the entrance, so she notices the upset expressions they carry as they head to the counter. They also look a little familiar, but Minjeong can’t place where she’s seen them before. Her heart jumps when the shorter of the two—a woman with long, dark hair, and full lips—pauses, squints, and looks straight at their booth. She tugs at her companion’s arm to get her attention, and when the other—this one sporting a bob dyed red with the roots showing, her features sharper—turns to see what all the fuss is about, gasps so loud that even Jimin is startled.

When Jimin looks behind her, Minjeong swears that she could almost see the color drain from her face.

“Ya! Yu Jimin, is that you?” overgrown red bob shouts from across the restaurant.

The other woman stumbles behind her. “Unnie, please don’t make a scene,” and despite her words she doesn’t really do much to stop the clearly angry woman making her way toward Jimin and Minjeong.

“So it is you,” bob-unnie says, her hands gripping the leatherette of Jimin's chair. Her perfume is so strong that it manages to overpower the smell of their food. It reminds Minjeong of the cemetery, flowers wilting beside gravestones.

She looks Jimin up and down before speaking again. “I’d recognize that bleached disaster anywhere. I told you you should’ve dyed it red. Look, it totally washes your features out.” She brings her other hand to Jimin’s face, and Jimin clearly flinches but stays in place, saying nothing.

“What Iseul-unnie means, Jimin-ah, is that a different color might have suited you more,” the other girl interjects in a hushed tone, and Minjeong finally recognizes her as one of the many people who hover around Jimin in Art Appreciation class. She also quickly decides that she does not like her; she doesn’t like either of them.

“Oh, please, you are so fucking fake, Dasom,” Iseul barks over her shoulder before quickly redirecting her focus to Jimin. “I hope you’re happy, by the way. The mixer was a disaster without you. You know that the guys only go to those things because they expect you to be there, right? We had to pair up some of the girls with each other; but I bet that’s what you wanted to happen, huh? Look, I don’t have a problem with whatever you think you are, Jimin, but you can’t go expecting everyone to be okay with that sort of stuff the way Dasom and I are.”

Minjeong scoffs, loudly enough that all three of them turn to her. In fact, a lot of the people in the restaurant seem to be tuning in to this heated discussion at their booth. She glances at Jimin, who gives her a small shake of her head, but Minjeong’s had enough of this nonsense. She can’t sit here like a passive bystander.

She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows at Iseul, who regards her with contempt, the way people look when they think you’ve crossed a line and want you to step back. But Minjeong won’t step back at all; in fact, she’s ready to run, full sprint ahead—a whole fucking marathon, even.

“Then why do you even bother going to them if that’s the case? ‘Cause from what I just heard—from your own mouth, mind you—is that none of those guys would give you the time of day. Their attention would all be on Jimin-sunbae.”

Iseul looks from Minjeong to Jimin, “Really, Jimin-ah, you stood us up for… this? A first year who needs to know her fucking place?”

Minjeong can feel the heat creeping up her neck, her lips tingling with a response, fire in between her teeth. “At least I didn’t go to a "mixer" like that, expecting a Single’s Inferno episode, and getting mad when it turned out to be some off-brand version of The Bachelorette instead.” Minjeong knows little to nothing about reality TV, so she can only hope that she got the references right. And her gambit evidently pays off, the horrified looks on Dasom and Iseul’s faces so utterly satisfying to witness.

“What did you think? That after sunbae rejects them, all the men would come crawling over to you? Doesn’t that make you no different from vultures who—”

“Minjeong-ssi,” Jimin says with a sternness that she’s never heard from her before, like a knife to her throat. “That’s enough.”

Minjeong gulps, and before she could even think of protesting, Jimin’s already started de-escalating the situation, sending Minjeong more than two steps back, retreating behind the line as she goes quiet.

“Iseul-unnie, Dasom-ah, I’m sorry I canceled at the last minute. It’s not my hoobae’s fault.” She slumps her shoulders, and Minjeong would feel bad for her if she weren’t so in disbelief at the fact that she’s apologizing to scum like Iseul, or that she’s even associated with her at all.

After a stilted second and a deep breath, Jimin continues. “I was just nervous about it, I guess, so I used dance as an excuse to bail.”

Iseul tuts, and it astounds Minjeong how she has the gall to sigh and smile sweetly right after, like she’s the bigger person here. She sits down and wraps her arms around Jimin’s waist, as if she weren’t one outburst away from calling her some sort of slur earlier.

Iseul starts stroking Jimin’s hair, and it takes all of Minjeong’s restraint not to break Iseul’s shins underneath the table. “You should’ve just been honest, you know?” Iseul says, so sickly patronizing, “I could have adjusted the number of participants, or held it in some other place you were more comfortable with.”

Dasom follows suit and takes her place beside Iseul, their combined frames practically squishing Jimin into the corner of the seat. “You understand now, why unnie was so upset with you earlier, don’t you, Jimin-ah?” she asks.

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Well, as long as you understand, I suppose.” Iseul eyes Minjeong for a moment, “I’ll let this slide. See you around, Jiminie.”

The two of them give Minjeong a wary look before walking out of the restaurant without ordering anything. Soon enough the place is back to its normal operations, what happened just another story the customers would tell their family or friends when they leave.

After a few moments wherein neither of them talk, Jimin licks her lips, smiles, and breaks the silence, “Are you finished? It’s getting late, I’ll call the van and we could drop you off at your apartment. Where was it again, somewhere close by, right?”

Minjeong still has a good few bites of her meal left, but she’s lost her appetite. “They didn’t seem very understanding, sunbae.”

Jimin lets out a forced laugh. “Oh, don’t mind them. Your address, please? I’ll send it over to the driver.” She has her phone in her hand and this manages to bother Minjeong even more.

“Did you know that they would react that way? Are they always like that to you?”

Jimin sighs, likely resigned to the fact that Minjeong won’t let this go that easily. “It usually doesn't take more than a good night’s sleep for Iseul-unnie to calm down; I was just unlucky and ran into them today.”

“Why are you friends with people like her in the first place?”

“Minjeong-ssi,” there it is, that tone again, and Minjeong immediately clams up, like a spell. “I don’t like this… this interrogation you’re doing,” Jimin admits. She starts wringing her hands in the air, as if trying to grab at an inkling of an explanation there somewhere. “And I would really appreciate it if you stopped talking about my friends like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” Jimin purses her lips. Minjeong’s never seen her this agitated. Her voice raises, just a bit, but it’s still in that volume of secrecy, as if she’s not supposed to say any of these things out loud. “Like they’re bad people. You just met them at the wrong time, okay? They’ve been looking forward to getting back into the dating scene after a long break away from it, so it makes sense that they’d be mad at me for ruining their plans. I should’ve been more direct with them.”

“I’ve been single all my life and I don’t act like that,” Minjeong says, and she means it with every cell of her body. “And you didn’t ruin their plans; I’m sure it wouldn’t have worked the way they liked no matter what, and they’d still end up blaming the outcome on you somehow.”

When Jimin doesn’t reply—which is better than continuing to defend her so-called friends, if Minjeong were being honest—Minjeong reaches a hand out from across the table to place over Jimin’s now closed fist. “Sunbae, I—”

Jimin pulls her hand back, and Minjeong’s nails meet only tablecloth. “We should go,” Jimin says as she stands up, hauling her bag. “God, I’m glad that everything was pre-paid at the counter.”

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

“I think it would be best if I just flagged down a cab for you, Minjeong-ssi. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the fare,” Jimin says as soon as they’re outside, eyeing the road. “I’m sorry.”

Minjeong takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, grips the straps of her backpack. So Jimin’s realized that she needs space, and Minjeong is fine with giving her plenty of that, and for free, too. “That’s okay. I can take the bus. I have my t-card, and my place is close by.”

Jimin laughs, and continues poking her head out into the rows of passing cars. “No way I’d let you do that! After all, it’s my fault you had to witness that disaster.” She starts waving her right arm out. “Where the hell are all the cabs?”

Minjeong sniffs, kicks at the asphalt underneath her feet, and wishes it were Iseul’s face instead. She turns to Jimin, and even when Jimin is avoiding looking at her, Minjeong’s own eyes don’t falter.

“It’s not your fault, sunbae. And I know that me saying that won’t really change your mind, but you need to hear it regardless. Because it’s hard to be kind to yourself, I get that—believe me, I know how that is—but at the very least, let other people be kind to you. Let me be kind to you, okay? Let me say that it’s not your fault.”

Jimin’s arm falls to her side, and only then does she relent. Her next words are straightforward, but they carry a significant weight of care to them. “Text me when you get home, or I won’t be able to sleep. See you tomorrow at dance practice.”

“Okay, done.”

Jimin finally returns Minjeong’s gaze, meeting her eyes. “Promise?”

A pause, just to make sure. “I promise.”

Minjeong decides against saying anything else, and starts heading to the bus stop.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

“Holy shit, you were out late today! Where the fuck were you? I texted you, like, two times.”

Minjeong rolls her eyes, but she realizes that Beomgyu won’t even see her exasperation as he’s sitting on his desk with his back to her, engrossed in what she can only assume is TKK. He has his tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth while his eyes flit over the screen of his laptop, and Minjeong is reminded of a twelve-year-old version of him.

“Sorry, dad,” Minjeong says, and immediately cringes after the word leaves her mouth. “But I was out with your girlfriend.”

Well, that manages to capture Beomgyu’s attention, as he finally swivels around to face her. “You were with Jimin? Wait, wow. You look… bad, no offense.”

Minjeong is well aware that she looks bad, and feels much worse. Even though it didn’t get physical, the altercation with Iseul and Dasom earlier really did a number on her. She fell asleep on the bus ride home, and when she woke up at her stop, her temples were throbbing.

“Gee, thanks.” She considers telling Beomgyu everything, but she’s exhausted and only has one thing on her mind: rest.

“I’ll wash up and head to bed,” she says instead, opening the door to leave their bedroom.

“What, already? But I was waiting for you to come home all evening. I’ve got good news… of the Soobin kind.”

Well, Minjeong could use a bit of good news. She could use a lot of it, truth be told.

She turns around and leans her body on the doorframe. “Okay, what is it?”

“So, at lunch today, Soobin introduced me to his friends! You know, that group he always hangs out with? Turns out, they’re pretty cool, Minjeong, and I’m sure you’d think so, too, once you get to know them. You’d probably get along well with Taehyun, especially, since he’s a total nerd about physics the way you are with chemistry. Then there’s this other freshman named Kai—yeah that’s his real name—and…”

At this point, Minjeong’s stopped listening. She can barely hear what Beomgyu’s saying, in fact, words muffled and buried by the pounding inside her skull. The headache she was nursing since she got on the bus has gotten worse, and it must be obvious that she’s in pain, because Beomgyu stops listing off names and goes over to her, his concern so palpable and raw.

“I think I need to lie down,” Minjeong groans as she grabs Beomgyu’s shoulder for support. “I might have caught a cold or something.”

“No shit,” Beomgyu says, his voice just on the edge of panic, and Minjeong knows this from the way his breathing changes. He helps her to bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. He presses the back of his hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up, Minjeong, and you’re shivering like crazy.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Minjeong chuckles. Beomgyu sounds so scared, but she knows that he’s just worried about her. Minjeong doesn’t get sick that often, and the last time she did, Beomgyu had cried next to her bed as if it were something terminal, even though it was just the flu. “It’s nothing some meds and a few days off school can’t fix,” she reassures, and Beomgyu nods.

“I don’t think we have any cooling patches left, so I’ll head on over to the pharmacy now and stock up on supplies. Do you want anything else?”

Minjeong takes a moment to think. “Could you, uh, get my phone?”

“I think you should stay away from screens for the time being, sis. What do you need it for?”

“It’s just that… I promised Jimin I would text as soon as I got home, and I haven’t yet, so.”

“Oh. Uhm, yeah, sure, I’ll text her. Leave it to me.”

“Text her from my phone, okay? And don’t tell her that I’m sick. Please.”

Beomgyu knits his eyebrows together. “I wasn’t planning to, although I’m pretty sure she’ll figure it out when you don’t show up for dance practice tomorrow.”

Two scenarios float around in Minjeong’s head at that moment: (1) she doesn’t attend dance practice and Jimin assumes that she’s avoiding her because of what happened tonight, or (2) she doesn’t attend dance practice and Jimin finds out that it’s because she got sick. Either way, Jimin will find a way to blame herself again, and the inevitability of it makes Minjeong nauseous. And she won’t even be there to tell her that it’s not her fault, empty as those words may be. She just knows that sometimes, you just really have to hear them over and over again to believe it yourself.

“It doesn’t matter,” she thinks out loud, too tired for her brain-to-mouth filter to work properly. “Just make sure to text her that I’m home.”

At the very least, Minjeong thinks as she drifts off to sleep, she can keep that half of the promise.

Chapter Text

The last person Beomgyu expected (only hoped, maybe fantasized in the deepest parts of sleep) to see at their apartment when he came home the next day was the very object of his affections.

