Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On February 14th, Kim Minjeong is going to die.

That's what Kim Minjeong has declared in her mind as she sits on her bathroom floor. She tries to absorb her surroundings with her senses, a desperate attempt to distract herself from overthinking. Her trembling hands set a timer on her watch. Two minutes. She gives herself two minutes to calm down, then she’ll carry on with her life.

The bathroom is narrow and small, the lights switched off. She relies on her hands and the familiarity of the space to navigate. Her eyes quickly adjust to the dark as her fingers feel for a few tissues. Slowly, she wipes her nose, the tears tracing silent paths down her cheeks. She forces her focus onto her breathing—the cool porcelain tiles pressing against her tense calf muscles help her unwind, little by little. Her legs had been flexed and strained all day.

Thirty seconds. That’s all the time left in this confinement. When her watch buzzes, she knows it's time to face the real world again. She opens the bathroom door, and light floods her vision. The glaring sunlight streams through the large window in her room, illuminating the space she was just in.

And there goes her peace.

With a sigh, Minjeong pushes herself off the floor and flips on the bathroom light. She splashes cold water on her face, hoping to reduce the puffiness. As her fingers trace the dark crescents under her eyes, a thought surfaces—how quickly time passes. She’s 25 now. A full adult. Or at least, partially. Still a student, she has yet to experience the so-called "real adult world." She hasn’t held a traditional 9-to-5 job. She envies her high school friends who graduated years ago, stepping into their careers and making names for themselves- she’s seen them on social media living the life. Meanwhile, she remains stuck in her room, pouring over notes for a midterm she may barely pass.

How ungrateful, she thinks. What is she even complaining about? Locking herself in the bathroom, indulging in melodramatic escapes because she can't handle student life? Her friends with full-time jobs often long for the days when they were still students under their parents' financial support.

Minjeong scolds herself. She shouldn’t feel like this. After all, she’s privileged, financially secure, and in medical school—every Korean parent’s dream for their child. She’s the golden child her parents love to brag about. She should be happy, right? Proud, even. But she isn’t. And the negativity swirling within her only disgusts her more, knowing there are people who would give anything to live her life.

“Get it together, Minjeong,” she mutters. There’s no time to wallow.

Zipping up her hoodie, she prepares for another grueling night of last-minute studying.

“Tell me that was the worst exam ever.”

Minjeong feels an arm drape over her shoulders. The added weight is familiar, though hardly heavier than the burdens she already carries. She rolls her eyes, packing up her pencil case and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“It was fair, but definitely tougher than those practice quizzes the professor gives us,” she replies, glancing at her best friend. “Want to grab coffee before class?”

Ning Yizhuo lets out an exaggerated groan, covering her eyes dramatically. “It’s criminal ! Why schedule an exam and a class for the same course on the same day? What was he thinking?!”

Minjeong chuckles. It’s a valid complaint. Their professor likely had a sinister laugh as he made the schedule. “Pick whatever you want at the café. It’s on me.”

Yizhuo peeks through her fingers with a mischievous grin. “In that case, I’ll have coffee and a donut. You’re the best, Jeong!”

“You got it.” Minjeong can’t help but smile. Moments like this make her reconsider her plans. Ning Yizhuo has been her anchor through thick and thin—or at least, as much as Minjeong allows her to see. She’s never shared her future plans—or lack thereof—with Yizhuo. It would only burden her friend, a bubbly ray of sunshine who doesn’t need Minjeong’s storm clouds. But still, Minjeong silently prays that Yizhuo will always have someone by her side. Someone who can keep up with her antics, her intellect (even though Yizhuo downplays it), and her unwavering positivity.

Not that Minjeong has any say in who’s good for her best friend, but she’d like to meet that person before she leaves this world. Hopefully, Yizhuo finds them soon.

After picking up their coffee and Yizhuo’s donut, they head to class. “Why is it so full already? I thought we were early,” Minjeong mutters as she surveys the packed room. Her usual seat at the back is already taken, forcing them to move closer to the podium.

“I guess we’re stuck here,” Yizhuo grumbles. “Eye-to-eye with the professor. Lucky us.”

The two settle into seats a few rows from the front. The unusually high attendance likely means students stayed on campus after the exam. For the first time, Minjeong notices unfamiliar faces—students who’ve clearly not been attending regularly. She mentally applauds their ability to pass med school without showing up.

Her gaze shifts to the front-row keeners. They intrigue her. These students seem driven, choosing this career path out of passion rather than familial or societal pressures.

“All right, class, settle down,” the professor says, smiling at the near-full attendance. “Let’s get started.”

Minjeong sighs, slipping on her glasses. The next two hours will surely test her patience.

A raised hand catches her attention. More importantly, it’s the way it’s raised—so rigid and firm, it screams "teacher’s pet." The girl—raven-haired, glasses-wearing, and with a small, neat bun—exudes an air of overzealousness. Or perhaps passion is a kinder word.

“Yes?” The professor beams at the student.

“Professor, I noticed the slide says ‘east to arouse.’ Is that correct?” she asks, pointing with her pen.

“‘East to—’ Oh! My bad. It’s a typo,” the professor chuckles. “It should say easy to arouse, referring to checking a patient’s consciousness with a gentle pat or by calling their name.”

“Could she not figure that out on her own?” Yizhuo mumbles, barely lifting her head. “She wasted thirty seconds of our time.”

As if on cue, the student turns around. Minjeong freezes, mortified. There’s no way she could’ve overheard from the front row. The girl’s eyes scan the room briefly before she glances at her phone.

Minjeong exhales, relieved. Not everything revolves around her.

Yet something about the student lingers in Minjeong’s thoughts. She retracts her earlier judgment. That girl might just be the most breathtaking… teacher’s pet she’s ever seen.

Minjeong still felt a pang of guilt as she packed up her belongings and exited the classroom. Adjusting the straps on her backpack, her eyes scanned the flood of students, unconsciously searching for the passionate student from earlier. But there was no sign of her.

Minjeong walked out of the classroom with Yizhuo beside her, still venting about the double ordeal of the day—the exam and the lecture. But Minjeong’s mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the image of the raven-haired student. The firmness of her voice, the confidence in her question, even her posture—all of it intrigued Minjeong. She was still processing how captivating she had found the girl, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“I can’t believe he went on for an hour and a half after that soul-sucking exam,” Yizhuo said, tossing her empty coffee cup in the trash. “He’s relentless.”

“Yeah, relentless,” Minjeong echoed absentmindedly, earning a questioning glance from Yizhuo.

“What’s up with you? You’ve been zoning out ever since class ended,” Yizhuo prodded, narrowing her eyes.

“Nothing. Just tired,” Minjeong replied with a small shrug, pulling her jacket closer as they exited the building into the chilly evening air. Her gaze instinctively scanned the crowd of students dispersing from the lecture halls. 

Her gaze finally landed on the student Yizhuo had criticized earlier. The girl appeared surrounded by a group of friends, all of them smiling and laughing. She seemed happy—truly at ease. The sight reassured Minjeong; despite Yizhuo’s sharp remarks in class, this girl didn’t appear fazed by anything. In fact, she seemed admired, even popular.

“Minjeong! Can you help me set the table?”

Minjeong had just lined up her shoes neatly by the front door when a voice called out from the kitchen. Suddenly, the sound of tiny footsteps echoed through the hallway, accompanied by an excited shriek.

Minjeong smiled wide, immediately dropping to her knees and opening her arms.

“Jeongie!”

“Chaeng!” Minjeong exclaimed with the same energy, scooping her baby niece, Chaeyoung, into a hug that was tight but gentle. She lifted her, carrying her into the kitchen with ease. “Hey,” Minjeong greeted her older sister, Taeyeon, who was busy at the stove.

“Hey! How was school?” Taeyeon asked, quickly drying her hands on a nearby towel before grabbing a spatula.

“Good. It was fine,” Minjeong said simply, setting Chaeyoung down to help set the dining table.

“Baekhyun’s on call right now, but he’ll come join us whenever he gets a chance,” Taeyeon explained as she plated the food. “We’ll start without him. Did the exam go okay?”

Minjeong filled glasses with water before responding. “Yeah, it was fair.”

“That’s great to hear!” Taeyeon’s face brightened. She placed a platter of grilled short ribs with broccolini—Minjeong’s favorite—on the table.

After dinner, the family moved to the living room for some downtime. Baekhyun, who had finally joined them after finishing his call, peeled an orange and handed half to Minjeong.

“Orange?” he asked.

“Thanks,” Minjeong replied, carefully peeling apart each slice before eating.

On the other hand, Chaeyoung kept handing Minjeong her toys one by one, so much so that by the end of the meal, Minjeong found herself nearly buried under a pile of stuffed animals.

“That’s enough, Chaengie,” Taeyeon said with a laugh. “Look! Poor Jeongie doesn’t even have room to move.”

“Are you heading uptown this weekend to see Mom and Dad?” Taeyeon asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Minjeong gave a half-shrug. “I have a shift at the hospital on Saturday. Minho oppa said there’s a scheduled surgery he wants me to shadow.”

“That’s great!” Taeyeon said, beaming. “We’re heading uptown to let Mom and Dad spend time with Chaeng. If you head there after your shift, maybe we can all come back together and have dinner.”

“Sure. I’ll see how long the surgery lasts. Don’t wait for me, though—I don’t want to hold up your plans,” Minjeong replied.

“Well, let us know, bud,” Baekhyun said warmly, giving her a light pat on the shoulder. “And don’t overwork yourself.”

Back in her room, Minjeong stared at the stack of notes on her desk. Her midterm was over, and though she had more exams to prepare for, she couldn’t focus. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the girl from class. 

She shook her head, frustrated. What did it matter? It’s not like they would ever have a conversation. The girl was confident and probably surrounded by like-minded individuals—people who were ambitious, driven, and fully dedicated to their futures. Minjeong, in contrast, was constantly grappling with doubts about her path and her place in the world.

“Why am I like this?” Minjeong muttered, flopping onto her bed. The weight of the day pressed down on her chest as she stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Her mind replayed the fleeting interactions with the girl from class—the crispness of her raised hand, her unwavering gaze, the quiet confidence she exuded. Minjeong couldn’t place the feeling exactly. Was it admiration for someone so assured in their path? Or was it something deeper, something she was too afraid to label?

The emptiness crept in again. That familiar void that lingered no matter how much she filled her day with tasks or surrounded herself with family. Her life wasn’t lacking in material comforts, nor in love. Taeyeon’s warm smile, Chaeyoung’s boundless energy, even Baekhyun’s small acts of care—she cherished all of it. And yet, beneath it all, there was this gnawing hollowness. A sense of inadequacy, of not truly belonging anywhere.