“I got you a few bottles of Powerade, and ingredients for your favorite soup,” he was just saying—shouting, so Minjeong could hear through the walls—so casually, so unaware of what was heading his way. He was carefully unpacking the items and placing them on the kitchen counter when he heard the flush of a toilet, the click of a switch, the unlocking of a bathroom door. He looked up, ready to greet his sister. “Oh, it’s good to know that you’re up and about—”

And so we arrive to the now, to Beomgyu’s jaw hanging by the hinges of his skull. He might be salivating a little, too, but the shock makes it hard for him to be certain. The only thing he’s sure of is that he can’t feel his face; he can only see Jimin’s.

She has her hair up in a ponytail, a few short, golden strands sticking to her temples. So, even angels sweat, Beomgyu quietly thinks in awe. Or maybe she just finished washing her face? Washing her face in their bathroom. The image of Jimin splashing (now holy) water all over their tiles hits him at once: the perfect Neutrogena model, perusing through the beauty products haphazardly thrown into the plastic basket near their sink. Did he see his toothbrush, maybe give it a little nudge with her finger? Just the possibility of it is enough for Beomgyu to feel light-headed.

“Oh, hello. You must be Minjeong’s brother. Beomgyu, right?” His name coming out of Jimin’s mouth is a fever dream unwoven. She approaches him, and Beomgyu resists the urge to step back. Up close like this, Beomgyu notes Jimin’s uncanny resemblance to a video game character. She’s a dead ringer for Karina, everyone’s favorite paladin in TKK. He’s never mained her before—as he is a Viken guy through and through—but his loyalty shudders in the face of Jimin-slash-Karina’s halo, this aura he’s only ever imagined on paper suddenly finding its way into the confines of his home.

“I’m Yu Jimin, Minjeong’s sunbae from dance. I follow your band on Instagram? I can’t wait for the new single you’re working on.” Jimin tilts her head, and the smile she gives sears itself into Beomgyu’s brain.

He clears his throat, finally mustering the wherewithal to actually talk. “Oh, cool. Thanks. I—uhm, what are you doing here?” His attempt at masking curiosity and excitement makes the question come out like an accusation, almost. He scratches the back of his head. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here when I got home. We don’t get that many visitors, you see.”

To his relief, Jimin doesn’t seem to mind at all. “I was checking up on Minjeongie. Sorry if I startled you.” Her eyes flit over Beomgyu’s shoulder. “Are those ingredients for samgyetang? For Minjeong?” She chirps, a sparkle in her voice. She walks over to the kitchen, washes her hands, and starts perusing the ingredients one by one. “Would you like me to help you prepare?” she asks as she shakes off the water from her hands.

“Uh.”

Jimin blinks. Once, twice. She’s already holding the whole chicken in her hands, ready to wash it, and Beomgyu has never in his life been jealous of a dead, headless bird more than at this exact moment.

“One sec,” Beomgyu croaks with a lift of his finger, before promptly walking away in a way he desperately hopes doesn’t seem like he’s staggering to the bedroom.

“A warning would have been nice,” he whisper-shouts as soon as he closes the door behind him. He practically drops to his knees, crawling across the floor to Minjeong’s side. She’s in bed, a small hill of pillows and comforters propping her back so she’s sitting slightly upright.

Minjeong smiles—smirks, more like. “Sorry for you-know-who, but you did tell me to refrain from using my phone unless it was an emergency.”

“This is an emergency!” Beomgyu says, a frantic hand running through his hair. He nervously looks around the room, fingers clutching at the carpet he’s haunched on. “Don’t tell me she saw all my notes and shit.”

“Jimin-unnie isn’t one to snoop around. She did ask about the bunk bed, though.”

Beomgyu pointedly drops his head in his hands, elbows propped atop the mattress. “It’s over. She thinks I’m a total loser,” he groans.

“She actually thought it was cute.”

Beomgyu’s head springs up, his face bright. “Wait. Like, cute as in good cute, or cute as in patronizing cute?”

“I’m pretty sure it was a good kind of cute, Beom.” Minjeong scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Besides, sleeping in bunk beds is perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, when you’re eight and afraid of the dark, maybe.” Beomgyu pauses, then bites his lower lip. “Now that I think of it, ‘cute’ is exactly the word you’d use to describe eight-year-olds afraid of the dark… or puppies, or elderly couples. But not your boyfriend.” His head finds its way into his hands again.

“Minjeong-ah,” he whines into his palms, elongating the last syllable, “I don't want Jimin to think I’m cute.”

Beomgyu hears Minjeong sigh beside him. “You’re being overdramatic. I bet Soobin wouldn’t care if girls thought he was cute,” she murmurs.

Beomgyu raises his head and glares at Minjeong. “Hey! You’re supposed to take my side and cheer me up, you know… not compare me to that—that—” Suddenly, an image of Soobin pursing his lips appears in Beomgyu’s head. Fine, he admits that Soobin is cute—at least, his dimples are—but Beomgyu would never tell him that. Would Soobin mind if he tells him, though? On second thought, Beomgyu shouldn’t be imagining this at all!

He shakes his head and goes back to glaring at Minjeong. When he finally gets a good look at her, seeing how pale she still is, he drops his gaze and backs down. “Uh, how are you feeling?”

Minjeong shrugs. “Better, I guess. Unnie—I mean, your girlfriend—has been catering to my every need the past hour she’s been here. I feel like a princess.” She waves her hands around, gesturing to the stack of pillows behind her. “Jealous?”

Beomgyu abruptly stands up, then slaps his forehead with his palm. “Fuck. Oh god, Minjeong, I gotta go back out there.” He paces the room, chewing on his lip. “I told her I would take one second but I’ve been here for more than that… I’ve been here for way more than that. Ohmygod she wanted to help me make samgyetang. What if I accidentally cut myself and get blood all over the chopping board and she’s all grossed out? What if I spill hot broth all over her? What if I burn the place down?”

“Would you just quit it for a sec!” Minjeong shouts, both hands raised. “You’re making me dizzy. Look, Beom, you are not going to burn the place down, okay? You’ve been cooking your own meals since high school.”

Beomgyu points at the door, frantic. “Yeah, but I was never in the presence of—”

“Just,”Minjeong closes her eyes, “breathe, okay?” She cocks her head to the door, “Go get your lady. This is your moment. This is what you’ve been writing songs about, right?”

Beomgyu pauses, shifts his weight from heel to heel. Goes over his lyrics in his head: of Jimin walking into the campus, of watching Jimin from the other side of the quad, of wondering what it’d be like to be close to her. But now she’s here, and Beomgyu has the chance to know for real.

“You’re right,” he says with an eagerness that surprises even him. “Wish me luck.”

Minjeong snorts. “Fighting!” she offers, complete with a fist pump.

Beomgyu leaves the room and walks over to the kitchen, where Jimin is already chopping the onions. She doesn’t notice him approaching, so there’s a few seconds where Beomgyu just watches her. Is this what domestic bliss feels like? He shakes his head, painfully aware how creepy he must look, just standing there.

“Sorry,” Beomgyu says.

Jimin lifts her head up and smiles. “Oh, there you are. How’s Minjeong?”

“Good,” Beomgyu nods, pursing his lips. “Much better. She told me you took care of her.” He walks over to the wall cabinets opposite Jimin. He looks around awkwardly before finally settling on readying the pot for boiling water, filling it up in the sink. “Thanks for that.”

“I was worried when I heard she didn’t attend class today.” Jimin slides the chopped pieces of onion to the side of the cutting board and gets another one to peel. “I also feel partly responsible, having her out so late last night.”

“I’m sure Minjeong doesn’t blame you for it,” Beomgyu says as he turns the stove on.

“Yeah,” Jimin chuckles. “The first thing she actually said to me when I arrived here was that it wasn’t my fault, as if she read my mind.”

Beomgyu smiles. “Sounds exactly like her.”

“You two are really close, aren’t you?”

Beomgyu remembers Jimin’s comment about the bunk beds and internally winces. He considers spitting out a lengthy excuse on the cost efficiency of their sleeping arrangement; but between Minjeong and him, his sister’s better at explaining, and he doesn’t want to sound like a kid defending himself, so: “Twin things,” he shrugs, by way of explanation. “Do you have any siblings?”

“One older sister. But we’re so far apart in age that it always felt more like I had a second mom, to be honest.” She finishes chopping the last onion. “Should we get the chicken ready?”

So it goes: Beomgyu takes the chicken out of the plastic bag and washes it; Jimin pats it dry on the chopping board. “Where do you keep your spices,” Jimin asks; “over here,” Beomgyu answers. In their back-and-forth in the kitchen, Beomgyu learns something new about Jimin, then another, then vice versa. They throw the occasional joke, never maintain eye contact for more than two seconds (entirely Beomgyu’s decision), brush hands on more than one occasion, and mostly just talk about Minjeong. The most important thing out of everything that happens, however, is that Beomgyu does not burn the place down.

Minjeong was right. He just needs to breathe, no matter how impossible a task that seems when his lungs constrict every time Jimin so much as acknowledges him. But he gets through it without hyperventilating—although he does come close, once.

Minjeong eats two bowls full of samgyetang, exclaiming how she’s regaining strength with every sip of the soup. Jimin tells Beomgyu that the two of them make a good team, and Beomgyu blushes, feeling relief and something like pride wash over him.

· · ─────── ·ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ· ─────── · ·

The following day, Beomgyu daydreams about his encounter with Jimin the entire morning, only snapped back to reality during lunch when Soobin asks him if he wants to go to a PC café to play TKK on Saturday. The latest update is going to come with a new story quest and both of them have been anticipating it since it was announced.

Not a second passes and Beomgyu is vigorously nodding his head, ecstatic at the idea. He’s never tried playing any of the update quests with anybody else; TKK may not be the most obscure of games, but his social circle isn’t really into playing anything beyond musical instruments. Plus, this is a perfect opportunity to get closer to Soobin—all according to plan.

“Oh, you play TSS?” Yeonjun asks as he takes his seat next to Soobin, having just arrived with Taehyun and Kai following behind.

“It’s TKK, hyung,” Soobin corrects.

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, and continues speaking to Beomgyu. “Soobin’s always been bugging me to play with him but I’m not really a gamer. Neither is Taehyun. And Kai here almost exclusively plays all the retro stuff.”

“I’ve been trying to get Soobin into emulation but he says there’s too many new consoles to keep track of,” Kai says, poking a straw into his box of grape juice. He turns to Taehyun, who’s been studiously writing in his notebook. “Hey, Taehyun-ah, we’re not in class anymore!”

“Sorry, you were all talking about video games so I got kind of bored.”

“Guys, Taehyun is feeling left out. Quick, talk about football or logarithmic functions or something!”

“I didn’t say anything…”

Soobin plants his elbow on the table, looking at Yeonjun, Kai, and Taehyun one by one. “It’s funny, y’know, with the way we have so little in common it’s a mystery why I hang out with you guys. Admit it, you only hang out with me ‘cause you feel sorry for me,” Soobin says, jutting his lower lip out.

Yeonjun feigns a gasp. “Soobin-ah, this isn’t how we wanted you to find out…”

The whole group laughs, and Beomgyu finds himself joining them. He enjoys seeing this side of Soobin, snarky and joking around with his friends.

“I’m lucky Beomgyu and I share so many classes; if I hadn’t met him I probably would’ve just stopped playing TKK by now.”

For some reason, to Beomgyu, that registers as Soobin saying that he’s lucky to have met Beomgyu. That manages to form knots in Beomgyu’s stomach. Totally not weird.

“Oh, by the way,” Soobin places a hand on Beomgyu’s shoulder, “I was wondering if you’d like to work on our P.E. report on Saturday, too. Not to worry you and all, but we’re actually due to present next week.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Beomgyu exclaims, slapping a palm to his forehead. “I completely forgot. But can’t we just work on it online; isn’t it just a simple presentation—”

“And that’s where you’re mistaken. It’s not just a presentation,” Yeonjun suddenly warns, slamming his hands on the table. The abrupt and cartoonishly over-the-top gesture causes Kai to choke on his juice, and Taehyun to stop scribbling notes. It’s as if the entire cafeteria has gone quiet to hear what Yeonjun has to say. “You’re taking Swimming under Instructor Lee Taeyong, right?”

Beomgyu nods, his eyes wide, wary of what’s to come.

“I took that class, too, once…” Yeonjun trails off, eyes far away as if he’s sinking deep into the throes of his memories.

“You mean ten years ago?” Taehyun says, deadpan.

Beomgyu lets out a snicker.

“Hey, new guy doesn’t get to laugh at age jokes yet,” Yeonjun chides, arms crossed over his chest. He brings a dismissive hand to wave at the air. “Anyway, as I was saying, Lee Taeyong isn’t looking for a simple presentation. What’s your topic?”

“First Aid.”

Yeonjun tuts. “Unlucky you, that’s the worst. One of you has to actually almost drown, it’s that or an automatic fail.”