She turned to her side, maybe the reason she couldn’t stop thinking about this girl was that she represented something Minjeong craved. Certainty. A clarity in purpose that Minjeong lacked.

Minjeong sighed, her breath trembling slightly as she buried her face in the pillow. She felt stuck, as though she were walking through life with heavy boots on, dragging herself forward with no clear destination. Even now, in medical school, the golden ticket her parents had always dreamed of for her, she couldn’t shake the question. Why does it feel like I’m just existing, not living?

She thought about the girl in class again. Jimin, her name whispered somewhere in passing. From the small glimpse Minjeong had seen, Jimin didn’t seem to struggle with doubts about her path. Minjeong imagined Jimin moving with purpose, never weighed down by the constant self-criticism and second-guessing that plagued her. How enviable, that kind of sureness.

But was it real? Did people like Jimin feel empty too, only better at hiding it? Minjeong rolled onto her back again and let out a bitter laugh. It felt ridiculous, comparing herself to someone she barely knew, projecting her insecurities onto them. And yet, the questions kept haunting her.

Would Jimin ever lock herself in a bathroom to calm down like I did? Would she spend hours berating herself for feeling ungrateful about her privilege? Minjeong closed her eyes, the doubts louder than she’d like to admit.

The buzzing of her phone jolted her out of her thoughts. A notification from Yizhuo popped up, a meme about how caffeine and sleep deprivation fuel student life. Minjeong let out a breathy chuckle, grateful for her friend’s untimely humor. But even as she replied to the message, her mind wandered back to that question of why some people seemed so… complete, while she felt like a mosaic of fragmented pieces, barely holding together.

Would it always be like this?

She tapped her fingers against the side of her phone, hesitating before typing something into her notes app. Reasons why I feel empty. It was a silly exercise, one she wasn’t sure would help, but maybe putting it into words would bring clarity. The list grew slowly, each reason more vague than the last, until one stood out starkly: Because I don’t know who I am.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow at Nayeon’s playful smirk, but didn’t push further. She wasn’t entirely sure why her unnie always went out of her way to help, but she appreciated it nonetheless. The elevator arrived with a faint chime, and the two stepped inside, the hum of machinery filling the brief silence.

“So, stent 101,” Nayeon began, shifting into her professional mode. “It’s a procedure to open up narrowed blood vessels. Pretty standard, but still fascinating to watch. You’ll see how the cardiologist uses a catheter to position the stent—kind of like threading a very delicate needle. The coolest part is probably the fluoroscopy—watching it all happen in real-time on the monitor.”

Minjeong nodded attentively, her nervousness beginning to ease with Nayeon’s confident tone. “That actually sounds amazing. I just hope I don’t mess up and make a bad impression on Dr. Choi.”

“Oh, please,” Nayeon waved dismissively. “Dr. Choi wouldn’t even flinch if the hospital caught fire around him. As long as you don’t faint in the OR, you’re golden.”

Minjeong let out a breathy laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

The elevator doors opened to the basement, and the two of them stepped into the slightly dimmer, quieter corridor. The air carried a faint sterile scent, and the occasional clatter of equipment echoed through the space. Nayeon led the way towards the staff locker room.

“Anyway, just remember to observe and absorb everything. Dr. Choi likes students who ask thoughtful questions. Don’t worry about having all the answers—he’s more interested in seeing how you think.”

Minjeong nodded again, soaking in Nayeon’s advice like a sponge. They reached the locker room, and Nayeon leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as Minjeong grabbed her scrubs and began to change.

“You’ve got this, Minjeong,” Nayeon said softly, her earlier teasing tone replaced with genuine encouragement. “You’ve got the brains and the heart for this field. Don’t let nerves get in the way.”

Minjeong paused, glancing up from tying her scrub top. “Thanks, unnie. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Good.” Nayeon straightened, her smirk returning. “Now go impress everyone in the OR. And don’t forget to take notes—I expect a full report later.”

With that, Nayeon gave her a wink and sauntered off, leaving Minjeong alone to gather her thoughts. She took a deep breath, her earlier anxiety replaced with a cautious excitement. This was her chance to learn and prove herself. She wasn’t going to let self-doubt hold her back—not this time.

Adjusting her scrub cap, Minjeong stepped out of the locker room and headed toward the OR, feeling a small but determined spark light up within her.

Nayeon rolls her eyes and lets out a groan, “Easy there, my back is digging into the shelves.”

So, when Nayeon expected details after the surgery- it wasn't really details. 

Nayeon massages Minjeong’s scalp as she feels the junior breathe heavily against her neck. “Seems like you wanted this more than me. Was the surgery stressful?”

Minjeong kisses the back of Nayeon’s ear and thrusts hard into Nayeon earning a yelp. “You know I’m not stressed about anything school related.”

“This is work related.”, Nayeon fights back, the free hand sliding down to Minjeong’s hips, drawing circles to soothe the tense body that’s hovering her. “Well, future work since you’re a fourth-year.”

“Not stressed about that either.”

Minjeong finally pulls back her head to get a good look at the resident. Dishevelled, sweating, and cheeks blushed, Minjeong takes in the sight and then grips on to the older woman’s hips tighter. She was about to finish, but that doesn’t matter if Nayeon doesn’t finish first. With all her might, she carries Nayeon to the table that has a few dusty boxes of files that should be filed away and thrusts harder. 

“F-Fuck- Minjeong, q-quicker”, Nayeon hisses. With a few more whines, Nayeon pulls Minjeong closer and bites down her shoulder to muffle a few cries as Minjeong rides her release. The pants become shallower and then comes silence. Minjeong was catching her breath still but Nayeon pushed her off gently and ran her hair through her fingers. 

“Do you have a post-op plan for the patient?”, Nayeon asks as she jumps off the table and grabs her pants. 

Minjeong pulled up her pants that were dangling around her ankles- they were too impatient to get them off. “Yea, I’ll be starting a few new medications as well for the patient to prevent the clotting.”

Nayeon re-ties her hair into a ponytail and scratches Minjeong’s chin, “Good girl. Seems like your patient workup will be fine and Dr. Choi loves you- no way he’ll grill you on your work.”

Minjeong nodded silently and waited for Nayeon to freshen up before heading towards the door to open for her. Nayeon walks up with a squint and a slight look of concern, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Dandy good.”, Minjeong puts on a small smile. Nayeon doesn't trust the response and lingers as she looks straight into Minjeong’s eyes. 

“You know I’m one call away.”

“There are more important people to take care of, Nayeon-unnie. I can handle myself.”, Minjeong responds honestly. 

“So you admit that something is bothering you.”, Nayeon puts her hand on Minjeong’s cheek. “This arrangement may be a bit awkward for these talks, but we started off as friends first. And friends are here to talk.”

Minjeong doesn't answer and Nayeon pursed her lips in disappointment. However, the intern didn't want to push Minjeong past her comfort level. Not just yet. 

As Nayeon leads them out of the room, Minjeong bumped into Nayeon, nearly losing her balance as the older woman stopped abruptly. Her first instinct was to scold Nayeon for halting so suddenly, but the words died in her throat when she followed her senior’s gaze.

Standing a few steps ahead was none other than the passionate student—Yu Jimin. She clutched a precarious stack of documents to her chest, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. Whether it was from exertion or embarrassment, Minjeong wasn’t sure. Jimin’s expression flickered between surprise and discomfort as her gaze darted between Nayeon and Minjeong.

“I-uh… I was told to file some cases back into the bins…” Jimin stammered, her voice soft but clear enough to carry in the quiet hallway.

Nayeon, ever the social butterfly and adept at smoothing any awkward situation, immediately stepped forward with a warm smile. “That’s a lot of filing you’ve got there. Need an extra set of hands?” she offered.

Jimin quickly shook her head, her voice tinged with nervous energy. “No, no, I’m good! My supervisor is really particular about his files, and he, uh, trusts me to handle them. I’m also in a bit of a rush, so I didn’t mean to, um, interrupt anything…” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes momentarily flickered downward, clearly trying to avoid making the situation more uncomfortable.

Minjeong’s heart sank. There was no doubt in her mind that Jimin had overheard the earlier conversation—or worse, the tone in which it might have carried through the storage room walls. She bit the inside of her cheek, hoping Jimin wasn’t silently judging her.

Nayeon, however, brushed off the tension like it was nothing. “Oh, this ward has seen better days,” she chuckled, gesturing around. “It’s practically deserted now—a makeshift filing area. Still, it’s a hidden gem if you’re looking for a quiet place to regroup.”

Jimin nodded hesitantly, her grip tightening on the stack of documents as if they were her shield.

“By the way,” Nayeon continued, stepping closer and relieving Jimin of the files with ease, setting them on a nearby table. “I’m Nayeon, an intern in the trauma ICU. And you are?”

Jimin quickly bowed deeply before responding, “I’m Yu Jimin.”

Nayeon nudged Minjeong lightly, a silent prod for her to speak. Minjeong cleared her throat, stepping forward. “Kim Minjeong. I think we’re in the same year. Fourth-year, right?”

Jimin offered a small but genuine smile, a dimple appearing briefly on her cheek. “Yes, fourth year. Nice to officially meet you.”

“Oh! Another med student!” Nayeon said brightly. “Well, you’ve got a good classmate in Minjeong here. She’s sharp and keeps us interns on our toes with her out-of-pocket questions.”

Minjeong felt her cheeks flush slightly at the sort-of compliment, but she quickly focused on Jimin, who had visibly relaxed a fraction at Nayeon’s ease.

Jimin’s eyes shined, shyly revealing to the intern, “The trauma ICU unit is actually one of the topics I wanted to specialize in. How is the unit at this hospital?”

“Amazing, the team is efficient and definitely a great place to learn!”, Nayeon explains, but then frowns. “Wait, who made you file if you’re a med student- I’m not saying it’s not an important task, but usually supervisors often gain more trust in a fourth-year student to do more clinical work.”

“I’m actually with Dr. Kim Jongin.”, Jimin revealed. 

He’s a dick. Minjeong said to herself. Dr. Kim Jongin is the lead doctor in the ob/gyn clinic. He’s definitely very well versed in female anatomy and women’s health, but he also has such a big ego. The worst combination for a male in Minjeong’s opinion. 

“He’s… a tough one, I heard.”, Nayeon gives Jimin a knowing look. “How are your shifts going?”

Jimin becomes flustered, unable to answer the question truthfully to the two new people she just met. The healthcare field is surprisingly small and word spreads fast if you say the wrong things. Jimin was not going to risk it, no matter how shitty Dr. Kim has been treating her. “Truthfully speaking, I haven’t had enough exposure to the clinical side… I haven’t really met the team yet, but I know it’ll be worth it. I think Dr. Kim is still gaining trust in me first before we start anything.”