Beomgyu leans over to Soobin, his hand covering his mouth as he whispers, “He’s fucking with us, right?”

“Believe me, I am not fucking with you. I heard that the instructor is married to some big-shot stage actor, so he expects that level of dramatics to follow him wherever he goes. I’m just offering you a piece of advice: you better give your all during the demo, or you’re dust.”

Beomgyu still thinks Yeonjun is exaggerating. “It’s just first aid. What are we supposed to do, practice performing CPR by a pool?” He instantly regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth, ears heating up as he tries to brush it off by drinking huge gulps from his water bottle. It probably has the opposite effect, judging by the way Soobin just stares at him.

“That’s a perfect idea,” Kai blurts out, his mouth nibbling on straw. “Especially since Soobin-hyung has a—”

Yeonjun suddenly leans from across the table and flicks Kai’s nose.

“Ow! What was that for, hyung?”

“You had rice stuck there. It was annoying me.”

Beomgyu furrows his brows. He didn’t notice anything on Kai’s face—it’s as flawless as ever—so that made it pretty obvious that that was a flimsy excuse to get Kai to shut up. It’s clear that they didn’t want Beomgyu finding out about whatever it was. Beomgyu slumps his shoulders, reminded that he doesn’t know Soobin as well as he thought. How Soobin’s friends probably think the same.

Beomgyu watches as Taehyun gently taps on the tip of Kai’s nose with his finger. “Does it still hurt?”

“Uh, no, not anymore. Thanks,” Kai stammers through a blush, and Beomgyu looks away, concluding that whatever those two have going on is none of his business, either.

Once they finish eating, Beomgyu and Soobin part ways with the other three and start heading to their next class together.

Kai’s words before he was interrupted echo in Beomgyu’s mind: Especially since Soobin has a… what? What does he have? Beomgyu sighs, frustrated, unsure of why he’s aggravating over this, why he’s so curious of what Kai was supposed to say.

“The room’s this way?” he hears Soobin call out to him.

Beomgyu comes to, shaking his head, turning around. “Shit, yeah. Sorry…”

“Are you alright?” Soobin asks when they find their seats.

“Of course I am. What made you think I wasn’t?” There’s a bite to Beomgyu’s question that he notices too late.

“I don’t know. It’s just—you look kind of upset.”

Damn it. So, Beomgyu’s lyrics were sad; now Beomgyu looks upset. Is that all Soobin could say about him? Is that all he thinks of him? Beomgyu glances at Soobin and sees the crease on his forehead, the slight downward curve of his mouth. Why does he rarely smile when he’s around only Beomgyu?

Well, that doesn’t mean that Beomgyu shouldn’t smile when he’s around him. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gives Soobin his best grin. “I’m just worried about what Yeonjun-sunbae said about the report.”

“Oh, that? He was probably just messing with you—he’s like that sometimes—though there probably was some truth to what he said.” A pause. “But if it’s weighing on you that much, we could prepare for the report at our place. There’s a pool we could use there.”

“Wait, what?” Beomgyu perks up. “Did you just say that you have a pool? Like a pool, pool? How big?”

Soobin wrings his hands in the air, as if trying to measure the size in his mind. “Normal-sized?”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes towards Soobin’s hands. He points at them and says, “I hope that doesn’t mean it’s inflatable—”

Soobin slumps forward, mouth covering a chuckle. The sight of it makes Beomgyu’s heart stutter. So he can smile around Beomgyu.

A light bulb flicks on in Beomgyu’s head: Especially since Soobin has a… pool? Was that what Yeonjun didn’t want Kai to reveal?

And as if Soobin read Beomgyu’s mind, he says, “That was what Kai was going to say earlier, that I had a pool. Yeonjun shut him up for my sake, so don’t think much of it. Besides, it’s not my pool, nor is it my house. It’s my grandpa’s.”

Beomgyu tries to ignore how Soobin just reassured him then, how he was able to figure out why Beomgyu was upset.

“So where exactly is your grandpa’s house?”

When Soobin tells him that it’s located in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the city, Beomgyu's eyes almost jump out of their sockets, and he wonders if Minjeong and he are just subconsciously attracted to the obscenely rich.

· · ─────── ·ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ· ─────── · ·

Beomgyu stalls at the entryway to their apartment, taking a deep breath, preparing himself in case a surprise appearance by Jimin is around the corner again.

Minjeong comes out of the bedroom, vibrant without a trace of illness. Beomgyu’s glad that she recovered quickly this time.

When she notices Beomgyu standing there by the shoe rack, she lets out a snort. “You look so creepy there! You don’t need to be careful, Beom. Jimin-unnie isn’t here. Well, she was, but she left a few minutes ago for dance practice.” Beomgyu notices that she’s sucking on a lollipop, the stick hanging from her mouth as she talks.

“What do you mean 'careful'? That’s not it,” Beomgyu retorts, exhausted as he makes his way to their living area, dropping his bag on the floor and all but diving face-first into the couch.

So he just missed her, huh. Tough luck.

“Have you eaten dinner yet? Your girlfriend was kind enough to cook some food earlier; let’s reheat it.”

Beomgyu shifts his position on the couch, sitting normally now. “Minjeong-ah. I’m going to Soobin’s place on Saturday,” he says, all nonchalant as he turns around to see his sister’s reaction. Sure enough, her face becomes as red as a tomato at hearing this development.

“He has a pool, y’know,” Beomgyu teases with a smirk, as if this is a contest and he’s trying to one-up Minjeong at her own game, one she made the rules to.

Minjeong slumps her head, puts down the tupperware on the counter—dinner all but forgotten—and practically teleports beside Beomgyu on the couch.

She starts frantically shaking Beomgyu’s shoulders. “You have to tell me all about it! Take pictures, Beom!” Her words sound a little (a lot) funny because she still has the lollipop in her mouth. She’s practically shouting in his face, so Beomgyu can see and smell that it’s strawberry-flavored.

“Why the hell would I do that? He’s going to think I’m some weirdo!”

“Then at least draw the layout for me?”

Beomgyu has tears in his eyes from holding in his laughter. This situation is just ridiculous—this entire plan is.

“What, are you going to kidnap him?”

“How could you even think that? I just want to get an idea of the house I’ll be moving into once he and I get married!”

Beomgyu swats her hands away, his stomach sore as he finally gives in to hysterics, his voice bellowing in the apartment like a hyena on drugs. “Okay, okay. I’ll try to ask him to give me a house tour.”

Minjeong’s eyes widen, almost sparkling, full of hope. “Really?”

Beomgyu snorts, slapping the couch as he begins laughing again. “Yeah, as if I’d do that. You’re getting way over your head.”

Minjeong pouts. “You’re the worst. I lure Jimin over here so you’d get to play house with her, but you won’t even grant me this simple wish?”

Beomgyu rubs his shoulders as he stares Minjeong down. “Fine,” he says, giving in, “I’ll see what I can do. But can you not say ‘lure’? You’re making it sound like we’re doing something illegal here.” It’s questionable, at worst, he thinks.

Minjeong wraps him in a tight hug, squeezing his already painful shoulders in the process. “Thank you, thank you! I need a full report as soon as you get back, got it? I was mostly joking about you drawing a layout, but make sure to take everything in and commit it to memory as much as you can.”

Beomgyu pats his sister’s back. “Yeah, I got it; you can let go of me now.”

When Minjeong pulls away, she pops the lollipop out of her mouth, waving it in front of Beomgyu’s face. “See this, Beom? You know what it is?”

“Uh… is this a trick question?”

“Just tell me what it is.”

“It’s obviously a lollipop, what else do you want me to say? It’s strawberry-flavored.”

“Right. And you know what it’s not?”

Beomgyu arches his eyebrows. “What are you getting at…?” Not a moment passes and his eyes widen, realization hitting him like a truck. He hates how his twin can be so predictably pervy at times. “Minjeong, wait, don’t say it—”

“What it is not, my dear brother, is Choi Soobin’s dick.”

Shit, she said it. Beomgyu feels faint.

“The next time I’m sucking on something I want it to be his massive dick, so do your best.”

Beomgyu doesn’t—couldn’t—say anything back.

“Fighting,” Minjeong cheers as she returns to the kitchen, completely unaware of the hell she just unleashed into Beomgyu’s psyche just now.

· · ─────── ·ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ· ─────── · ·

Suffice to say, the adjective big really does describe Soobin in more ways than one.

Soobin wins big during their game at the PC café, lucky enough to pull the new exclusive character, Rize, after one try.

“The event lasts a month. I’m sure you’ll get him after a few more tries,” Soobin reassures Beomgyu as they wait for the cab he booked online. The house is located in this secluded neighborhood in the eastern part of the city that can’t be easily accessed via public transportation.

Soobin’s grandpa’s penthouse is big, a massive structure atop a hill that overlooks the city: a facade chic and sleek, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that glint in the afternoon light. Inside, the rooms sprawl out in all directions, each one seemingly bigger than the last. Beomgyu thinks it’s too much of a space for just one person to live in.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Soobin says when they pass the foyer into the main living area, leaving Beomgyu standing in the midst of a house he’s only ever seen in TV dramas, those carefully curated sets, every piece a prop made for the very purpose of being on display.

“Oh, no, not really.”

He awkwardly stands next to one of the sofas—a warm, luxurious gray loveseat that no doubt has zero (0) red crayons hidden in its crevices—and contemplates whether he’s even worthy of sitting on it. The floor looks way more comfortable, anyway, despite the polished hardwood almost a warning for his (in Minjeong’s voice) super-flat ass. Whatever, he can always crouch. Fortunately, just as Beomgyu’s about to bend his knees, he turns his attention to the TV stand, and finds evidence of a more human, lived-in home: picture frames, lined along shelves that cage the humongous dinosaur-era CRT in the middle. He walks over to this monument, soon finds in his hands a photo of Soobin with someone who is, presumably, his grandfather—the true owner of this place, smiling in a way that fills Beomgyu with an inexplicable urge to meet him.

This urge is promptly snuffed out as Soobin emerges swift like rain beside him, voice low when he answers Beomgyu’s innocent question of “This your grandpa? Where is he?” with a straightforward, “He’s not here anymore; he passed away last year.”

Beomgyu blinks once, startled, but he doesn’t say “sorry,” remembers how much he hated hearing that phrase from other people when his parents died, despite the rational part of him knowing that it’s never meant with ill intent. The word, instead, is stripped of its previous meaning: no longer an admission of guilt, relegated to filler that you say in the same vein as “excuse me” when walking in on something you should not have. Sorry to have stumbled unexpectedly on your loss, on your grief, on your fine mourning—those wretched things so private and personal and embarrassing.

Beomgyu’s chance for a more appropriate response is stolen when Soobin picks up on his hesitation, quickly dropping the subject. “You should change while it’s still cloudy out. Here’s the sunscreen. There’s a shower area near the pool,” Soobin says matter-of-factly, before passing through the sliding glass doors and leaving Beomgyu to simmer inside with this revelation, one that feels both familiar and new. A line revisited, a line crossed.

· · ─────── ·ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ· ─────── · ·

Droplets of water from Beomgyu’s hair stain the concrete path that leads from the showers to the pool. Soobin is already sitting on the edge of the water, feet submerged into undulating blue, palms dotted strawberry red from his grip on the limestone coping. He’s in his trunks and it's mostly the heat, but Beomgyu feels his cheeks warm.

Beomgyu takes his place next to him and starts paddling his legs to match Soobin’s rhythm—a silent offer of something he’s not sure he’s entitled to give out yet—and Soobin finally cracks a smile: an acknowledgement and acceptance.

“Sorry about making it all awkward earlier. It still doesn’t feel real sometimes, so unreal that I just have to blurt it out every chance I get, you know?” Soobin grimaces, bites his lip, “I mean—”

“No, I know what you mean,” Beomgyu says. He lowers his gaze, follows the patterns of light reflecting off the water. He doesn’t look at Soobin when he starts talking about his parents: briefly, of how it happened; longer, of what it felt like. “I locked myself in my room for months and didn’t talk to anybody.” He leaves out the part of how his crying felt endless, as if the only way he could speak was through the language of tears. “The support groups barely helped,” he mentions, “although I am still Facebook friends with a few of the people I met there.”

When Beomgyu tells him about the funeral, recalls how absolutely wasted their aunt got during the third day, laughs at the image of Minjeong rolling up her sleeves and single-handedly carrying Imo-nim up the stairs to bed, how it was a tragic-turned-fond memory, he finally finds the courage to look at Soobin. To his surprise, Soobin is staring right at him, listening intently. Something guttural climbs up Beomgyu's throat, then.

“For a long time, I couldn’t even cry,” Soobin admits somberly. “I couldn’t do anything, really. Eat, sleep, bathe. It’s why I…” he appears to hesitate, but only for a moment, “It’s why I took a year off school.”

Well, Beomgyu thinks, the rumor mill got at least one thing right: Choi Soobin went on leave because he was heartbroken, but not in the way they all thought. “I see,” was all Beomgyu could muster, suddenly ashamed of himself for being an active participant in the sensationalized speculation that arose from Soobin’s absence.