Nayeon sighed and pats the junior on the shoulder. “I feel you, honey. Not everyone is made for teaching. It’ll take a couple of months for someone like Dr. Kim to get his shit together and teach.”

Nayeon wasn’t afraid with what she said, people respect her and people love her. If they never heard of her, they will love her regardless. No one dares to go behind her back. 

“Actually…” Nayeon takes out her phone and hands it over to Jimin. “If you don’t mind, I can actually connect you with one of my classmates who is a resident at the ob/gyn unit. Someone to have your back! Dr. Bae Joohyun. Super cold looking but a sweetheart. She would be thrilled to properly meet you and give you tips!”

Jimin bows again. “Thank you, Nayeon-ssi, this means a lot to me.”

“Ob/gyn is a great specialization and the team overall is wonderful to work with. Don’t let your experience right now let you down.”, Nayeon smiles. “I have to go, but we can chat again!”

“What kind of surgery did you observe today?” Jimin asked, her tone shifting to something closer to genuine curiosity. Minjeong’s chest fluttered at the thought of Jimin wanting to carry on with the conversation with the absence of Nayeon.

“A stent surgery,” Minjeong answered, feeling more comfortable now that the conversation had steered toward academics. “Dr. Choi is filling in due to a shortage of surgeons, so he thought it’d be a good opportunity to watch.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jimin said, leaning slightly against the table, her initial nervousness melting into an air of admiration.

“Yeah… I’m sorry about your supervisor's situation,” Minjeong added, her voice softer. “It’s tough when you don’t have the best experience with your mentor.”

“At least it’s just one year,” Jimin sighed. “I’ll get through it. Besides, it’s a field I’m passionate about, so I try to focus on that.”

The sincerity in her voice struck a chord in Minjeong. It was rare to meet someone who could find silver linings even in challenging situations. That unwavering resolve, Minjeong thought, was something she wished she had more of.

“Well,” Jimin continued after a moment of silence, her cheeks flushing again, “I should get back to filing. Sorry if I… intruded earlier. I didn’t mean to.”

Minjeong managed a light laugh. “You didn’t intrude. It’s your space as much as anyone’s. We were just… uh, not being considerate of that.”

Jimin nodded, though the faint blush on her cheeks didn’t fade. Minjeong’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she took it out to check the time. “I have to head back to Dr. Choi’s office,” she said, adjusting her backpack straps.

“Right, of course,” Jimin replied, standing up straighter and smoothing her jacket. “I’ll see you around… in class?”

Minjeong hesitated for a fraction of a second before offering a small smile. “Yeah. See you.”

As she walked away, Minjeong couldn’t help but glance back once. Jimin was already absorbed in her task, her focus shifting to the stack of documents on the table. Something about her quiet determination stuck with Minjeong, sparking a sense of curiosity she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Fascinating, right? The surgery.” Minho asked while walking down the hallway with Minjeong in tow. Minjeong reconvened with her mentor after Minho had a quick meeting with some other interns. 

“It was quick,” Minjeong replied, following her mentor closely. Doctors often don’t have much time to sit down and talk, that is why, with quick steps, Minjeong was slightly out of breath while trying to continue the conversation with Dr. Choi. 

Minho chuckled at her observation. “When you’ve done hundreds, it becomes second nature. You were attentive, though. The anesthesiologist even gave me a thumbs up—meaning you’ve got potential.”

Minjeong rubbed the back of her neck in shyness. “That’s… an honor.”

Minho ruffled his junior’s light amber hair affectionately. “Alright, I won’t keep you here longer than necessary. Any plans for the rest of your weekend?”

“I-I have my workup ready for the patient, Dr. Choi. I could go over that with you before I leave—”

Minho smiled at her dedication. “Alright, alright. We’ll go over your post-op workup, and then I’ll kick you out.”

Minjeong nodded slowly, reaching into her back pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. “I printed it out and saved an electronic file for you to co-sign.”

Minho took the paper and scanned through it. “Nice work, kid. I’d suggest adding a follow-up appointment for the outpatient clinic in three months to assess the long-term effects of the antiplatelets. I’ll make the edit in the electronic document and sign off on it.”

“I can make the changes. I’ll do it now—” Minjeong began, about to dart off to the student computer lab, but Minho gently tugged on her collar to stop her.

“When I give my students a chance to leave early, most of them take it without a second thought,” Minho remarked with a grin. “Why are you hesitating?”

“To help the patient, of course,” Minjeong answered robotically, sticking to the most logical and safest reply.

Minho raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp as though he could see straight through her. “Who are you avoiding?”

Minjeong stammered, “I-I’m not avoiding anyone.”

“Listen, Minjeong,” Minho said gently. “You’re a bright student, and I know you’ll become a great doctor. But don’t push yourself too hard… and remember, it’s okay to do things you want to do.”

“This is what I want to do, Dr. Choi,” Minjeong replied, her tone firmer than she intended. A flicker of regret crossed her face as she realized how stern she sounded. She quickly looked up at her mentor with a hint of desperation in her eyes. “Please, let me finish this.”

Minho studied her carefully. He had mentored countless students over the years, each with their unique personalities and challenges. While he didn’t want to make assumptions about Minjeong, her demeanor concerned him. Still, he decided not to press her further—not today. “Alright. Finish the workup. Text me when you’re done, and then enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

Minjeong nodded, visibly relieved.

Minjeong walked briskly to the student computer lab, the paper in her hand slightly crumpled from her tight grip. She couldn’t shake the unease from Minho’s question: Who are you avoiding? It was unsettling how easily he had picked up on her internal conflict, even when she had worked so hard to mask it.

Settling into a chair, Minjeong logged into the computer system and opened the patient’s file. The edits Minho suggested were straightforward, and she made the changes with precision. As she worked, her thoughts wandered back to her mentor’s words. It’s okay to do things you want to do.

The problem was, Minjeong wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted. For as long as she could remember, her life had revolved around meeting expectations—her parents’, her professors’, even her own rigid standards. She thrived on structure and purpose, but lately, it all felt… hollow.

She finished the edits and hit “save,” sending the updated documentation. Leaning back in her chair, she stared at the blank screen, her reflection faintly visible. What did she even want from this path she had chosen? Did she want it for herself, or was it just easier to follow the script?

As she gathered her things to leave, her thoughts drifted back to Jimin. Their brief encounter in the filing room had left an impression she couldn’t quite shake. There was something about Jimin’s quiet determination and earnestness that struck a chord. Despite being assigned to a difficult mentor, Jimin remained resilient. Minjeong couldn’t help but admire that strength.

“Sorry you had to wait,” Minjeong huffed as she dropped her backpack in the backseat and settled into the passenger seat. “I just had some things to finish.”

“I had nothing else to do, and I’m always happy to pick you up, kid,” her father replied, starting the car once Minjeong buckled her seatbelt. However, those words mean nothing to Minjeong as she felt like a burden for having her father drive all the way to the hospital just to pick her up. The shift was longer than expected and Taeyeon, Baekhyun, and Chaeyoung all headed uptown a couple hours earlier. Minjeong informed the family that she could skip the dinner since it’s a hassle to travel back and forth. With no hesitation, Minjeong’s father firmly stated that he will pick her up. Minjeong hated that. 

Minjeong turned her face toward the window, her gaze distant as the city lights blurred past.

“We picked a restaurant already. Is it okay if we head straight there, or do you need to freshen up?” her dad asked, glancing at her briefly.

“We can head straight to the restaurant,” Minjeong mumbled. That was the extent of their conversation, and the rest of the ride passed in silence.

“Chaengie!” Minjeong’s father’s face lit up with the biggest smile as he spotted his granddaughter. Chaeyoung wobbled out of her mother’s arms, her tiny steps unsteady but determined. Minjeong couldn’t help but smile at the clumsy little human.

“How are you, sweetheart?” Minjeong’s mother greeted her with a warm hug. She pulled back to take a good look at her youngest daughter, her eyes lingering on Minjeong’s face as if searching for something unspoken. Then, with a small swallow, she asked, “How was work today?”

“Good,” Minjeong replied, forcing a smile before quickly finding a seat at the table.

“I ordered the seafood pancake and the grilled pork set, Minjeong,” Taeyeon said, handing her sister the menu. “Anything else you want to add?”

“Those sound good to me,” Minjeong nodded, acknowledging her sister before passing the menu to their mother. “You like the japchae here. Why don’t you order that?”

With her hands now free, Minjeong tucked them under her thighs to stop the restless fiddling. She avoided making eye contact with her family, her gaze instead landing on Chaeyoung, who was gleefully placing a bowl on her head like a hat. Minjeong’s smile softened, this time genuine.

“Take a picture with me and Chaeyoung,” her father’s voice broke through her thoughts. Minjeong instinctively reached for her camera, snapping photos faster than Taeyeon could pull out her phone.

Her father, mother, and Chaeyoung posed as a trio, their smiles bright and carefree. Then it was Baekhyun and Taeyeon’s turn with Chaeyoung. Finally, Taeyeon pointed her phone at Minjeong. “Take a photo with Chaeyoung, Minjeong.”

And so, the aunt-niece duo was captured in a fleeting moment of joy.

Dinner ended quickly as Chaeyoung grew fussy. “Drive safe!” Minjeong’s mother called out, helping Chaeyoung into her car seat. The little girl giggled as her grandmother pinched her cheeks, her laughter filling the air. Minjeong stood a few steps away, watching the scene unfold with a bittersweet smile.

Her body felt tense, unsure of where to place herself. She wanted to walk up to her mother and ask for a hug, but the words stayed lodged in her throat. Instead, she watched as her mother waved them goodbye.

“Minjeong, sit in the front,” Baekhyun gestured, opening the passenger door. “Taeyeon will sit in the back with Chaeyoung.”

“It’s going to be a long ride back into the city. Buckle up, everyone,” Baekhyun announced as they settled in.

Once again, Minjeong spent the next 45 minutes staring out the window, her thoughts swirling in the quiet hum of the car.

Chaeyoung woke up crying as they arrived home, her nap interrupted. She was quickly distracted by the toys in the living room, her fussiness replaced with curiosity. Minjeong helped Baekhyun carry the bags inside, and soon everyone settled into the house.

Standing a few meters away, Minjeong observed the scene in the living room. Baekhyun and Taeyeon played with Chaeyoung, their laughter filling the space. It was a picture of a happy family. And yet, Minjeong felt like an outsider—a guest in a home that wasn’t hers. She shouldn’t feel this way, she told herself. She had everything she needed: free food, free rent, free utilities. But the feeling of being unsettled, of intruding, gnawed at her.

Quietly, Minjeong picked up her backpack and headed to her room on the top floor. She placed the bag in the corner and lay down on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, the only light coming from the hallway.

Minjeong had been living with her sister Taeyeon and her family since her medical school journey began. It was an arrangement that Taeyeon and Baekhyun had graciously offered, knowing it would be more convenient for Minjeong to stay closer to campus. Minjeong was deeply grateful for their generosity, especially since the setup allowed her to focus on her studies without the financial strain of living independently.

However, despite their warmth and hospitality, Minjeong often found herself struggling with an unshakable sense of guilt. Living alongside a happy family of three—Taeyeon, Baekhyun, and their daughter Chaeyoung—left Minjeong feeling like an intruder in their cozy household. She loved watching her niece toddle around and adored the lively family moments, but there were times when she felt out of place, as though she didn’t quite belong in the tight-knit dynamic. The quiet whispers of self-doubt and the weight of feeling like a burden lingered in the background, even in the warmth of their home.

Despite her internal conflict, Minjeong never let her gratitude falter, doing her best to keep her feelings to herself and contribute where she could. Yet, the tension between her appreciation and her sense of intrusion remained a constant, unspoken battle within her.

A chill ran through her body, one she had been suppressing for years. “Not today,” she whispered to herself. But the adrenaline and shivers were relentless, threatening to overwhelm her. Her ears began to feel muffled, the world closing in and suffocating her.

Minjeong took a deep breath and stripped off her clothes, heading straight to the shower. The warm water hit her bare skin, and she rested her forehead against the cold porcelain wall. She focused on the sensations—the steam entering her nose, the chill of the tiles, the firm grip she had on her arm. Her body trembled, but she forced herself to breathe. In and out. Slowly.

She was fine. She had to be.

Minjeong lately had been sitting in the first few rows of the classroom, and Yizhuo was not having it.

“Again?” Yizhuo complained, though she still dropped her bag beside Minjeong and plopped into the seat. “Why the front again? I’m way too close to the professor, and it feels like they’re directly scolding me with every word.”

“Maybe try not falling asleep in every class, and they might stop giving you those scolding looks,” Minjeong replied without looking up, busy setting up her laptop.

“Orrrr we could sit in the back where they’ll never notice me sleeping. I’ll be happy, they’ll be happy, and the world will return to its natural order.”

“I like sitting in the front,” Minjeong said firmly. “I see things more clearly, and I can hear the professor better.”

“They wear mics, Minjeong. You can hear them from anywhere,” Yizhuo replied, her tone flat. “And since when do you struggle to see? Everything on the projector is the same as what’s on your laptop. Look!” She jabbed a finger at Minjeong’s bright screen, which indeed displayed the same lecture slides being projected.

Minjeong shoved Yizhuo’s sticky fingers off her laptop screen, adjusting her glasses as she did so. “I like sitting here because it helps me focus. If you’re so unhappy, go sit in the back.”

Yizhuo stared at her, slack-jawed, before adopting a dramatic, wounded look. “It pains me to see us fight like this. But for the sake of our beautiful friendship, I’ll endure this torment and sit here. In the front. Because I care.”

Minjeong hummed in acknowledgment, a small smirk tugging at her lips, before her attention flickered elsewhere. A familiar figure moved into her field of vision, and Minjeong instinctively straightened her back. She shuffled her gaze discreetly to get a better look.

Jimin walked into the room, placing her bag on a desk near the front row. As she glanced around, her eyes met Minjeong’s. A soft, tentative wave followed, which Minjeong returned without hesitation. Jimin’s face lit up with a smile before she turned back to focus on her group of friends.

“Jimin?” Yizhuo’s whisper was hot against Minjeong’s ear, much too close for comfort.

Minjeong recoiled, shoving her best friend away with a scowl. “What?”

“She’s smart,” Yizhuo stated, her voice dripping with observation. “And popular.”

Minjeong followed Yizhuo’s gaze as several female students stopped to greet Jimin on their way in. Not long after, a group of male students walked over to say quick hellos before retreating to the back rows.

“And apparently, everyone has eyes on her,” Yizhuo added, her tone now speculative. She leaned closer again, smirking. “What’s got Ms. Perfect on my best friend’s radar?”

You. Minjeong wanted to answer, but she held back, tempted instead to smack Yizhuo on the head. If her best friend hadn’t made that snarky comment about Jimin’s question in class last week, Minjeong wouldn’t have noticed her as much. But now? Jimin seemed to pop up everywhere—in Minjeong’s life, in her head. Just glimpses of her seemed to bring Minjeong an unexplainable calm. A refreshing sort of presence.

But Minjeong would rather swallow nails than admit anything remotely sappy to Yizhuo, who would undoubtedly laugh in her face.

“Nayeon-unnie talked to her, and I realized she’s pretty chill,” Minjeong replied casually. Nonchalant. Platonic. Factual. All-in-all, very chill .

Yizhuo raised an eyebrow at her best friend but said nothing. For once.

Class began, and Minjeong tried her best to focus on the professor’s voice rather than the occasional glance Jimin’s way. Something about her presence in the room made it hard to concentrate, but at the same time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

After class ended, Minjeong started packing up her things when a voice interrupted her.

“Hey, Minjeong.”

She froze for half a second before turning to find Jimin standing there, a polite smile on her face. Her group of friends had already left, leaving her alone for this moment.

“Hi,” Minjeong replied, a little too stiffly. She mentally kicked herself.

“I just wanted to say,” Jimin began, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “it was nice meeting you at the hospital last week. Nayeon-ssi was really helpful… and so were you.”

“Oh, right,” Minjeong said, relaxing slightly. “I didn’t really do much. Nayeon-unnie’s the one with all the connections.”

Jimin shook her head lightly. “Still, I appreciated it. You were… encouraging. It’s nice to talk to classmates outside of lectures for a change.” Her smile deepened, and the slight dimple on her cheek made an appearance.

Minjeong blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. “Well, um, I’m glad Nayeon could help.” Her voice faltered slightly, but she managed to pull herself together. “How’s it been with Dr. Kim?”

Jimin sighed, the smile fading just a fraction. “Still a work in progress, I guess. But I’m managing. What about you? That surgery you were observing… was it the stent implant?”

“Yeah,” Minjeong nodded, adjusting the glasses on her nose. “Dr. Choi walked me through it, and it was… pretty fascinating.”

Jimin’s expression brightened again. “That’s incredible. I heard Dr. Choi’s a great mentor. You must’ve learned so much.”

Before Minjeong could respond, Yizhuo’s voice cut in from behind her. “Am I interrupting something? Because this is starting to feel like a med-school rom-com.”

Minjeong groaned and turned to glare at her best friend, who grinned unapologetically as she leaned on Minjeong’s desk. Jimin chuckled softly, the sound light and unbothered.

“Not at all,” Jimin said, her tone kind. “It was nice catching up, Minjeong. See you around? It’s always nice to see a friendly face at the hospital.”

“Yeah, see you,” Minjeong replied, watching as Jimin walked away.

Once she was out of earshot, Yizhuo turned to Minjeong, a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

“Friendly face? You ?” Yizhuo teased, slinging an arm around Minjeong’s shoulders. “What’s next, you two exchanging study tips and sharing coffee?”

Minjeong rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Yizhuo.”

“What? I’m just saying, you were awfully chatty for someone who barely talks in class.”

Minjeong shot her best friend a look, but Yizhuo just laughed, slinging an arm around her shoulder as they headed out of the lecture hall.

But even as she brushed off her friend’s teasing, Minjeong couldn’t help but replay the brief interaction in her mind. For the first time in a while, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind being noticed.

“We better win this game,” Yizhuo muttered, shivering as she stuffed her hands into her pockets and jogged in place to warm up. “I heard the engineering students are douches. I can’t wait to beat them and see the look of failure on their faces.”

Minjeong laughed at her best friend’s competitive spirit as she tied up her skates. “Seems like there’s more to it, Ningz.”

Yizhuo glanced around, ensuring no one was eavesdropping, before settling on the bench beside Minjeong. She leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s this girl.”

“Shocker,” Minjeong deadpanned, earning a quick punch to her abdomen.

“Do you want to know or not?” Yizhuo pouted, crossing her arms.

“Continue,” Minjeong said, finishing her gear adjustments and waiting for the rest of the team to gather. Hockey had always been her outlet—a way to let off steam or, on some days, let someone else take their frustrations out on her. The Faculty of Medicine’s hockey team had been a perfect fit for her. Over the years, Minjeong had earned respect for her speed, strategy, and surprising strength despite her petite frame. She’d been offered the captain role more than once, but the weight of leadership wasn’t something she was ready to shoulder. She had enough guilt in her life without adding the pressure of leading a team.

“As I was saying,” Yizhuo rolled her eyes, “there’s this girl—elegant, intelligent, absolutely stunning, and just… powerful. Her name is Aeri.”

“And is Aeri in engineering?” Minjeong asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, you idiot,” Yizhuo snapped, smacking the back of Minjeong’s head. “Stop interrupting! She’s a law student— fuck , that’s hot. But she’s dating some engineering douchebag who doesn’t deserve her.”

“Are you calling him a douche because he is one or because he’s dating Aeri?” Minjeong teased.

Yizhuo ignored the question, her expression dimming slightly. “I met her at a party. I introduced myself, and her boyfriend spilled his drink on me—on purpose. He laughed and told me to stop hounding his girlfriend. Then he called me…” Yizhuo hesitated, her voice faltering. “He called me a freak. For even thinking I had a chance.”

Minjeong’s teasing demeanor softened instantly. “Yizhuo, I’m sorry that happened. How did Aeri react?”

“I was too embarrassed to stick around. I left before she could say anything,” Yizhuo admitted, sighing as she rested her head on Minjeong’s shoulder.

“Well,” Minjeong said after a moment, “if someone like Aeri is dating a guy like that, it says something about her personality. She’s not worth the heartbreak.”

“But I hope you beat his ass,” Yizhuo said, sitting up straight with renewed determination. “He’s number 2. Last name’s Shin. I’m pretty sure it’s him.”

“I’m not starting a fight right off the bat,” Minjeong replied, rolling her eyes. But when she saw the pleading look on Yizhuo’s face, she sighed. “Fine. I’ll find a way.”

“You ready, Minjeong?” Sungchan asked, slapping her on the back with just enough force to jolt her forward slightly.

Minjeong grabbed her hockey stick and stood, her movements deliberate and steady. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice calm but resolute.

Sungchan broke into his signature charming smile, the kind that could light up even the most tense locker room. “I know I can count on you.”

Minjeong couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude. Sungchan had been the perfect choice for captain—his bright personality and natural charisma made him a leader people wanted to follow. He was everything Minjeong wasn’t: approachable, effortlessly likable, and always ready with a word of encouragement. Over the years, she had come to value their friendship deeply. Despite her stoic demeanor, Sungchan never seemed fazed. Maybe it was his “doctor’s personality,” as she liked to call it—an endless well of patience and understanding.