“That poem in your notebook, it was about your parents, wasn’t it?” Soobin asks.

Beomgyu startles, remembers how naked he felt in that moment, how naked he feels still, shirtless and damp. “Song, actually. I’m surprised you remember that. Nobody else but Minjeong has seen it.”

“I’m sorry. I can try to forget, if you want.”

Beomgyu shakes his head. “No, it’s okay…” he trails off.

When the silence threatens to pop this little bubble they’ve created, Soobin, to Beomgyu’s relief, speaks up. “This is going to sound really weird, but I thought the lyrics you wrote were achingly beautiful, and I’d love to hear you sing it. I mean, if you already have a melody in mind, that is. I don’t really know how songwriting works, if the tune comes before the words or vice versa…" Beomgyu realizes that Soobin has started over-explaining, large hands now splashing water whichever way. This endears him, though he’s not sure why.

To keep Soobin from talking his mouth off, Beomgyu heeds to his request.

“We lost the summer when we lost each other” he starts to sing as Soobin’s gaze meets his. “Bring back my seasons,” he continues as Soobin’s eyes drop to his lips. Internally, Beomgyu gulps; in reality, he doesn’t falter. “Oh, it’s all gone,” he stops as Soobin leans forward—fingers to jaw, thumb under chin—and kisses him. A sharp dive, at first; then, drowning.

Beomgyu pulls away, out of breath, dazed and suddenly in a mood to admit out loud, “That was my first kiss…” in a tone that sounds like an accusation. Choi Soobin, his mind screams, you have stolen my very first kiss! How dare you? What do you have to say for yourself?

Soobin mirrors his pose, draws back, and when he’s finally collected himself, says, “Well, we’re just preparing for our report. It doesn’t count. This is how CPR works, right?”

Despite the fact that what Soobin just said was not, in fact, a fact—but an obvious lie; and despite the knowledge of this lie and all the consequences that may or may not come with it, Beomgyu soon finds himself on his back, uneven stone prickling his skin as Soobin hovers over him, face aligned with the sun’s rays through the canopy, too bright and too strong for Beomgyu to do anything but close his eyes and try to remember how to breathe.

Later, when Beomgyu is dragging himself up the top half of their shared bunk bed, Minjeong egging him for the “deets,” as she calls them, “So, did you make a layout of the house like you promised,” Beomgyu could only turn away from her and mumble a small "sorry"—not just for what he was unable to do, but what he did do: map out the grooves of Soobin’s mouth, instead of the rooms in his house. Although, he thinks as he falls asleep, those two paths don't seem all that different, anyway.

Chapter Text

Minjeong has always taken pride in her strong immune system. The number of times she’s gotten sick her entire life can be counted on one hand, and she’s as quick to bounce back after just a day (or even less) of rest. She sometimes jokes that the only time she’s had to visit a hospital or clinic save for the regular check-up was when she was born.

So she isn’t worried when she catches a cold after dinner with Jimin and her friends-slash-evil-stepsisters. No, not at all. She shakes her head, mumbling “I’m fine,” when Beomgyu comes back with his version of a treatment plan—cooling patches and paracetamol and an assortment of comfort snacks. Beomgyu counters that she’s not—“If you’re fine then I’m a fucking god,” and Minjeong finds herself unusually agreeable to this, no energy to make fun of his dumb joke, only nodding, or doing whatever movement it is she could muster with her head, given the chilly ache rattling her bones. Minjeong resents the fact that no matter how healthy (read: stubborn) her mind is, her body has no choice but to succumb to the pyrogens swimming in her blood. She suddenly recalls a video she once saw on YouTube regarding the feasibility of actual pyrokinesis, imagines flames bursting out of her hands, burning the entire room into ashes, and promptly concludes that she might be having a fever dream.

When Minjeong awakes, her head is ringing with the sound of a doorbell buzzing. What time is it? she wonders, instinctively grabbing for her phone but finding its usual spot on her nightstand empty. The doorbell continues to buzz when she stands up, kneels to the floor, and looks under the bed. Did she drop it? The doorbell is still buzzing as she looks into the dark, dusty void, her temples sore and limbs heavy.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she exclaims as she gets up. She walks out of the bedroom and into the living area, stomps with lead feet as she opens the front door. “Who the hell is it?”

She finds Jimin standing in the hallway, phone pressed to her ear, blonde hair in disarray, an eco bag hanging from her arm. Her eyes are tear-stricken, but beautiful still, as if they’re shining. And then there’s her big, bellowing voice as she hugs Minjeong, almost sobbing with a gasp, “Oh my god, I was about to call an ambulance. I’m so glad you answered.” She strokes the back of Minjeong’s head, lithe fingers carding through short hair.

Minjeong could only croak out, throat dry, “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, I know,” Jimin giggles, a tiny hum Minjeong could feel against her neck. Everything is starting to feel warm, too warm. Could it be that Minjeong’s fever is worsening? It definitely feels like it, with how unbearable the heat is getting. She pulls away from Jimin, blinking.

“How did you know I was sick?”

Jimin shushes Minjeong with a finger. “Don’t worry about that, Minjeongie.” She cups her face, thumb grazing her cheek. “What matters is that I’m here, and I’ve come to take care of you. Now let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

Perhaps Minjeong is too tired to protest, because before she knows it she’s being led back into her bedroom, which is funny—this is Jimin’s first time here, but it’s as if she already knows the place by heart. To be fair, their home is small; the only two other doors are for the bathroom and bedroom, so there’s a 50/50 chance to get it right. But the fact that Jimin gets it right on the first try, though, well, let’s just say that Minjeong appreciates that.

For the rest of the day, Jimin fusses over Minjeong with the precision of a trained nurse, but never with whatever routine cold Minjeong imagines can sometimes accompany the rounds that actual nurses go through at hospitals. Instead, Jimin is tender when she takes Minjeong’s temperature, sweet when helps her drink this or eat that, gentle when she wipes her face, attentive even in Minjeong’s throat-hurt silence. She sits on the floor next Minjeong’s bed and tells stories, sparing no detail untold: some funny, “Oh, you’d never believe what happened at dance practice today,” some just slightly interesting, “I saw this odd bird on the way here,” and some that if Minjeong were only well, she’d jump up and down of joy from, “Iseul-unnie and I aren’t talking anymore.”

Jimin tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear as she recounts what happened. “I tried to tell her in a roundabout way, y’know, how I thought she wasn’t being the most… helpful of friends. But she still got angry, told me that I’d regret cutting her off. And I didn’t even say that, really. I just told her I needed space from both her and Dasom.” She balls her hand into a fist on the bed, almost clutching at the sheets, cartoon cats wrinkled.

“You did well,” Minjeong says, after not speaking for so long. If she were being honest, this news calls for a celebration accompanied by triumphant chanting and dancing, but as it is, her weakened state can only allow these few words. She wants to say so much more—how Jimin will be much better off without them, how Iseul was wrong, how brave Jimin is, how proud Minjeong is of her—but she only places her hand atop Jimin’s, hoping that her thoughts reach her that way somehow.

And maybe the message is received, because Jimin squeezes Minjeong’s hand back. “Thank you, Minjeong. I would have never been able to do it if it weren’t for you.” It’s apparent that she’s close to tears again, but she clears her throat and sniffles instead, excusing herself to the bathroom.

Minjeong pointedly notices the absence of Jimin’s presence, the lack of weight on her hand, the fact that she misses her already, and she wonders if all patients feel this sort of attachment with their caretakers.

Later, when Beomgyu barges into the room—an embarrassed panicky mess over Jimin being just beyond the door—Minjeong understands, once again, how her brother could write songs about someone like her. After a pep talk, Beomgyu finally runs back outside, and Minjeong’s heart does a confusing pang at the thought that Beomgyu and Jimin are in the kitchen together, and Minjeong is alone in her room.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

On Monday morning, Iseul pulls Minjeong from the hallway into a storage closet on the second floor of the Comm Arts building, and Minjeong is astounded because she’s only ever seen this type of shit happen in movies. She wouldn’t put it past Iseul, however, knowing how dramatic her first encounter with her was. In fact, she thought the full redhead—she’s re-dyed the roots—would opt for a more public place for this confrontation, one Minjeong already saw coming a mile away. The absence of Dasom as her back-up, however, puts this scenario further away from how Minjeong imagined it to go.

“Don’t think even for a second that I don’t know what you’re doing with Jimin,” Iseul whisper-shouts, an accusatory finger pointed towards Minjeong’s face. Her breath smells like a bad concoction of flavored mints—orange and spearmint and vitriol all in one.

Minjeong scoffs, arches her brow. “Really, now? What am I doing, then?”

Iseul’s lip quivers. “You’re not the first psycho bitch who’s gotten obsessed with Jimin, okay? And just so you know, the last time someone tried to get in the way of our friendship, she ended up transferring schools.”

A threat. How original, Minjeong thinks. “So you’re basically admitting to harassing a girl—who you probably wrongfully branded a psycho, mind you—to switching schools just because they dared to get close to Jimin.” Minjeong crosses her arms, defiant. “I don’t know, sunbae, seems to me that if there’s anyone obsessed here, it’s you.” She emphasizes the last word, her face inching closer to Iseul’s, eye contact never faltering.

Iseul doesn’t answer, just scowls.. Minjeong’s body tenses. What is Iseul going to do? Slap her? Grab her hair? Shove her into the shelves? Whatever it is, Minjeong is prepared to stand her guard, quietly telling herself that she could always try and report to the admin if the situation gets any worse. To her relief, however, Iseul takes one step back, and tells her before leaving, “I’m warning you, fresh meat. Don’t you dare hurt Jimin, or you’ll pay for it dearly.”

Minjeong heaves out a sigh of relief once the door closes, follows with a sardonic laugh. Her? Hurt Jimin? How is that going to happen, when Iseul’s the one who’s been toxic to her supposed friend from the start? The lack of self-awareness is confounding.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

It’s the middle of the week and Minjeong unexpectedly gets a note passed to her during Art Appreciation class. It’s written in cursive, hot pink metallic ink, the sender’s name punctuated with a singular heart. She turns around and finds Dasom looking at her from a few rows back, smiling sheepishly. Minjeong’s eyes flit to the farther corner of the room where Jimin is—diligently writing down her notes, unaware or indifferent of what’s happening. Minjeong returns her attention to the note, rereading it carefully to make sure she isn’t mistaken: meet me after class at the garden outside of lit? just wanted to apologize for what happened at the café last week. — dasom ♡

When Minjeong arrives at the garden, Dasom is waiting with two cans of iced coffee in her hands, the university student’s proverbial olive branch. “How do you like your coffee? I bought a latte and an—”

“I’ll take the americano,” Minjeong interrupts. She sits next to Dasom on the stone bench with enough distance between the two of them. Just as she pulls the tab to open the can of coffee, she pauses. “You didn’t lace this with anything, did you?”

“Of course not. I got it sealed straight from the vending machine,” Dasom furrows her brows, mouth agape, looking genuinely horrified that Minjeong would even think such a thing. Why wouldn’t she? Dasom and Iseul have disliked her from the first time they met; and isn’t it just so convenient that Dasom asked to talk to her after Iseul not-so-subtly threatened her earlier this week? Probably would have been better if she didn’t come here at all, Minjeong thinks, but even she knows that she’s not above the electric thrill of telling people off. Might be her kink, she surmises.

Minjeong snorts, narrows her eyes. “You sure? Because you really seemed super defensive just now.”

“Look, I get why you’re apprehensive. The impression we gave off at the café was not… the best.” It’s odd to hear Dasom’s own voice, considering the last time they met she felt like nothing more than an echo of Iseul’s shrill sentiments.

Minjeong scoffs, putting the can down after taking a long sip. “Well, that’s one way of putting it. It was actually the worst.”

Dasom clears her throat. Her own latte is still unopened in her hands. This up close, without Iseul and her stark red hair hogging her vision, Dasom looks like any other ordinary college student. BB cream and lip tint and mascara. The subtle bags under her eyes. The pimple patch on her cheek. And when she speaks, Minjeong can almost sense her remorse, “I’m sorry about what happened. Things were getting heated, and it wasn’t the first time Jimin flaked out on us.”

Almost.

“If you’re only going to try and convince me that Jimin’s actually the bad guy and you two are angels somehow, then maybe I should just leave.” Minjeong gets her bag and motions to stand up.

“No, wait!” Dasom waves her hands in the air, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “That came out wrong, sorry. Yes, Iseul-unnie and I were at fault there. I’m not blaming Jimin.”

Minjeong puts her bag down. “There’s probably a good reason why she’s been avoiding you, you know.”

“Perhaps,” Dasom says with a slump to her shoulders, “our friendship… has run its course. It happens.” She finally opens her coffee and takes a small sip, pursing her lips after.

“I’d hardly call what you guys have a friendship.”