Minjeong gave him a small smile, one of the rare, genuine ones that only a handful of people ever saw. Yizhuo and Chaeyoung were the exceptions, of course—they had a knack for pulling smiles out of her with their antics. But for the rest of the world, moments like this were few and far between.

“Let’s crush them out there,” Sungchan said, his tone light but determined.

Minjeong nodded, her grip tightening on her stick as she headed toward the rink. The cold air hit her face as she stepped onto the ice, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away. This was her space, her escape. And with Sungchan leading the charge, she felt ready to take on whatever the game threw at her.

The game began, and Minjeong felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as she skated across the rink. The smooth glide of her skates on the ice brought a rare sense of calm amidst the chaos of the match. The puck changed hands rapidly, and Minjeong’s sharp eyes caught sight of Shin #2. Yizhuo’s sulking face flashed in her mind.

“You owe me, Ning Yizhuo,” Minjeong muttered under her breath as she sped up, intercepting the puck from Shin and earning cheers from the crowd.

The game continued, and the Faculty of Medicine was leading 3-1. Minjeong smirked as she noticed Shin growing visibly agitated. She had been deliberately targeting him, backing off when other opponents had the puck but relentlessly pursuing Shin whenever he gained possession. It was only a matter of time before he snapped.

When the moment came, Minjeong didn’t hesitate. She slammed Shin against the barrier, and he growled, dropping his stick to shove her.

“That’s fucking it,” he snarled.

Minjeong smiled faintly, but she quickly masked it with an annoyed expression. She removed her helmet and gloves, tossing them to the ground. Shin followed suit, and Minjeong’s mind went blank when she realized—Shin was a woman.

Shit, Minjeong thought, glancing at the crowd. Yizhuo’s shocked face confirmed it: she’d gotten the wrong number.

But Minjeong didn’t care. She’d been itching for this release all day. She let Shin grab her jersey and land the first punch. The sting was sharp, grounding her in a way nothing else could. Another punch followed, and Minjeong welcomed it, the physical pain drowning out the noise in her head.

“Why don’t you fight back, huh? Too scared after being a little shit on the rink?” Female Shin taunted, her voice dripping with venom.

Minjeong didn’t respond, letting the punches continue until Sungchan skated over to break them apart. “Alright, that’s enough!” he shouted, pulling them apart.

“You’re bleeding, Minjeong,” Eunseok said, skating up to her. “Let’s get you to the bench.”

Minjeong allowed herself to be led off the ice, Sungchan carrying her helmet and gloves. “It’s not a real hockey game if Minjeong doesn’t get beaten up,” Sungchan joked, earning a chuckle from Minjeong.

“You just love getting beaten up, don’t you?” Eunseok added.

I do, Minjeong thought to herself. The pain was a distraction, something tangible she could control. It was easier to deal with than the chaos in her mind.

As she sat on the bench, Yizhuo approached, guilt written all over her face. “Bro, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice small.

Minjeong laughed softly, “It’s fine, really.”

“Did you have to let her beat you up that much?” Yizhuo grumbled, pulling out the first aid kit and rummaging through it for supplies. “This always happens, and the scars on your face won’t heal properly if they keep reopening every two weeks.”

Minjeong kicked her feet idly, the blades of her skates lightly tapping the foam floor. She stayed silent, her mind unusually calm. All her body focused on now was the sting of the cut below her right eye.

“Let me,” a voice interrupted, and Minjeong looked up.

Jimin stood in front of them, her expression firm as she bent down to Minjeong’s eye level.

“I can help her—I’ve been doing this for years,” Yizhuo chimed in, holding up a cotton swab like a badge of honor.

“Please,” Jimin said, her voice soft but insistent, almost pleading. “Let me… as an apology for Ryujin’s behavior.”

“R-Ryujin?” Minjeong asked, confused.

“Yeah… Shin #2,” Jimin admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “She’s, uh, someone I know… very well. She has a temper sometimes.”

Minjeong’s eyes flicked back to the rink, where Ryujin was skating closer to their side, her gaze locked on Jimin. More specifically, on Jimin and Minjeong. Minjeong gulped, suddenly feeling the weight of the interaction. “It’s fine. Really—Yizhuo can—”

Her words were cut off as Jimin didn’t wait for permission. She gently grabbed Minjeong’s chin, tilting her face to get a better look at the wound. The alcohol wipe stung as it made contact, and Minjeong winced, her breath hitching slightly. Jimin was inches away, her focus entirely on the cut.

“Yizhuo?” Jimin called without looking up.

“Yeah?” Yizhuo replied, snapping out of her trance-like state from watching the scene unfold.

Jimin handed her a couple of bills and smiled. “Do you mind grabbing a bottle of cold water from the vending machine? It’ll help ice Minjeong’s face.”

Yizhuo hesitated for a moment before nodding and heading off. As she walked away, she glanced back at Minjeong, who was already staring at her with a silent plea for help. Yizhuo smirked mischievously, and Minjeong mentally cursed her cheeky best friend.

The silence between Minjeong and Jimin was palpable. Minjeong avoided Jimin’s face, afraid her gaze would linger too long.

“Looks like an old wound reopened from that punch,” Jimin murmured, applying ointment with careful precision. “Do you normally get punched a lot?”

Minjeong snorted at the question. “That’s a funny way to ask it.”

“I mean, I’ve heard about it a couple of times… the med students in the audience were waiting for you to get punched,” Jimin said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “They said it’s some kind of lucky charm for your team to win.”

“That’s what they say?” Minjeong chuckled, shaking her head.

“I remember hearing about the faculty winning championships last year too,” Jimin continued, her tone curious. “Does that mean you guys are undefeatable? And does it mean you’ve been getting punched every game? A sign of good luck?”

“I wouldn’t say every game,” Minjeong replied, though she mentally added, maybe every other game to keep it believable. If Minjeong gets punched every game, it’ll be suspicious and obvious for people to know that she wanted this to happen.

“And do you guys still win if you don’t get punched?” Jimin asked, her curiosity evident. Minjeong couldn’t help but notice how… cute she looked when she was genuinely interested.

“I don’t recall,” Minjeong said with a small smile. “But you’re focusing too much on this lucky punch thing. Maybe it’s just for the spectacle.”

Jimin placed a bandaid over the wound, her touch gentle. “Well, Ms. Lucky Punch, my treatment recommendation is to hold off on the spectacle and focus on healing your wounds,” she said with a stern look.

“You’re getting all medical on me,” Minjeong teased, her smile widening. “Dr. Kim Jongin would be proud.”

Jimin rolled her eyes and gave Minjeong a light shove on the shoulder.

“Water bottle is here!” Yizhuo announced, arriving just in time to break the moment.

“I’ll see you at the party,” Jimin said softly before standing and walking away.

Minjeong blinked, her mind catching on Jimin’s words. “What party?” she asked Yizhuo, who handed her the cold bottle.

“I think Sungchan’s buddy is throwing a party to celebrate the win,” Yizhuo replied.

Minjeong furrowed her brows and glanced at the scoreboard. “What do you mean celebrating the win? The game isn’t even over.”

“Oh, they know you guys are going to win—and Mark will use any excuse to throw a party,” Yizhuo said, rolling her eyes. “You coming?”

“Of course,” Minjeong replied, though her thoughts lingered on Jimin’s parting words.

“Of course,” Yizhuo echoed, slinging an arm around Minjeong’s shoulders. “You wouldn’t miss a chance to get wasted.”

Oh, Minjeong wasn’t completely wasted. Not yet. She was in a good mood tonight—she got punched during the hockey game, which was oddly cathartic, took a warm shower afterward to soothe her aching muscles, and was now on her second can of beer, the buzz pleasantly settling in. She wasn’t drowning herself in alcohol—just riding the high of the evening.

Popping a few chips into her mouth, Minjeong crushed the empty can in her hand and tossed it into the recycling bin. Her eyes wandered around Mark and Sungchan’s shared townhouse. It was big—spacious enough to fit the raucous crowd that had gathered for the post-game celebration. Bottles of emptied tequila lined the top of the kitchen drawers like trophies, the couches bore a few mysterious stains, and a giant flat-screen TV in the living room played music videos on mute while laughter and chatter filled the air.

It looked exactly like what two young men in their early twenties would live in—chaotic and a little rough around the edges—but it was theirs. And that’s what made Minjeong envy them. They had a place they could call their own. A safe place where they didn’t have to worry about intruding or being a burden.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, reaching for another can of beer and heading upstairs where it was quieter. The second floor felt like an oasis, away from the energy of the party below. It gave her a moment to think—and that wasn’t always a good thing. She sank into the plush sofa and stared up at the ceiling, her thoughts circling back to Sungchan. His parents must have been so proud of him for getting into medical school. She remembered him mentioning how his family’s home was a couple of hours away from the city, but they had been supportive, letting him choose a place to stay closer to campus. And Mark? His family was filthy rich, moving to the city just because they could. That explained how the two of them ended up in this enviable townhouse.

Minjeong sighed, her thoughts drifting to her own situation. Her family had offered to help her move out and live alone, but how could she accept that? Medical school was expensive enough, and she didn’t want to pile more financial strain onto her family. They were willing—eager, even—to support her, but the weight of that support felt like chains. She didn’t want to be a burden.

“Just a vessel. A burden. An intruder,” she muttered under her breath, her words laced with the frustration she rarely allowed herself to voice.

“That sounds depressing,” a voice said suddenly, breaking her train of thought. The couch dipped slightly as someone sat down beside her.“Shouldn’t you be celebrating your win?”

Minjeong turned her head, her furrowed brows meeting the gaze of the newcomer. “I guess. How did you know I was on the team?”

“Everyone saw you get punched,” the girl replied with a chuckle. Minjeong noticed immediately—she was tall. Really tall. Even seated, she gave off an air of elegance that made Minjeong feel scruffy by comparison. “It was my first hockey game, by the way.”

Minjeong snorted. “Who dragged you to that disaster?”

“I wouldn’t call it a disaster.” The girl tilted her head, her dark eyes now studying Minjeong. “It got intriguing over time.”

Minjeong hummed in response, opening the tab on her beer. “Do you want it?” she offered.

The stranger shook her head, and Minjeong took a sip. “I’m Wonyoung, by the way.”

“Minjeong,” she introduced herself, playing absentmindedly with the can tab. “Do you know someone in our class?”

“Not exactly. No one from your faculty,” Wonyoung said, rolling her eyes. “My friend was at the game because of mutuals. Something about her friend’s friend’s potential something being on the ice. She dragged me along so she wouldn’t feel like a third wheel. But honestly, she mostly wanted to spy on her ex, who was playing for the engineering team.”

“Oh,” Minjeong replied, trying to piece together Wonyoung’s explanation. “It’s hard to follow without names, but I’m surprised you’re here at all if you were there for the engineers.”

“It’s Mark Lee’s party,” Wonyoung said with a shrug. “I don’t know how he’s so popular with university students when he’s not one himself. But no one turns down a party. Even some of the engineering students are here.”

“So, not a med student. Not from engineering.” Minjeong leaned against the couch, her elbow propped up to support her head. “Where are you from, mystery girl?”

“Law,” Wonyoung replied with a small smile, leaning closer.

“That’s a cool profession,” Minjeong mused. “You must be good with words.”

“I guess,” Wonyoung said. “And as a med student, aren’t you good at anatomy? At reading body language?” She raised her eyebrows, her tone playful.

Minjeong blinked a few times, her mind momentarily blank as she felt Wonyoung’s fingers ghost the back of her neck. “I’d say the alcohol makes me a little hazy. And, just to clarify—I’m not the best med student out there.”

“I see why doctors should avoid alcohol before surgery,” Wonyoung teased, her fingers lightly combing through Minjeong’s short amber hair. Minjeong’s breath hitched as Wonyoung’s lips brushed against hers, feather-light and deliberate.

Minjeong didn’t move, waiting, unsure if she had interpreted the moment correctly. Wonyoung’s voice was a low whisper. “You hesitate a lot.”

“I prefer you to tell me what to do,” Minjeong murmured back.

“Good,” Wonyoung said, her gaze darkening as she closed the gap.

The kiss wasn’t rushed or careless. Wonyoung moved with purpose, her touch steady and confident. It was an unfamiliar kind of intimacy for Minjeong, one that quieted the ever-present chaos in her mind. For a moment, it was just them, suspended in the stillness of the second floor.

Minjeong barely processed what was happening as Wonyoung’s lips pressed against hers, gentle at first, testing the waters. It wasn’t the hurried, slurred kiss that might come from an encounter at a party. There was something deliberate in the way Wonyoung’s touch lingered, a quiet confidence that Minjeong found disarming.

For a moment, the noise of the party below faded into the background. Minjeong’s mind, so often cluttered with doubts and guilt, felt startlingly quiet. But then again, maybe it was the alcohol dulling the usual overthinking that plagued her. She wasn’t sure, and right now, she didn’t care.

Wonyoung leaned back slightly, her gaze meeting Minjeong’s as if gauging her reaction. There was that smirk again—the kind that could unravel anyone without trying too hard. “I thought you’d need more convincing.”

Minjeong cleared her throat, though her voice came out quieter than she intended. “I just… didn’t want to assume anything.”

“That’s considerate,” Wonyoung replied, her tone light but laced with something unreadable. She shifted, leaning against the couch comfortably, her fingers still grazing Minjeong’s arm as if she wasn’t quite ready to break the connection completely.

Minjeong, suddenly hyper aware of the proximity, felt heat rushing to her face—not from embarrassment, but something more confusing. She quickly took another sip of her beer, focusing on the cold liquid instead.

“You’re interesting, Minjeong,” Wonyoung said after a moment, her voice soft but steady. “I can’t figure you out.”

Minjeong snorted lightly, lowering the can. “What’s there to figure out? I’m just a med student who gets punched at hockey games and apparently drinks too much beer at parties.”

“Yeah, but…” Wonyoung trailed off, her gaze scanning Minjeong’s face. “There’s more to you, isn’t there?”

“Eunseok! You see Minjeong anywhere?” Yizhuo yelled over the pounding bass of the music, her voice strained to carry above the noise.

“NO!” Eunseok shouted back, laughing as someone handed him a drink. “BUT YOU KNOW SHE’S PROBABLY ON A BALCONY OR SOMETHING GETTING SOME FRESH AIR!”

Yizhuo huffed, weaving through the crowd with a determination that couldn’t be swayed. Moments like this flipped a switch in her. For all her dramatic antics, Yizhuo was fiercely protective when it came to Minjeong’s well-being. She made her way to the kitchen, grabbing a red cup and filling it with cold water. Whether Minjeong drank it or it ended up splashed on her face, it would serve its purpose.

“You’re not dying tonight, Minjeong,” Yizhuo muttered to herself. She turned to leave but froze as she came face-to-face with a sight that momentarily knocked the air from her lungs.

“Oh, hi!” she blurted, far too loudly.

“Yizhuo!” Aeri greeted warmly, pulling her into a quick side hug. Her smile was radiant—effortless, and it made Yizhuo’s brain short-circuit for a moment. Aeri glanced at the cup in her hand. “Designated driver tonight?”

Yizhuo shook her head quickly, snapping out of her daze. “No, just… looking out for my friend. Have you seen a redhead with a deep emo-looking face pass by?”

“Not really,” Aeri replied with a chuckle. “But that’s quite the description of your friend.”

“Aeri-ah,” another voice chimed in as Jimin approached, her own expression softening when she noticed Yizhuo. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Yizhuo greeted back, though her focus kept darting between the floor and Aeri. She was reluctant to leave the moment, even though her feet itched to continue her search for Minjeong. “Actually, Jimin, have you seen Minjeong anywhere?”

Jimin shook her head, her brows furrowing slightly. “I haven’t, sorry. That’s actually why I’m here, Aeri—I can’t find Wonyoung.”

Aeri nudged Jimin, her tone bordering on teasing. “Why are you worried about Wonyoung? You know she handles herself. Go enjoy the night with Ryujin.”

Jimin bit her lip, hesitating before responding. “I just… I thought this would be a girls’ night. That’s why I brought you and Wonyoung with me to the game.”

Aeri’s face scrunched in confusion. “A girls’ night to cheer for Ryujin? A normal person would just spend the night with their boo.”

“I’m just—creating some space between us,” Jimin admitted with a sigh, her voice quieter now. “Lately, I—”

“Maybe I should go,” Yizhuo interjected, shifting awkwardly. She had no intention of intruding on a personal conversation that seemed to tread too close to the line of serious.

But before she could escape, Jimin grabbed her wrist. “Actually, Yizhuo—I’ll go find Minjeong. And Wonyoung!” she added quickly, flashing a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You just enjoy the party. I’ll do the heavy lifting.”

“Jimin—” Aeri started, frowning slightly as Jimin turned away. “We really should talk about this.”

“I need the distraction,” Jimin said firmly, looking over her shoulder. Her eyes flicked toward Ryujin, who was engaged in a game of beer pong, her laughter spilling over the crowd. “Something to keep me busy and… just away. You two go hang.”

With that, she gave Aeri a gentle push toward Yizhuo and dashed off.

“Sorry about Jimin,” Aeri said, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly as she watched her friend disappear into the crowd. “I don’t know what’s been going on with her lately. I should probably talk to her.”

“Trust me, we’re in the same boat,” Yizhuo replied with a long sigh. She dumped the water in her cup and replaced it with the mystery punch sitting on the counter. Taking a hesitant sip, she grimaced slightly before continuing. “I guess we should enjoy ourselves.”

“Aren’t you still looking for Minjeong?” Aeri asked, tilting her head slightly.

Yizhuo scanned the room again, her eyes sweeping over the crowd. No redhead. “I’ll keep an eye out, but with Jimin’s determination, I think she’ll find her before I do.”

Aeri smiled at that, a light laugh escaping her lips. “Fair enough.”

Yizhuo felt her stomach flip at the sound, but she quickly covered it with another sip of punch, silently vowing to keep her wits about her. Even if her heart was set racing by the woman beside her.

Jimin knew Minjeong wouldn’t be on the first floor—it was far too noisy for someone as quiet and reserved as her classmate. The second floor seemed like a better bet. As she climbed the stairs, she noticed a few doors already closed, the faint hum of muffled voices and laughter seeping through. She sighed, her eyes landing on the couch in the open area. Plopping down, she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the muffled beats of the music downstairs wash over her.

Her gaze drifted to the balcony, the cool night air tempting her. She stood, heading toward the narrow hallway where the rooms were situated. As she walked, she caught faint sounds behind the closed doors—muffled voices, laughter, and… other noises. Her cheeks flushed as her imagination filled in the blanks.

Sungchan and Mark must be very chill to let people do… that on their beds, Jimin thought with a chuckle. She could already picture their reactions when they discovered the aftermath the next day.

“Fuck, sorry.”

Jimin froze mid-step, her ears perking up at the familiar voice. Her heart thumped as she turned toward the source of the sound. One of the doors was slightly ajar, and before she could think better of it, she heard a loud bang. The door creaked open further, as if the force of the noise had pushed it loose.

Her nerves spiked as she approached the door, intending to close it quietly and save whoever was inside from embarrassment. But as her hand gripped the handle, her eyes caught a glimpse through the narrow opening. The mirror on the opposite wall reflected the scene inside, and Jimin’s breath hitched.

Her mind raced, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to process what she was seeing. She knew she should look away, close the door, and pretend she hadn’t seen anything. But her feet felt rooted to the spot, her hand frozen on the handle.

Minjeong grips the headboard tightly as she moves into Wonyoung. A high pitched moan came from Wonyoung with each thrust from Minjeong. 

“Jesus”, Wonyoung clamps her eyes shut. “S-slower”

Minjeong groans at the command and reels back a bit, shallow movements. Jimin watches the muscles on Minjeong’s back, they are clenching and the headboard makes another bang. 

Jimin gulps. She could tell Minjeong is holding back a lot. 

“I’m sorry.”, Minjeong whispers. 

“You’re just bigger than you look”, Wonyoung chuckles and rests her head. “Just-”, Wonyoung uses her strength and flips Minjeong. 

Wonyoung was on top and Minjeong’s back hit the mattress. Wonyoung grabs the base of Minjeong and slowly sinks back in, now having more control over the medical student. Wonyoung sighs and Minjeong lets out a strained moan. 

Minjeong’s hands were balled into a fist to the side of her body, resisting, and her head rolled back at the feeling. With shallow breaths, Wonyoung touches her own body, sliding down, then to Minjeong’s toned abdomen, and then towards Minjeong’s neck. 

Wonyoung puts a grip on Minjeong’s neck and then continues to grind against Minjeong. 

Minjeong lets out a gasp, not sure from the motion or from the lack of oxygen. Wonyoung uses her free hand to guide one of Minjeong’s hands to her hips. 

“You can- you can go a bit faster”, Wonyoung pants. 

Jimin watches as Minjeong’s hands digs into Wonyoung’s hips, plants her feet onto the mattress and thrusts up. 

Wonyoung squealed and giggled a bit.

Jimin quickly backed away from the door, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t even bother to close it properly, too shocked by what she had just witnessed. Her mind raced, trying to process the scene, but the noise in her head was too loud. Without thinking, she headed straight for the balcony, sliding the door open and stepping into the cool night air. She let out a shaky breath, leaning against the railing as she tried to calm herself.