“Don’t act like you know everything,” Dasom declares, her voice rising just a bit. Despite the added resolution in her tone, though, she avoids looking at Minjeong directly, opting to speak to the ground.

“Tell that to Iseul. You know she threatened me, right? She set you up to this, too? What is this, your attempt at good cop-bad cop?”

“She did mention talking to you, but she doesn’t know I’m meeting up with you on my own.”

Minjeong grins. “Wow, so you can be your own person?”

Dasom laughs, “What, did you think I was some robot, Iseul-unnie with the remote control?” For a moment Minjeong feels comfortable in this banter. But only for a moment.

“Unnie said she told you about Miya.”

“Who?”

“The student who transferred schools?”

“She didn’t mention her name.”

“Anyway, she probably exaggerated the entire story. It’s a bad habit of hers. She wants to appear tough, so she tends to… take creative liberties. The method doesn’t matter as much as the goal, she always says.”

“She told me that she forced her—this Miya—to switch schools because she was getting in the way of her friendship with Jimin,” Minjeong explains.

Dasom sighs, takes another gulp of coffee. She slaps her lap, “ Okay. I think it’s time I set things straight. And I shouldn’t be saying this to you at all, because it’s really not my place to tell, but I can’t stand to see you looking at us like we’re these complete monsters.”

Minjeong is caught by surprise. Is Dasom putting up a facade? Does she simply want to clear her and Iseul’s name? She can no longer tell. “I—”

“I know that’s what you think of us, and I don’t blame you. But there’s so much more to it than that. And look, after you’ve heard this from me, and you still don’t believe me, you can ask Jimin yourself.”

Minjeong stays quiet, only nodding her head. She wonders if she should even listen to her, if this is worth it, if it’s even right to be privy to this.

“It all happened in high school. I was in a different class, and didn’t join Iseul-unnie and Jimin’s friend group until the next semester, so I only found out about it after the fact. Miya was an exchange student from Japan who was in Jimin’s grade, and Jimin was assigned to show her around school, so that’s how they became close. Things were going well for a while, until Jimin confessed.” Dasom gives Minjeong a wary look before rolling her eyes, “Oh, come on, everyone on campus knows it. It’s not like I’m outing her here or anything.”

She continues, shaking her head once. “Anyway, Miya was, like, the first girl Jimin ever had a crush on, so you know how intense that can be for a teenager.” Minjeong remembers all her cringe encounters with crushes when she was younger.

“And to Jimin’s surprise, Miya told her she liked her back, and that they should start dating—but in secret, of course, because you know how society is, or whatever. Seems like a good deal, right?”

Minjeong briefly considers where this story could go after this: Iseul finds out about the two of them and goes ballistic, telling Jimin that she’s just confused. She accuses Miya of trying to brainwash Jimin, and sabotages the relationship. It turns out Iseul has feelings for Jimin, and she becomes possessive of her.

“But Miya was lying. You see, there was this guy who really liked Jimin, Kim Hansol. He was the top student, great at sports and academics, but wasn’t really Jimin’s type. And by then Jimin had already let him down—quite politely, you know—countless times, but this guy was really persistent, stubborn in the way he kept handing Jimin notes and gifts to declare his undying love. Well, one day, Miya told Jimin that she hated the fact that Hansol was chasing after her girlfriend, and that they can’t keep dating if some boy was still drooling over Jimin. This led to Jimin making an entire show of rejecting Hansol in the campus quad, no longer civil, tearing handwritten letters and gift wrapper in front of the student body, scattering them in the wind. News of it spread like wildfire in the school, of course, but everyone just assumed that it was the typical high school cruelty you’d expect from a girl as popular as Yu Jimin. We were less sorry for Hansol than we were in awe of Jimin’s power.”

Minjeong tries to imagine the scene, but can’t picture Jimin in that situation, coldly stomping over someone’s heart; instead, all her mind conjures is the memory of Jimin peeling oranges for Minjeong when she was sick, with so much care and thought.

“So Jimin thought that that would appease Miya. I mean, she even made sure Miya was in the crowd when she rejected Hansol. It was all for her, after all, wasn’t it? Much to Jimin’s confusion, however, Miya suddenly became cold and stopped talking to Jimin after that. She finally understood it a week later, when Miya and Hansol appeared hand-in-hand down the hallway, the freshest couple in school. Jimin was, as you could imagine, heartbroken, and it’s only then when she told Iseul about everything that happened. Once Iseul found out that Miya used Jimin to get to Hansol, she did everything she could to get the two to break up. It worked, and Miya did end up leaving, but it was only because her exchange visit was up, and it wasn’t because Iseul forced her or anything. After that incident, Iseul became wildly protective of her friend, to the point that she grew suspicious of anyone who tried to get close to Jimin, and it actually earned her the nickname of ‘evil dragon’ until she graduated.” Dasom chuckles, then shrugs. “It’s actually a fucking miracle that I was even allowed into the castle, get close to the princess. Am I just lucky? It’s more likely because I didn’t pose a threat, though.”

Minjeong holds on to her coffee can, tiny droplets sliding to wet the pads of her fingers. She’s silent at first, digesting the information and trying to make sense of it all, how big of a revelation this is. “I suppose Iseul sees me as a threat, then?”

“Well, are you?” Dasom asks, a long pause before she adds, “What is it that you want from Jimin, Minjeong?”

Minjeong remembers the plan, red bold letters a mocking reminder of why she’s here in the first place. She chases the thought away, emptying her can of coffee and crushing it in her fist. “Nothing. She’s just a kind sunbae who helps me with dance.”

Dasom flinches at the sound of metal crunching. “I admit, it may seem that we’re no better than Miya. You heard what Iseul-unnie said about the mixer, why we wanted Jimin to come. At first, we did plan it with the notion that Jimin might find someone there, too, but you weren’t wrong when you said we’d be like vultures left with scraps when she rejected all the guys. We knew she would reject them all, anyway.”

Minjeong opens her mouth to speak, but it turns out Dasom isn’t finished.

“But that’s how it is sometimes. Don’t we all do or say misguided, cruel things in search of love? Just lonely humans using and hurting other people to be less lonely.”

It doesn’t make it right, Minjeong wants to say, but she can’t. She knows she can’t say it without feeling like a hypocrite. Instead, she settles with a promise, so vague but genuine nonetheless, “I won’t hurt Jimin.” At least, not intentionally, she privately tells herself.

“I hope you don’t,” Dasom says, the remark almost a request, a stark difference from Iseul’s warning.

“One last thing—and again, it’s not my place to say this, but I met up with you with the intention of giving you the absolute full context, so.”

Minjeong looks at Dasom, who for the first time this afternoon, manages to maintain eye contact with her.

“Simply put: you’re Jimin’s type, Minjeong. Iseul-unnie knew it the moment she laid eyes on you, and it was only solidified when you stood up to us. I’m not gonna ask what your intentions are with her, or if there’s even a chance that she might be your type, too. Hell, I don’t even know if you’re into girls like that. That’s between you and her. It’s about time that we stopped meddling in her love life and allowed her to make her own choices, anyway. Sure, telling you this goes against that, but,” she stands up, nonchalant about the way she just dropped so many bombs in the span of this twenty minute conversation, “like I said, I’m just giving you the full context.”

Minjeong watches Dasom get up and leave, the two ‘contexts’—Minjeong’s plan and Jimin’s history—battling in her to form what she could only call, one huge mess. One she doesn’t know how to clean up.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

Minjeong tries her damn best not to make dance practice on Friday awkward. But the universe must be fucking with her, because she ends up alone with Jimin, sitting cross-legged in one corner of the room, barely looking her sunbae’s way. Yet, she becomes acutely aware of every blush, every move, every touch Jimin communicates to her. The burden of knowledge, she concludes, isn’t a concept limited to science—and love isn’t all science, despite Minjeong treating it that way her whole life.

In any case, knowing from the rumor mill and social media and witness accounts is vastly different from acquiring the information from the primary source: Jimin herself. Which is why, for the last two days, Minjeong has been practicing how to breach the subject with the utmost care, speaking in front of their bathroom mirror to ensure that she doesn’t appear accusatory, and instead, just genuinely curious. Beomgyu heard her one time, asked what she was up to, and Minjeong lied—something rare between the twins—that she was preparing for a report. Beomgyu seemed to flinch at the phrase ‘preparing for a report,’ but Minjeong paid it little mind. At least he didn’t dig any further and just left her alone, she thought.

Which brings us back to now. For all her time readying herself for how she would appear while talking to Jimin, she wasn’t really able to allot any to figuring out how she’d actually bring it up. She ultimately decides on the straightforward approach.

“Unnie, how did you find out that you liked girls?”

“Minjeong, are you okay?”

They speak over each other, because of course that’s what’s going to follow the awkward silence. Now comes the decision of who gets to say their piece first.

“What did you say?” Jimin asks, and for once Minjeong is thankful that she wasn’t heard the first time she said something. She usually hates repeating herself, but in this situation it feels almost like a blessing.

“Ah, no, it’s nothing important. Wait, unnie, did you just ask if I was okay?”

“Yeah,” Jimin shrugs. “You’ve been, kinda, I dunno, quiet? I figured something might be bothering you. I saw you struggle a bit with the choreo, too, so maybe it’s that?”

“Oh, really?” Minjeong asks. She was distracted, and it showed, of course. “Which part?”

“The part where the dancers take four leaps across to the other side and back. Do you wanna go over it?”

To think that Jimin pays that much attention to her. And she’s right, too, Minjeong is having a bit of trouble with that part. Flexibility has never been one of her strong suits; before she switched to modern, she’d tried ballet, but her legs just weren’t built for it. The leap they were doing for the showcase was almost like a grand jete, the exact move that made her quit.

“Sure, unnie. That’d be great… thanks.”

“But, you were going to ask me something.”

“Uhm—”

“I heard what it was, Minjeong. I don’t mind talking about it, if that’s what you’re worried about. I guess I’m just curious why you wanted to know all of a sudden.”

Luckily, Minjeong’s anticipated this response and already came up with an answer beforehand. “I was just wondering, since a good portion of my friends are actually, uhm, girls who like other girls, and it’s always interesting finding out the different ways they discovered that part of themselves.”

Jimin looks only slightly disappointed, but more impressed. “Oh. You’re friends with a lot of queer girls?”

Minjeong nods.

“That’s cool. Well, mine’s a bit funny, actually. I don’t really tell the story to just anyone, mind you, but I do feel comfortable sharing it with you.”

Minjeong gulps, lump stuck in her throat. As Jimin continues talking, it only verifies what Dasom already told Minjeong—and she hates this, the fact that she already knows and the feeling that she’s only asking Jimin for confirmation.

“When I was in high school, I got a crush on this Japanese exchange student. I had never felt that way about a girl—about anyone, to be honest—how I wanted to be with them all the time. Wanted to hold their hand, hug them, stuff like that. And I thought she felt the same way, but it turned out she actually liked this guy in our class. It was all pretty sad and messy, but,” Jimin pauses, clears her throat, “in the end, Iseul-unnie got me through it.”

“Seriously?”

Jimin grins. “Yeah, hard to believe, right? She’s not all bad, I guess. At least, she wasn’t before.”

Minjeong blinks—once, twice. Jimin is succinct in her explanation, and doesn't go into much detail. Minjeong doesn’t ask her to expound, either. It’d be akin to lying, pretending to be unaware, she thinks. She already feels guilty enough as is, but most of all, there’s this other thought—no, this emotion—growing inside of her. She’s unsure of what it is, wants to go home and take out her mental microscope to examine it, analyze it until it all becomes clear, full diagram in her head.

“So, that’s the story of my gay awakening!” Jimin grins, claps once, and stands up, a hand extended towards Minjeong. “Should we practice those leaps now?”

Minjeong grabs her hand, a warmth she worries only exists in her imagination building between them. They go to the middle of the room and Jimin instructs her to do jumps in place first, much like how her ballet instructor taught her before.

“Then stretch your right leg to the front first. Here, I’ll support you—” Jimin hesitates, her hands hovering just above Minjeong’s hips.

It’s obvious that she’s asking for permission, and she’s never done this before—professional though she is—but their conversation minutes before has given her reason to. But for Minjeong, with what she knows, it spells something else.

“Like this?” Minjeong asks, putting her hands over Jimin’s to plant over her hips. She jumps, right foot pointing forward. As she drops down, she can feel Jimin’s fingers press against the fabric of her hoodie, and notices how it puts pressure on the skin underneath.

“Yeah, like that,” Jimin whispers. “Now try with your left kicking back this time.”

Drop. Fingers. Skin.

“Okay, now both?”

Drop.

“Good. Now let’s try moving forward.”

Fingers.

“On your own now?”

Skin. Minjeong’s skin feels cold without Jimin holding her.

“That’s great, Minjeong. Much better than before. See yourself in the mirror? Now let’s do it with music. I’ll be the dancer on the other side, so we’ll be switching positions. Ready?”

When Minjeong leaps, extends her arms and legs, crosses paths with Jimin at the center of the would-be stage, locks eyes with her, she feels light as air, flying across the room.