Minutes passed—maybe fifteen, though Jimin wasn’t exactly counting. She stared out at the city lights, when the sound of the balcony door sliding open behind her made her turn.

“Oh,” came a soft voice, and Jimin’s face heated up as she recognized the person standing there. “Minjeong-ah.”

“Hey,” Minjeong replied, her posture awkward as she shifted on her feet. Her hands moved behind her back, as if she were hiding something, but the motion wasn’t smooth. A lighter slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor.

Jimin bent down quickly, picking it up and handing it back to her classmate. “Y-You can smoke here. I just needed a breather from inside.”

Minjeong nodded, pulling a cigarette from her pocket and placing it between her lips. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, gesturing to the cigarette.

Jimin nodded again, watching as Minjeong lit the stick and took a slow puff, blowing the smoke away from her. The hockey player’s gaze drifted upward, her eyes fixed on the sky as she fiddled with the cigarette in her hand.

“How’s your wound?” Jimin asked, her eyes lingering on Minjeong’s face.

“Good,” Minjeong replied simply, taking another puff.

“Can I try?” Jimin’s question came out of nowhere, and Minjeong finally turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in skepticism.

After a moment, Minjeong smirked. “What’s stressing you out?”

“Nothing,” Jimin answered quickly, too quickly.

“Then I won’t hand over the cigarette unless you give me a valid reason why you want to dump this garbage into your lungs,” Minjeong teased, chuckling as she took another puff.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jimin shot back, her tone playful as a small smile tugged at her lips. The smile caught Minjeong off guard, and for a moment, she froze, her posture stiffening. Jimin noticed the change and immediately backtracked. “I-I was just joking. You don’t have to tell me.”

Minjeong sighed, stubbing out the cigarette against the railing before dropping it into an empty can on the ground. She exhaled the last bit of smoke away from Jimin and turned to face her directly. “I guess it was a question I shouldn’t have asked in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Jimin’s eyes softened as she noticed the bandaid on Minjeong’s face starting to peel off. Before Minjeong could leave, Jimin reached out and grabbed her wrist, gently pulling her back toward the couches inside.

“Wait,” Jimin said, rummaging through her pocket. She pulled out a small bandaid—Shin-chan themed, something she’d carried since she was a child. It was a habit she’d never grown out of, a small reminder of why she wanted to become a doctor in the first place.

Minjeong sat down reluctantly, watching as Jimin carefully peeled off the old bandaid and replaced it with the new one. The sight of the cartoon character on her face made Minjeong look a little less intimidating, and Jimin couldn’t help but snort, breaking into a toothless smile.

“Remember to take care of that wound of yours,” Jimin said, her tone light but sincere.

“Thanks,” Minjeong replied, her voice quieter than usual. She touched the bandaid lightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

For a moment, the two of them sat there in silence, the noise of the party fading into the background. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a truce—a quiet understanding between two people who were still figuring each other out.

The noise of the party below faded into a distant hum as Minjeong and Jimin sat quietly on the couch. The bandaid now perched on Minjeong’s cheek felt ridiculous, and it made her want to laugh—something she hadn’t done all night without thinking about it first. She glanced at Jimin, who was fiddling with the hem of her jacket, her expression thoughtful yet distant.

“Thanks… for this,” Minjeong murmured, gesturing vaguely toward her cheek. “It’s been a while since someone’s patched me up.”

Jimin looked up, her lips curving into a small smile. “It’s no big deal. Bandaids are kind of my thing.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow at that. “Your thing?”

“Yeah,” Jimin said with a chuckle, shrugging slightly. “I’ve carried them around since I was a kid. You’d be surprised how often they come in handy.”

Minjeong hummed in response, leaning back against the couch. Her gaze drifted to the floor, her thoughts swirling in the comfortable silence between them. The interaction felt oddly grounding, like an anchor amidst the chaos in her mind.

Jimin broke the silence, her voice soft but curious. “Do you get into fights often?”

“Not fights,” Minjeong replied, her tone contemplative. “Just… hockey. It happens.”

Jimin studied her for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. “You let yourself get hit a lot. Doesn’t that… bother you?”

Minjeong hesitated, the question cutting deeper than she expected. She didn’t answer right away, instead pulling her knees up slightly and resting her arms on them. “It’s not like I enjoy it,” she said finally, her voice quieter now. “But sometimes, it’s easier to feel something physical than… other stuff, you know?”

Jimin’s expression softened, and she nodded as if she understood more than she was willing to say. “I get it,” she said simply.

The simplicity of her response caught Minjeong off guard, but she found it comforting. There was no judgment, no pity—just understanding. It was rare, and Minjeong wasn’t sure what to do with it. Minjeong sighed, her hand absently brushing against the bandaid on her cheek.

“You know,” Jimin said after a moment, her tone lighter, “the Shin-chan bandaid really suits you.”

Minjeong chuckled, the sound breaking the tension that had settled over them. “Yeah? Does it make me look more intimidating?”

“Terrifying,” Jimin replied, her smile growing wider. “No one would dare mess with you now.”

Minjeong laughed, a rare, genuine laugh that startled even herself. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

And maybe, just maybe, she could get used to moments like this.

“There you guys are!” Yizhuo’s voice cut through the quiet of the second floor as she bounded up the stairs. Aeri followed closely behind, her gaze immediately landing on Jimin.

“I’m going to head home,” Aeri said, her tone calm but firm. “Wonyoung has a cab ready for us in five minutes.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Minjeong before returning to Jimin.

“I’ll join you guys,” Jimin replied quickly, almost too quickly.

Aeri frowned, crossing her arms. “We seriously need to talk, Ji. Ryujin’s been asking for you all night, but it wasn’t my place to say anything after you told me you needed space.”

Jimin nodded, her expression unreadable as she gently pushed Aeri toward the stairs. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Congrats on the win, Minjeong. I’ll see you guys in class,” she said, her voice steady but distant.

Minjeong and Yizhuo waved goodbye, watching as Jimin and Aeri disappeared down the stairs. The silence that followed was short-lived.

“Spill it,” Yizhuo said, turning to Minjeong with a pointed look. “You didn’t hook up with Jimin too, right?”

“Too?” Minjeong raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “What are you talking about?”

“Wonyoung came downstairs with a smirk on her face and said she was ready to leave. Something about being satisfied with the party and heading home,” Yizhuo said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “And I could tell it was you since she mouthed your name into Aeri’s ear. But now that I just saw you alone with Jimin—”

“Please, I’m not that horny,” Minjeong interrupted with a chuckle, shaking her head. She bent down to gather some empty cans from the floor, keeping her hands busy and her focus elsewhere, hoping Yizhuo would drop the topic.

Yizhuo watched her for a moment, her expression softening. “Should we head home too? It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Minjeong replied, juggling the garbage in her hands. “Can I sleep at your place tonight?”

“Of course,” Yizhuo said, breaking into a wide smile before suddenly lunging forward and wrapping Minjeong in a tight hug.

Caught off guard, Minjeong dropped the garbage she was holding, her arms awkwardly hovering in the air. “You good?”

Yizhuo swallowed hard, her voice quieter now. “Never better,” she said, her grip tightening for just a moment before she pulled away. You survived another day, Minjeong, she thought to herself, her smile masking the weight of her emotions.

Minjeong bent down to pick up the garbage she’d dropped, her movements slower this time. The two of them stood there for a moment longer, the quiet between them filled with an unspoken understanding.

“Let’s go,” Yizhuo said finally, her voice light but steady. She slung an arm around Minjeong’s shoulders as they made their way downstairs, leaving the chaos of the party behind.

Yizhuo had always been the loud, chaotic force in Minjeong’s life—the one who could turn even the most mundane moments into something worth laughing about. But beneath all the teasing and dramatic antics, there was a fierce protectiveness that only grew stronger as she began to notice the subtle shifts in Minjeong’s personality.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Minjeong was still showing up to hockey practice, still acing her exams, still laughing at Yizhuo’s terrible jokes. But there were cracks—moments when Minjeong’s smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes, when her silences stretched a little too long, when she seemed to retreat into herself even in the middle of a crowd. Yizhuo noticed the way Minjeong’s hands fidgeted more often, the way she avoided eye contact when conversations got too personal. It was like watching someone slowly fade, and it terrified her.

The night it all clicked for Yizhuo was one of their usual drunken hangouts. 

It had been one of their usual drunken nights, the kind where Minjeong and Yizhuo sprawled out on the floor of Yizhuo’s tiny apartment, surrounded by snacks and half-empty bottles. Minjeong was far gone, her cheeks flushed and her words slurring as she rambled about everything and nothing. Yizhuo, still tipsy but not nearly as drunk as her best friend, laughed along, her heart light from the easy camaraderie.

But then Minjeong’s tone shifted, her voice quieter, almost wistful. “Do you ever think about… what it’d be like if you weren’t here?” she mumbled, her gaze unfocused as she swirled the drink in her hand.

Yizhuo froze, her laughter dying in her throat. “What do you mean?” she asked softly, her smile faltering as she tried to keep her tone casual.

Minjeong shrugged, her head lolling to the side as she stared at the ceiling. “Like… if the world would even notice. If it’d be better off.”

The words hit Yizhuo like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the haze of alcohol in her system evaporated. She sat up straighter, her eyes fixed on Minjeong, who seemed blissfully unaware of the weight of what she’d just said.

“Minjeong,” Yizhuo said carefully, her voice steady despite the lump forming in her throat. “You’re really drunk right now, huh?”

Minjeong giggled, her head rolling to face Yizhuo. “So drunk,” she admitted, her words dragging. “But you’re my best friend, Ningz. You’re the best thing in my life.”

Yizhuo’s chest tightened, her heart aching at the vulnerability in Minjeong’s voice. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair out of Minjeong’s face. “You’re the best thing in my life too, you know that?”

Minjeong hummed, her eyes fluttering shut as she mumbled something incoherent. Yizhuo let out a shaky breath, her mind racing. She wanted to say something, to reassure Minjeong, to tell her how much she mattered. But she knew Minjeong wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. And maybe that was for the best.

Instead, Yizhuo stayed by her side, gently taking the drink out of Minjeong’s hand and replacing it with a bottle of water. She watched as her best friend drifted off to sleep, her breathing evening out, the tension in her face finally easing.

That night, as Yizhuo sat alone in the quiet of her apartment, she made a silent promise to herself. She would never let Minjeong feel like she didn’t matter. She would remind her, in every way she could, that the world was better with her in it. It became her secret mission, one she carried out in small, subtle ways—Yizhuo always made sure to include Minjeong in plans, even when she knew her friend might decline. It was in the way she’d text Minjeong random memes or jokes, just to make her smile. It was in the way she’d drag her to hockey games and cheer louder than anyone else in the stands, even when Minjeong rolled her eyes at the attention.