“That’s it! Here’s the last leap,” Jimin encourages, and it could’ve been the perfect finish, too, but this time Jimin smiles when they pass each other, and Minjeong’s legs falter—gravity stronger than ever. She bumps hard into Jimin, and they roll on the floor, with Minjeong ending up on top of Jimin, their legs intertwined, her cheek almost too close to Jimin’s chest.

Minjeong can feel her face burning—smoke about to burst from her ears any second—as she immediately lifts her head up to apologize. “Ah—unnie, er, sunbae, I’m sorry. I—” Minjeong trails her gaze from Jimin’s chest up to her eyes, then out of embarrassment, down to her lips instead. Strawberry-flavored lip balm, she notes. Full, pink, soft, sweet (maybe?). Minjeong watches as Jimin speaks, mouth forming the words, “It’s okay, Minjeong. I think I miscalculated the distance, as well.”

Jimin plants her elbows on the floor in an attempt to get up, but Minjeong doesn’t immediately follow suit and stays unmoving on top of her, which is why it is absolutely no fault of Jimin’s that when she bends her knee—her thigh accidentally pressing between Minjeong’s legs—it causes Minjeong to emit a sound that she can only describe as pure, unbridled humiliation: the heat from the face suddenly spreading throughout her body and accumulating in the part where their lower limbs meet.

Minjeong all but teleports from the center of the room to the door, her goodbye almost non-existent as she raps out “Sorrygottagothanksbye!” She might have heard Jimin shout out after her, but she doesn’t pause, just lifts her legs one after another despite their weight almost tripling when she walks.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

Minjeong sweats the entire walk home. (Yes, she walks home. She arrives an hour later than usual. Interestingly enough, she still arrives earlier than Beomgyu.) She goes to the bathroom and turns on the tap, splashing water on her face, the question from earlier replaying in her head: how did you find out that you liked girls? Except this time, she’s looking into a mirror and asking herself, sweat and water dripping down her temples. “What in the actual fuck was that, Minjeong?”

She hears their front door open and Beomgyu’s voice is loud and eager when he calls out to her. “Minjeong-ah, are you here yet? Take a look at—yeow, fuck! Why do you look like that? You know, I think you’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately. We don’t want you getting sick again, do we?”

Minjeong rolls her eyes and continues wiping her face with a towel. “You’d probably be all over that, considering Jimin-unnie would probably visit again,” she teases instinctively, but she wants to take it back as soon as it exits her mouth. After all that’s happened, it doesn’t seem appropriate to joke about it anymore.

“Whatever, blah blah, I’m obsessed with her, sure. But take a look at this.” Beomgyu shows her his phone, a poster displayed on the screen. “We’re playing a gig this Sunday at the Drama Pub, and the best part? It’s going to be a couple’s night special. I was thinking you could—”

Minjeong waves a dismissive hand at him. “Ask her yourself. She follows you on Insta, doesn’t she? It’s about time that we make a move on them ourselves,” Minjeong blurts out, regret coloring her insides again. She avoids looking Beomgyu in the eye.

“Woah, what’s with the attitude? What happened to helping each other out? I mean, I can totally ask her out, but I expected something more encouraging than whatever it is you’re giving me here. For the record, I was able to set you up with Soobin-hyung.”

Minjeong gasps, realizing that she’s almost forgotten that name, but now remembers the desire that so enveloped her at the start, what made her so determined to hatch up this plan—those dimples, the glow of the world when she first saw him. “You did?” she asked, her genuine disbelief masking what should be joy, but is actually something more like surprising indifference.

Beomgyu smiles. “There’s the Minjeong I know! I did. He told me that he’s noticed you around campus, and he actually thinks you’re cute.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really! Thank me later. You should check your Insta now, though, since he’s probably already DM’ed you. You’re right, though, I should muster up the courage to ask Jimin-sunbae out, too. But before that, I need to take a long shower. You done with the bathroom?”

Minjeong nods, then smiles, a bit half-heartedly. Beomgyu doesn’t seem to notice. She realizes something, suddenly turning around and yelling out before Beomgyu locks himself in the bathroom (because by then there won’t be any reaching him at all, with how loud he turns up the music while in there), “Hey, Gyu!”

“Geez, no need to shout, sis. What is it?”

Minjeong takes a moment to stare at her brother, observe the similarities between them, then the differences. When they were younger, looking at him always felt like looking at her reflection, but now that they’ve matured she sees the gap, sees them as fully separate people. Still, a type is just that: a type—a pattern of attraction to certain qualities. At the end of the day, Beomgyu is Minjeong’s twin, and they share many of the same qualities.

“Congratulations on snatching the gig,” she says. “And good luck with Jimin.” She crosses her fingers, “hopefully she says yes!”

Jimin does say yes, and Beomgyu looks so elated that Minjeong is only left with one choice. She becomes the supportive sister, happy and excited for him, for them. She gives him a long, warm hug—her face buried into his shoulder, true expression hidden from view.

Chapter Text

“That is a dead man right there! Call off the ambulance, ring the morgue instead. His lungs are filled with water and he’s 100% done for—or in a coma heading to irreversible brain damage, at the very least.” Taeyong’s voice is loud, bouncing off the water and tiles. He is pointing at a hypothetical corpse, Soobin in his trunks and on his back; Beomgyu hovering over him, frozen as if a real corpse, rigor mortis setting in. It’s just CPR, isn’t it? No longer practice, but the actual demo: this report, which makes up such a large chunk of their grade that he can’t possibly fumble it. Imagine him, failing a P.E. class? Not now, not ever.

Fortunately, Taeyong gives them one last chance. “Okay, you two switch roles. Let’s see if Soobin here can handle pool fright better than his partner.” By the end of the demonstration, they get a B on the report and Beomgyu ascertains the difference between pretend CPR and kissing.

In the shower room, Soobin is quiet; Beomgyu, not so much—in his head, a cacophony of thoughts rivaled only by the drums in his chest. “Sorry we almost flunked ‘cause of me.”

Soobin finishes drying his hair, towel perched on his head. Beomgyu hates that he finds him infuriatingly cute right now, with damp strands sticking to his forehead so purposefully, as if styled like some drama lead. “Don’t think about it,” drama lead Soobin shrugs. “It was hilarious seeing the instructor all hammy like that. Looked like he got a kick out of it, too.”

Beomgyu forces out a laugh. Don’t get him wrong, what Soobin said was funny, and under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have to pretend that it is, and would've taken the lighthearted moment for what it was. But these aren’t normal circumstances, and Beomgyu has less than half a mind for jokes. He tries to remember why he’s in front of Soobin right now: not because he wants to plant his lips on every inch of Soobin’s body—no, not that at all!—but because of something else. Now, if he could only remember what that something else is. It had something to do with Chenle. An invite, a bar… oh, yeah.

“By the way,” Beomgyu starts as Soobin finishes putting his shirt on (much to Beomgyu’s relief), “our band has this small gig at the Drama Pub near campus, the one next to that really good fried chicken place, I forgot what it’s called, yeah you just exit Gate 4 and go straight ahead, can’t miss—”

“I know where that pub is, don’t worry,” Soobin says with a smile, looking thoroughly amused at how Beomgyu was rambling like a fool just now. They start walking back to the main building towards their next class. “I’ve been there with Yeonjun-hyung before.”

Beomgyu clears his throat, scratches at the heat dotting his cheeks. “Anyway, it’s this Sunday and it’s a couple’s night special, so basically two drinks for the price of one when you bring a date.” He glances at Soobin and sees the expression on his face, anticipatory. He becomes acutely aware of how this situation is looking, and immediately pulls the reins lest Soobin get the wrong idea. “And you could go with my twin sister! You know her, right? She looks like me. Or, do I look like her? I mean, we’re fraternal, obviously, but we look alike. We don’t do it on purpose, though. Ha.”

“Oh,” Soobin says, neutral. Beomgyu counts the times Soobin blinks before speaking actual words: three. “Yeah, I’ve seen her around. She’s pretty cute. Sorry, is that weird, me telling you that I think your sister is cute?”

“No, say whatever you want about her, please” Beomgyu dismisses with a wave of his hand. “It’s true, anyway—she is cute, and smart, and funny. I’m super duper sure that you two would get along. I’d really appreciate it if you could come… with her.”

Soobin nods. “I’d love to come see you perform. Are you guys gonna play original stuff?”

That’s not the point, Beomgyu wants to say, but he admits that there’s this part of him that’s elated to hear Soobin say that. “Yeah, we’ll be debuting a new song there. Like, a demo.”

Soobin smiles when he hears this, his dimples smile, and Beomgyu tries so hard not to smile, but fails.

“Cool, then I get to be one of the first people to hear it,” Soobin says. He bumps Beomgyu’s shoulder with his own. “What’s it about?”

“It’s not totally finished yet. The instrumental and melody’s all there, but I’m still kind of in-between with the words.” The truth is, he’s been working on this song for a good year or so now, and he’d always envisioned the lyrics to match the melancholic yet hopeful vibe of the chords. He’d gone through two extremes: the loss of his parents, which felt too remote and heavy; and his crush on Jimin, which felt too fresh and light. It’s only recently that perfect inspiration struck him: the image coming to him when he watched Soobin attempt a butterfly stroke in the water, his shoulder blades glistening under the thatch-hidden sun. It wasn’t the best attempt technique-wise, but it set a visceral scene, enough for Beomgyu to envision Soobin sprouting actual, live wings from his back. That’s what he looked like, in the moment, as if Soobin was flying, and Beomgyu touched his own shoulders and wondered if he could fly like that, too. It would probably hurt, to just grow a new body part like that. But maybe it would hurt less if they grew it together, if they flew together.

They’re in class now, still wingless, unmoving next to each other. Beomgyu flips to the last page of his mostly-empty lecture notebook and scribbles down the lyrics he made for the chorus to their new song. He slides the notebook to Soobin, and when Soobin tells him he’s excited to hear the words sung live, Beomgyu already feels like he’s gliding, no need for extra appendages.

Beomgyu doesn’t catch Minjeong later that day, falls asleep before she arrives home. The next night, he does catch her home, but she’s already gone to bed. He could just tell her in the morning, he surmises, but something as big as getting her a date with the love of her life calls for an evening report. Finally, on Friday, when Minjeong gets home sweat-drenched and out of breath, is when he tells her.

She doesn’t look as ecstatic as Beomgyu expected; then again, neither does he feel the same, though he’s much better than her at hiding it.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

Guilt is a special, funny thing. Minjeong’s felt her share fair of it.

It’s one thing to feel guilty over something you’ve already done, when you’re caught red-handed at the scene. It’s simple: put your hands up, face the consequences, and hope for absolution. But what happens when you’re still in the game? What do you do with the guilt of lying, of keeping secrets, of facing your mark and looking her right in the eye—her angelic face so unaware of your plans, your hidden intentions? What will Minjeong do with this wrongness, heavy and strong enough to keep her awake at night? What will happen when she’s found out?

She didn't think this would happen. Thought that after she got together with Soobin, Beomgyu with Jimin, they’ll laugh about it later on, turn the debacle into an anecdote they can tell the children during family dinners. Oh, yes, that’s how I met your father—what a funny story, huh? Mhm, and that’s how your uncle met your aunt. That’s how it should be, but Minjeong could have never predicted this: threads tangled, feelings all over the place, a mess straight out of a Shakespearean play.

To get her mind off things, Minjeong checks her phone. Under normal circumstances, she would never let blue light into her eyes past bedtime, but it’s already 3 A.M. and she figures that she’s not going to get any sleep soon. She opens Instagram to find that Soobin has followed her and sent a DM asking her out to the gig on Sunday. She accepts, and is surprised to find that Soobin is online, responding to her with a ‘Cool. See you there :).’ Minjeong’s brain short-circuits when she realizes that this is technically their first conversation since their meet-cute at the vending machine. She considers just liking Soobin’s reply, but decides that that’s not cool, especially considering everything she and Beomgyu have worked for has been leading up to this.

‘Hey, can’t sleep, too?’ she asks, revealing her insomnia. It’s nerve-wracking staying on Insta just to wait for Soobin’s reply, so she switches to Sudoku on her phone. It’s unusually more frustrating than relaxing this time around.

‘Ah, nah. I usually wake up this early to swim lol.’

Minjeong gasps. She remembers how she goaded Beomgyu to make a layout of Soobin’s house—which he didn’t do, of course—and feels a little embarrassed about it, as if she’s exposed, even though Soobin doesn’t have a clue. ‘Wouldn’t it be super cold during this time tho, or does your pool have a heater?’

‘Have you ever heard of a guy named Wim Hof?’

‘No, who is he?’

A couple of seconds pass. Minjeong is on her way to find out herself through a quick Naver search, but Soobin’s already sent her a link to an article about the guy. Minjeong reads through the webpage; she would have preferred a video, but we’re talking about something that Soobin sent her here, so she can’t complain. As she’s in the middle of the article, in awe of this Wim “Iceman” Hof’s deal—tragically lost a wife to suicide, which drove him to start jumping into ice baths to deal with the pain of loss—Soobin messages her.

‘I mean, I’m not on his level, ofc, swimming out in the cold is def effective if you wanna stop thinking for a while! I recommend it.’

Minjeong smiles. She wishes she also had a pool she had easy access to, somewhere to sink her thoughts in. Too many are running in her head right now that she can’t even properly enjoy this moment with her supposed future husband. Why, this is the sort of borderline digital intimacy that she’s always imagined having with Soobin; now that it’s here, though, all she could think of is how badly she wants to sleep and let the night pass. So she bids him bye (for now), locks her phone, and closes her eyes.

A blonde mermaid invades Minjeong’s dreams that night. It’s pitch-black at first. Minjeong’s lungs are heavy, her limbs are flailing, air bubbles are leaving her mouth. But just as she’s about to fall into the deep abyss of ice-cold waters, a savior pulls her up. At the shore, Minjeong flows in and out of consciousness. She catches glimpses of long, golden hair shining underneath the moonlight, water dripping down from slim neck to bare chest, curve after curve, warm palm pressed to Minjeong’s cheek, red lips calling after Minjeong over and over again, voice as sweet as honey: wake up, Minjeong-ah. Wake up!

“Wake up! It’s, like, lunchtime already. Are you gonna spend the whole day in bed? Are you sick again?” The beautiful maiden’s call is promptly replaced by Beomgyu’s shrill alarm of a voice, and the once-soft hand has now transformed into a pillow squished against Minjeong’s face.

Minjeong sits up, rubbing the sleep—and the last remnants of the dream—from her eyes. She groans, says the last thing she remembers before finally dozing off. “I’m fine. Sorry, I was up all night talking to Soobin.” She exaggerates, of course, because that’s what they do. Besides, she’d never admit to having a highly sensual dream about someone who is pointedly not Soobin (but just as blonde and beautiful, maybe even more so).

“Oh, really?”

Minjeong yawns, wondering why Beomgyu sounds in disbelief.

“Yeah, we had this moment,” she said, sickly-sweet just to annoy her twin.

“What moment?”

Minjeong tilts her head, surprised at how annoyed Beomgyu sounded just then, even though it was not her intention to bug him at all. Minjeong gets out of bed and starts combing fingers through her bedhead. “We talked about this guy named Wom Hif.”

“Wim Hof,” Beomgyu corrects.

“Oh, yeah, him. How’d you know?”

Beomgyu flinches and looks away. “It’s just that… Soobin’s brought him up before, too. Anyway, what did he say?” he asks.

Minjeong furrows her eyebrows. “Well, he said he was out swimming in the cold because of the guy’s technique, like it inspired him, or something.”

“That’s all he said?” Beomgyu presses. “And that’s your moment?” He tries to play it off as teasing, but Minjeong notices how serious he actually seemed before that.

Nevertheless, Minjeong plays along. “Wow, sorry we didn’t immediately start talking about our childhood traumas on Insta DMs, okay? We’ll have plenty of time for pillow talk when we’re actually together. The emotional intimacy can wait, y’know.”

Beomgyu stays quiet, changing the subject when he finally does talk. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and clears his throat. “I’m going to practice at Chenle’s today. We’re finalizing the song we’ll be debuting tomorrow.”

“Oh, how’s that coming along? Are you done with the lyrics?”

Beomgyu nods, then shrugs. “I think I’ve got it this time around, sis.” There’s a pause as he drops his gaze to the ground. “I bought bibimbap for lunch; you can find yours in the kitchen. See you later.” He gives Minjeong a wave, which she reciprocates.

Minjeong changes out of her pajamas and opens the container of bibimbap, gets a pair of steel chopsticks, and chews on more than just her meal.

· · ─────── ·ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ· ─────── · ·

Beomgyu considers jealousy and its many forms. He counts the times the pesky little emotion’s invaded his heart: not that many, he concludes, because by and large, Beomgyu is not a jealous person. And this unfamiliarity is exactly why it takes him a considerable amount of time to realize that the way he was acting with Minjeong regarding Soobin earlier was the behavior of a jealous man.

Chenle notices something off with Beomgyu as soon as he enters the makeshift practice room (Chenle’s parents’ basement) they've had since the band started. He doesn't say anything about it directly, just cocks an eyebrow and suggests, “Maybe you should write a song about it.” Beomgyu is thankful that Chenle spares him from the interrogation.

Sungchan and Eunseok arrive a little after Beomgyu does, and they do so together. Beomgyu must be going crazy, because this prompts him to wonder if they’re a couple, the first time it’s ever crossed his mind. He contemplates asking, but doesn’t want that to lead to another question, one he’d rather avoid.

“I’m still working on our song tomorrow. Well,” Beomgyu takes out his Moleskine, “It’s done, actually.” The other band members huddle close together, behind him, pointing to the lines they like, tuning their instruments and asking Beomgyu for the topline as they start playing. Soon enough, they enter into a steady flow, a good rhythm, and Beomgyu forgets about jealousy but continues thinking of the same person—just with a different feeling, this time.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

‘So, you and my brother, huh?’ Minjeong replies to Jimin’s story of her sharing the ad for the event tomorrow. She follows it up with a grinning emoji.

‘Ofc! Couldn’t turn down the band’s frontman now, can I? On second thought, does that make me a groupie now?’

Minjeong snorts. ‘I would rather not think of my brother with groupies, thanks very much.’ What she means is that she’d rather not think of Beomgyu with Jimin, but she doesn’t say that. Who is Beomgyu supposed to be with if not Jimin? Soobin? Then her with Jimin? Just the idea of it is laughable.

‘Lol sorry. Also doesn’t hurt that he’s kind of my type.’

‘Your type?’

‘Kind of.’

Minjeong’s ears are burning. She gulps, resists the urge to dig deeper into what Jimin means.

‘Hbu? Are you going with anyone?’

Minjeong sees no point in lying, or not answering. Besides, it’s impossible that they won’t run into each other at the pub. Better lay it out now than take people by surprise later. ‘Ah yeah… Choi Soobin.’

It takes a whole two minutes after Jimin sees the message for her to reply. That’s equivalent to fifteen deep breaths (Minjeong counted).

‘I didn’t know you two were close.’

What does closeness have to do with going on a date? Isn’t that the point of a date, to get to know each other first? So what if Jimin and Minjeong are closer, that they never even had to go on a date to know each other, and that Minjeong wants them to become even closer—in ways that she’s never thought of with a girl, the focus on skin and lips and hands?

‘We’re not, but I dunno. He’s kind of my type.’

Minjeong sees Jimin typing and speed-runs another line, one that’ll hopefully end the conversation. ‘Anw, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She receives two notifications at the same time: of Jimin liking her message, and Soobin sending her a message almost identical to the one she just sent.

‘Let’s meet there at around seven outside the pub? See you there!’

Minjeong takes a deep breath, twiddles her thumbs over the digital keyboard, and settles for double-tapping the gray bubble, a small red heart appearing just below it.

· · ─────── ·ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ· ─────── · ·

The Drama Pub is packed. College kids flow in and out of the perpetually-open doors, bottles of half-priced beer in hand. The facade of brick walls disappears and transforms into a space to drunkenly lean into—shoulders, hands, arms, hips, someone’s back, the soles of shoes. Inside, the layered chatter and clinking of glasses forms music of its own kind.

Beomgyu is sitting in one of the corner booths, Jimin beside him. They’ve been sipping their beer and smiling at each other for what feels like forever now. Probably not the best choice for a first date, with all the noise. Beomgyu’s eyes wander to the basketball-shaped clock hanging above the main bar. It shows 7:15 P.M.—Blue Hour is on in about thirty minutes. He should be in the green room, but here he is, drumming his fingers, waiting for something to happen. He turns to the entrance, and as if manifested through sheer will, sees Minjeong and Soobin enter. His mood instantly lifts when they catch their table and head towards it.

“Sorry, totally my fault for being fifteen minutes late,” Soobin says. He lets Minjeong enter the booth first, so she ends up in the middle beside Jimin, Soobin sitting on the outer edge. More room there for his long legs, Beomgyu supposes. With their positions, Beomgyu and Soobin end up almost facing each other across the table. They meet eyes, but Beomgyu looks away.

“I’ll get us our drinks,” Soobin tells Minjeong. “Oh, do we need to be together for that, or…?”

“Yeah, and you’d have to prove you were a couple by making out in front of the bartender,” Jimin jokes.

Minjeong gapes at her, but after a beat, lets out an awkward laugh, playfully slapping Jimin’s shoulder. “Oh, unnie,” she exclaims, before standing up to join Soobin on the way to the bar.

Jimin’s gaze lingers on them walking away, her neck swan-like as she follows their trail. When the two reach the counter, she turns back to Beomgyu. “They look good together, don’t they?” she asks before taking a sip—a swig—of her drink. She winces at the taste, putting the glass back down on the table with a small thud.

Beomgyu gives her a hum, a non-committal sound of neither agreement nor dispute. A dismissal, actually—how Beomgyu does not want to think of Soobin and Minjeong looking good together. “Not as good as we do,” he says, a clumsy attempt at redirection, forced flirtation. Jimin offers him a faint chuckle in return, a kindness.

Beomgyu looks at the clock again, just as Soobin and Minjeong get back to their table, free drinks in tow. He checks his phone and sees the latest text from Chenle, amongst a string of other notifications: ‘I know you’re on a date with Ms. Perfect right now but we kinda have a gig—in case you forgot.’ With this, he gets up, bows to the group, and tells Jimin that he’ll look for her right after their set.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving Jimin-unnie all alone,” Minjeong chides, scooting closer to Jimin, hooking an arm to hers. She takes a huge gulp of her beer with her other hand, swinging the glass dangerously across the air. “Don’t worry, unnie, you can hang with us while Gyu does his band thing.” She pats Jimin’s arm commiseratingly.

“And you think me third-wheeling on your date with Soobin is any better?” Jimin jokes, leaning sideways to look past Minjeong to Soobin. “Is that okay with you?”

Soobin shrugs. “I think I should be asking you that question,” he says.

Minjeong laughs with a stiff ha-ha and starts scooting out of the booth. “Anyway, I’m done with my beer. You think the second round is free too?”

“I’m quite sure that it is not free,” Beomgyu says, worried when it registers that it hasn’t even been ten minutes since Minjeong and Soobin got here with their first round of drinks. Minjeong isn’t exactly known to hold her alcohol well, but she’s already halfway to the bar before he can remind her of this, having said a hurried “I guess this one’s on me, then,” as she left. Beomgyu surmises that it must be nerves from being on her first date with Soobin. The liquid courage will probably (hopefully) help her loosen up.

Beomgyu shifts his attention to the two left at the table. He realizes that this is the first time he’s seen Jimin and Soobin interact—no longer looking through the eyes of a rumor, but of his very own. They act exactly how you’d expect schoolmates from a huge college campus would, the only thing out of the ordinary being the fact that their twin golden heads seem to blind anyone who passes by their table, their combined presence a spectacle of its own.

“I don’t mind it being just us three for a bit. We can all watch Blue Hour together,” Soobin says as he watches Minjeong get a second round at the bar. He turns his head and catches Beomgyu’s gaze. “Good luck with your set. I can’t wait to hear you guys live.”

Beomgyu gulps. Soobin doesn’t break eye contact, nor does Beomgyu.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, before heading to the greenroom where Chenle and the others have been waiting for him.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

What do you get where you’re in a pub, two tall glasses in, with little sleep and appetite for the entire week prior, and you’re sitting between the man you thought was the love of your life and the woman who may be the actual love of your life, but you can’t tell either of them these things because you’ve dug yourself into a hole of your own hubris and delusion with no way out but through, so now you’re just left to wallow with a stomach full of beer and the room spinning around you?

A cocktail for disaster, that’s what you get, and this time Minjeong is both the bartender and the patron.

There are stages to Minjeong’s intoxication: first, she becomes loud—which isn’t really a problem, considering the noise, but it’s a sign of worse things yet to come. At the very least, it offers her this: she no longer needs to put her lips close to Jimin’s ear to be heard; thus, she is spared of that minute distance—a closeness that makes her feel things she should not.

Second, she keeps getting up to go to the restroom and pee. Curse her already small bladder and alcohol’s nature as a diuretic, she tells herself during her nth entrance to the toilet that night. As she flushes, she wonder what’s taking Beomgyu and Blue Hour so long to start their set; her sense of time is fucked but she still has the wherewithal to check her phone to confirm that it’s been twenty minutes since Beomgyu left their table, an act that she sees as a sort of abandonment.

All this moving around—from table to restroom, bumping into the crowd, her futile “excuse me’s” going unheard, the crash of a bottle, broken glass being swept up, so many “sorry’s” exchanged—causes her to get drunker even quicker, which is what leads her to the third stage of intoxicated Minjeong: she becomes honest.

Too honest, in fact, that it causes her to blurt out the entirety of Operation: Pyrixodine to Jimin and Soobin as soon as she sits down. It barely registers to her, how she starts it out by asking if she could drink from Jimin’s half-empty glass, Jimin nodding her head, the beer lukewarm and turning into guilt in liquid form as it crawls down Minjeong’s throat, of which to her alcohol-laden mind can only be assuaged by an admission. “It’s funny,” she starts, even though it isn’t, not at all, “but did you know that my brother and I deliberately befriended you two so we can be each other’s wingman?” With her zero brain-to-mouth filter, she continues, ever so unflinching, so nonchalant, even when offered multiple chances to escape by way of Soobin and Jimin scooting closer to her and asking through the noise, “Sorry, what was that,” and the host speaking into the mic and saying, “Apologies for the delay, but Blue Hour will be on shortly.” Deep down, Minjeong knows she should shut up, take the way out by waving her arm dismissively, perhaps just by literally spilling her guts, instead. That would be less embarrassing than what she’s doing now, detailing everything from the plotting of classes to the auditioning for the dance club—conveniently leaving out the betrayal of her emotions, of how she feels nothing when she looks at Soobin now but everything when she’s next to Jimin. “Isn’t it funny…” she trails off as the bookends to her confession.

Maybe they’ll dismiss all of this as nonsensical drunken ramblings, Minjeong hopes. It’s this clarity that briefly visits her the moment Blue Hour finally gets on stage, the cheers and applause shaking her out of her drunken haze. She notices Soobin immediately shift his position towards the band when Beomgyu introduces their first song. She looks at Jimin, but the now-dimmed lights make it hard to see her expression; the most she sees is her silhouette as she turns her head to watch, something Minjeong realizes she should be doing, too.

“Way to go, Blue Hour!” she suddenly shouts with her palms cupped around her mouth, just in time for the sound of clicking drumsticks, the lead into a melody that Minjeong recognizes from all the nights Beomgyu’s been playing it on the guitar in their room—but the lyrics? They seem new. A love song, she realizes as she listens, something about finding someone who shares the same pain as you. Could this be it, the song that Beomgyu wrote Jimin? Toward what seems to be the bridge, Beomgyu directly looks at their table, at Minjeong, and Minjeong takes this as a sign that he is asking his twin for encouragement—the last push to directly sing to the person he wrote this song for. She gives him a little nod, and Beomgyu shifts his attention to Soobin, much to Minjeong’s shock. Beomgyu smiles, continues through the last chorus as he strums the final chords on the guitar. Minjeong looks at Soobin, then back at Beomgyu, sees them looking at each other, and this is when the realization hits her like a truck. It manages to clear her head, enough to understand what she needs to do. She needs to talk to Jimin, needs to sort this all out, needs to tell her everything, including what she feels—

Minjeong turns her head but the other side of the booth is empty, her chest in much the same position, as if her heart jumped out of it, following the absence in front of her. Blue Hour starts their next song, a rock cover of a Twice hit, and Minjeong frantically looks to the stage for something like an explanation. This time, it’s her who needs the boost from her brother. Beomgyu only has to glance at the exit and back to Minjeong’s table to get a hold of the situation. And just like a spitting image, a mirror, Beomgyu gives her a resolute nod. Go on, he silently says, go get your girl. Finish the mission.

Maybe telepathy between twins is a real thing, Minjeong thinks as she pushes through the crowd and out the pub, this time her body flowing through the people like a current dancing along the river.

· · ─────── ·ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ· ─────── · ·

“I can’t believe that crowd!” Sungchan roars just as they arrive in the green room, still high from their performance, greedy for all that’s to come. Beomgyu’s heart is beating so loudly in his chest, the adrenaline from the cheers and from what is essentially his confession to Soobin in song form coursing through his veins.

They’re sitting on the couch, talking about plans for their post-celebration, when one of the staff enters the room, knocking on the ajar door. “Uh, sorry, but someone named Choi Soobin is here to see Beomgyu?” she asks, and the band members all turn to look at Beomgyu conspiratorially.

“We’ll text you the place and you can meet us there… if you have the time,” Chenle says as he pats Beomgyu’s back, and Beomgyu might be imagining it, but he can feel the force of a shove from Chenle’s open palm. Nevertheless, whether it be encouragement or pressure, he appreciates the push.

“Hey,” Soobin nods when Beomgyu sheepishly comes out of the room. Soobin looks into the room where the rest of the band are and gives them a small wave. He turns back to Beomgyu, “uhm, do you want to talk somewhere… more private?”

They end up in the alleyway next to the pub, because you can’t get any more private-slash-intimate than when you’re surrounded by blacked-out college kids, glass bottle shards, and cigarette butts. But hey, at least Beomgyu can look back on this moment and proudly remember how punk it was.

“Minjeong told us all about your plan, by the way.”

Beomgyu figured as much. He surmises Jimin didn’t take it too well, judging by how she left the pub, Minjeong trailing behind her. He silently wishes his sister all the luck in the world.

“Yeah, about that…” Beomgyu scratches his nape.

Soobin chuckles. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, looking toward the opening of the alley, then back to lock eyes with Beomgyu. “I got the feeling pretty early on that you just wanted me to meet your sister. I mean, no offense, but you aren’t really a good liar, or actor, whatever you want to call it.”

Beomgyu gasps. “For real? I thought I had you fooled.”

“You pivoted almost every conversation we had back to her. I remember all the times, too. Do you want me to list them—”

“Okay, I get it. Damn, guess I failed, then.” Beomgyu shrugs, not really disappointed. “But, why’d you still keep talking to me if you clocked the scheme so early on?”

Soobin looks down. “Dunno. Maybe I was just bored.”

“Ouch,” Beomgyu exaggerates.

“Or maybe… I was just interested in you and took advantage of the opportunity,” Soobin says, all sticky and sly. “Especially when I realized that your plan wasn’t exactly going as you expected.”

Beomgyu blushes. “Why, aren’t you so observant? How could you have possibly found out, I wonder?”

“Well, for starters, you kissed me at my grandpa’s house.”

“What the hell? You kissed me!

“Well, sure, but you kissed me back.”

“You said it was CPR!”

“And I was obviously lying.”

A pause. Beomgyu hears Soobin take a deep breath, and feels his own chest give in to the weight of their conversation, all jokes aside.

Soobin reaches both his hands out, holding Beomgyu’s arms, gentle to the touch. “But I’m definitely not lying about this: I like you, Beomgyu. And if I’m as observant as you say I am, I must be right in thinking that you like me back. Do you?”

Beomgyu feels warmth radiate from his sides to the rest of his body. He gulps, looks right into Soobin’s eyes when he asks, “Wasn’t the song enough of an answer?”

“Nope.”

Beomgyu doesn’t give much thought to what he does next. He taps the tip of his right sneaker on the concrete ground once, and leans forward, pressing his lips against Soobin’s. “Is that enough?” he asks after pulling away.

“Nope, not enough,” Soobin coyly answers. “I like words.”

Beomgyu bites his lower lip. “I like you, Soobin-hyung.”

Soobin smiles, and Beomgyu finds it amazing how the sparse lighting from the street emphasizes the shadows of Soobin’s dimples, making them look deeper than they already are. “You’re adorable,” Soobin says, and he kisses Beomgyu back.

· · ─────── ·૮ •ﻌ•ა· ─────── · ·

The fresh air outside is sobering, but not as much as seeing Jimin’s golden hair hurriedly swinging away from Minjeong.

“Unnie,” “Jimin-unnie,” “Please, wait a minute—” Minjeong almost stumbles, hand reaching out to catch up to Jimin, who’s walking so fast that it almost seems as if she’s running. But isn’t that what she really is doing right now, and for good reason, too? Running away from Minjeong, running away from the mess Minjeong created. Maybe it would be best for her to stop, stop chasing the very person she pushed away. Jimin deserves better, she thinks, but she can’t help but stay pulled to her, string taut.

Jimin abruptly stops in the middle of two buildings, Minjeong almost crashing into her when she does. She turns around, her face wet with tears, a fiery red—anger, hurt—making its way through her cheeks. “Tell me, Minjeong. Did you ever plan on telling me any of that if you hadn’t gotten tipsy tonight? Or did you just expect your plan to work and hide it from me forever?”

Every word is an arrow to the heart, the truth sharp and piercing. Minjeong’s mouth is full of blood, almost rendering her speechless. “Of course I would tell you, unnie, but I didn’t think it would be—”

“This big of a deal? Of course it is, Minjeong.” Jimin says, wiping her nose with her hand. “You tricked me, and I feel used. Besides, it would never work—your brother and I—because I’m not into…” She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, before adding with finality, “I’m a lesbian, Minjeong, in case you haven’t figured that out.”

How can you possibly come back from this, Minjeong thinks. She opens her mouth, shuts it. Jimin watches her silence, cheeks wet with tears.

Finally, Minjeong speaks, doesn’t think of what she says, just lets it all flow out, a crashing waterfall. “You’re right, unnie,” she starts, her own eyes starting to sting. “It could never work. Yes, because you’re not interested in Soobin, or in any man, for that matter. But also because I—I realized that I’m not either.”

“What are you saying?” Jimin asks.

“I—” Minjeong can’t hold back her tears anymore. She was trying her best not to cry, thinking that she doesn’t have the right to. She wasn’t the one hurt, betrayed. But it comes without her meaning to, and so does her anguished declaration, this realization fully-formed. “I don’t like him, unnie. I thought I did, but I realized that no, I don’t. I like you, Jimin-unnie. And I’m so sorry for what I did, but please,” Minjeong takes a step forward, is relieved that Jimin stays in place, that Jimin allows Minjeong to take her hand, for it to be clasped—held, “please give me the chance to know you. To know you not from the gossip columns, not from your Instagram captions, not from your friends’ stories of your past. To know you not to feed the information to my brother, not to advance any stupid plan, not for any other reason except…” Minjeong looks down, bites her lip, swallows the last iota of doubt in her throat.

“Except what?” Jimin blinks through tears. Minjeong can feel Jimin’s fingers shaking, her palm sweaty. She wants to kiss every inch of her hand.

“I want to know how to love you, unnie, and how it is to be loved by you. Will you let me? I promise if you do, I’ll do right by you. I’ll love you the way you’re meant to be loved, the way you deserve. Because you’re the most amazing person I’ve met—so kind, passionate, and thoughtful—you’re everything and I want to give you everything and more back. I want to give you the world.”

“That’s a pretty big thing to promise, the world…” There are traces of the familiar sweetness on Jimin’s face, and Minjeong’s heart soars. “But how can I be sure that you’re being sincere? You’ve lied to me before.”

“I will never lie to you again, unnie, I swear.” Minjeong doesn’t take her gaze away from Jimin’s eyes, hopes that she can make her sincerity known to her through this.

Jimin licks her lips. “I… okay. I believe you.” She sighs, smiles, and looks fondly at Minjeong, who can’t help but fall for her even more.

Minjeong squeezes Jimin’s hand, brings Jimin’s knuckle to her lips, gives it a quick peck, presses it against her cheek, warm—so warm. Jimin turns her hand, starts caressing Minjeong’s face with her thumb, moves to her lips, so gentle, intentional. “I’m trusting you with my heart, Minjeong-ah. Please don’t break it.” She brings her other hand to cup Minjeong’s face, leans forward, closes her eyes, and kisses her.

Jimin and Minjeong’s first kiss lasts for two beats. Then the second, for seven. Then the third, thirty. After that, Minjeong loses count of how many times they kiss or for how long, because to her, this is a dance that never ends. To her, this is what forever feels like.

(New mission started—Operation: Don’t Break Jimin-unnie’s Heart.)

· · ─────── ·EPILOGUE· ─────── · ·

“I thought it would be more detailed than this, to be honest.” Soobin slides the single piece of paper back and forth on the table with his hand. He takes a quick sip of his milkshake before inspecting the page again, the one that started it all. His dark bangs fall over his eyes.

“Well,” Jimin tilts her head, turning the paper so that she can read the words right-side-up. “It’s pretty straightforward, isn’t it?” Her hair is no longer blonde—like Soobin, she has it in her natural black now, too. “I guess it’s also pretty outdated, though,” she points out with a hair flip.

“I can’t believe you kept it after all this time,” Beomgyu exclaims, looking a mix of amused and disgusted.

“It’s called documentation, brother,” Minjeong answers. She shrugs, “and besides… it did bring us all together, didn’t it? So I’m kind of sentimental about it, and this is kind of like a full circle thing.”

Beomgyu perks up, as if an idea just sprang in his head. “I know just the thing to close this out,” he says, opening his backpack to dig for something. He pulls out a green highlighter, uncaps it, and draws a huge checkmark on their ‘game plan.’ It feels so long ago now, even though it’s only been a couple months since they (that is, Minjeong) came up with this entire scheme.

“There,” Beomgyu says as they all look at his contribution with satisfied expressions. “Now we can consider Operation Pyridoxine a success!”