Yizhuo never brought up that night again, too afraid of saying the wrong thing and pushing Minjeong further into herself. But she carried it with her, a quiet determination that fueled every small act of care. Because if there was one thing Yizhuo knew for certain, it was that Minjeong deserved to feel loved, even on the days she couldn’t see it for herself.

Minjeong couldn’t sleep. The couch was comfortable enough, but her mind refused to quiet down. She shuffled around for a while, trying to find a position that might trick her body into rest, but it was no use. With a sigh, she sat up, her hands fumbling through her pockets in the dark. Relief washed over her when her fingers brushed against the familiar shape of her cigarette box.

Quietly, she slipped out to the apartment balcony, careful not to wake Yizhuo. The cold December air hit her immediately, sharp and crisp, but she welcomed it. Leaning against the railing, she lit a cigarette, the small flame briefly illuminating her face before fading into the night. She took a deep puff, the smoke curling around her as she exhaled.

The city stretched out before her, dark and quiet, the occasional flicker of headlights the only sign of life. Minjeong dangled her upper body over the balcony barrier, her arms resting on the cold metal. It would be so easy, she thought. A little jump, and she’d tip over the edge. She closed her eyes, swaying slightly as the thought lingered. The wind tugged at her hair, and for a moment, she imagined it carrying her away.

But that would be a painful death, wouldn’t it? Minjeong didn’t know what kind of death she wanted. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted it at all. Lifting her body back upright, she looked up at the starry sky, the vastness of it making her feel small. She realized then how terrible it would be to die here, in her best friend’s apartment. She could never put that burden on Yizhuo. She already felt like enough of a burden, crashing on her couch so often, taking up space in her life.

With a heavy sigh, Minjeong slid down to the balcony floor, the cold surface pressing against her back. It grounded her, gave her something tangible to focus on. She took another puff of her cigarette, the chemicals burning her throat and filling her lungs. It made her nauseous, but she preferred that feeling. It was something physical, something to distract from the hollowness inside her. If it wasn’t hollowness, it was guilt, and Minjeong hated that even more.

Her phone lit up beside her, the screen displaying the time: 5:00 AM. She shut off the alarm with a swipe, not bothering to snooze it. There was no point when she hadn’t slept at all.

Taking one last puff, she stubbed out the cigarette and let her head fall back against the railing. Her phone buzzed again, this time with a message. It was from her sister, Taeyeon: Be safe, Minjeong. Let us know if you’re coming home tomorrow for dinner. Attached was a picture of Chaeyoung, her niece, grinning wide with her tiny teeth showing.

Minjeong stared at the photo, her chest tightening. She scrolled through her camera roll, stopping at two pictures she always found herself coming back to. The first was of Taeyeon, Baekhyun, and Chaeyoung—a happy trio, their smiles bright and genuine. The second was of her parents with Chaeyoung in the middle, her little hands reaching out as if she were trying to grab the camera. Minjeong remembered taking those photos, remembered how rowdy Chaeyoung had been that day. Everyone had been so patient with her, so attentive to her babbles and giggles. It was a picture of pure happiness.

Minjeong’s breath hitched as she stared at the photos. She remembered that day vividly—not as a participant, but as an observer. An outsider.

“You’re so selfish, Minjeong,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible over the faint hum of the city. “Why are you jealous of your baby niece?”

A soft knock on the glass sliding door startled her, and she quickly sat up, fixing her composure. “Hey,” she said, her voice steady as she turned to see Yizhuo standing there.

Yizhuo smiled, her shoulders relaxing as she stepped out onto the balcony. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep,” Minjeong replied, standing and brushing off her clothes. She stepped back into the apartment, the warmth of the room a stark contrast to the cold outside. “Want me to make early breakfast?”

“You know I can’t say no to that—you make the best breakfast in the world!” Yizhuo said, her grin wide and genuine.

Minjeong chuckled softly, heading toward the kitchen. For now, she could focus on something simple, something tangible. Cooking breakfast for her best friend felt like a small way to repay her for everything—for the couch, for the company, for the quiet understanding that never needed to be spoken aloud.

Minjeong moved quietly in the small kitchen, pulling out pans and utensils, her motions deliberate and soothing. The smell of eggs sizzling in the pan and the faint warmth of the stove began to fill the air, pushing away the chill that had clung to her from the balcony.

Yizhuo watched from the counter, perched on one of the stools, her chin propped in her hands. She didn’t say much, but her eyes were fixed on Minjeong, observing her closely. It wasn’t unusual for Minjeong to throw herself into tasks like this—small acts of care that kept her grounded. But there was something about the way Minjeong moved tonight that felt different, more subdued.

“Hey,” Yizhuo finally said, her tone light but laced with concern. “What’s on the menu today, Chef Kim?”

Minjeong glanced over her shoulder, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Eggs and toast. Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy?” Yizhuo gasped dramatically, clutching at her chest like she’d been insulted. “Excuse me, Minjeong, but your eggs and toast are Michelin-star-worthy. Don’t undersell yourself.”

Minjeong chuckled softly, the sound barely audible over the sizzle of the pan. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” Yizhuo quipped, grinning as she reached for her phone to scroll through aimlessly. But even as she joked, her eyes flickered back to Minjeong, catching the subtle tension in her shoulders and the way her hands gripped the spatula a little too tightly.

The quiet between them stretched, broken only by the soft clink of utensils and the occasional creak of the old apartment as the building settled. Minjeong plated the food and set it on the counter in front of Yizhuo, who immediately reached for a fork with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“See? This is why I let you sleep over. Free breakfast from the best chef in the world,” Yizhuo teased, shoving a bite of eggs into her mouth.

Minjeong rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth quirked up slightly. She grabbed her own plate and leaned against the counter, eating in silence. The room felt calm, but Yizhuo couldn’t shake the feeling that Minjeong was somewhere else entirely, her thoughts miles away.

“You know,” Yizhuo started, her voice softer now, “you can talk to me. About anything. Even the stuff you think I don’t want to hear.”

Minjeong paused, her fork hovering mid-air. For a moment, she didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the plate in her hands. “I know,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “Thanks.”

Yizhuo nodded, her heart aching a little at the guardedness in Minjeong’s tone. She didn’t push; she never did. But she made a mental note to keep an even closer eye on her friend. Not because Minjeong was weak—far from it—but because even the strongest people needed someone in their corner.

The sun was starting to rise now, faint streaks of pink and orange painting the sky outside the window. Yizhuo leaned her chin on her hand, watching the light filter into the apartment. “You know, mornings like these aren’t so bad. You, me, breakfast at sunrise. Feels kinda peaceful.”

Minjeong hummed in agreement, though her expression remained distant. “Yeah. Peaceful.”

Yizhuo smiled, holding on to the moment. Whatever was going on in Minjeong’s head, she’d be here. Always. Even if it meant waiting in the silence.

“I want all hands on deck STAT”, Dr. Choi ordered the team. The next Saturday shift was another test of endurance and quick thinking for the trauma team. The hospital was bustling, the air thick with urgency as patients were wheeled in and out of the emergency department.

“Dr. Choi, a 33 year old female patient coming in. The bus t-bone the car and she’s unconscious.”, the paramedic revealed as he wheeled in the patient on the stretcher. “Impact seems to be in the head- a possible hemorrhage” 

Dr. Choi examined quickly, “Call Dr. Kim. We need ob/gyn in the OR. Minjeong, prepare for the OR and wait for me there.”

Minjeong nodded and headed to the trauma OR. 

“Alright, Jeong, usually we would do a CT scan but due to the severity and emergency situation, we have to act on whether we want to dive into it or confirm results by waiting.”, Dr. Choi explains as he washes his hands. “This is the decision of a trauma doctor. Come, you’ll observe with me and Dr. Im” 

Just that moment, Nayeon runs into the room and starts to wash her hands. “Sorry, I had to examine one more patient. All patients at the scene are done triaging. Orthopedics came to help out as well. Not a lot of critical cases as of this moment.”

Dr. Choi nodded, “If we get paged, you can head out to calm the storm. You know how to handle them.”

Nayeon nodded and then glanced at Minjeong. Minjeong slightly bows and Nayeon nodded to acknowledge her. 

The three entered the OR. “Seems like Jongin is taking his time.”, Dr. Choi sighed and clapped his hands to gather his team’s attention. “Let’s start first, there is no reason to wait at such a time.” 

“We will be doing a clean incision into the head to relieve the pressure from the blood. Nayeon, remember to keep the area clean and drain out the excess fluid. Everyone clear?”

The team all murmured in agreement and started the surgery. Around 15 minutes in, the nurse received a call, “They’re paging for trauma, there is a patient that woke up from unconsciousness and is in shock.”

“Dr. Im”, Dr. Choi signaled his intern to handle it. “You know what to do.”

Nayeon nodded and headed out of the OR. 

“Okay, come on in, Minjeong- I’m gonna need your help here.”, Dr. Choi invites his mentee to come closer. 

“Sorry, I’m late”, Dr. Kim walks in. “Finishing up a delivery.”

“Patient is 36 weeks pregnant- any thing we should do? We have the monitor set up so we can check the heart rate of the fetus.”, Dr. Choi revealed, then glanced at the extra body standing in the corner that quietly followed Dr. Kim. “Hello”

The masked visitor bows. “Hello Dr. Choi, I am Yu Jimin, a fourth-year medical student.”

“There’s no time for chit-chat, Jimin. Just- just stay there.”, Dr. Kim said with an exasperated look. The team at the OR looked at each other, confused as to why Dr. Kim’s patience is worse than it already was. The poor student didn’t do anything but introduce herself for the team so they didn’t feel like a stranger was just in the presence of the surgery. 

Dr. Choi watched Dr. Kim with a brief flicker of disappointment and shook his head. His focus shifted to Minjeong. “Minjeong, do you know Yu Jimin?”

Minjeong nodded without hesitation. “Yes, Dr. Choi. We’re classmates.” She glanced toward Jimin, then added with a subtle smile, “She’s top of the class.”

Dr. Choi raised an eyebrow at that, his tone light but teasing. “Top of the class? Impressive, Yu Jimin. No pressure being introduced like that.”

Jimin’s eyes widened slightly, her face heating up behind her mask. “I... thank you, Dr. Choi,” she stammered, giving Minjeong a quick look that was equal parts grateful and flustered.

Minjeong’s smile lingered for just a moment longer before she returned her attention to the task at hand, already refocused on the surgery. Dr. Choi noted the quick shift in Minjeong’s demeanor and gave a faint nod of approval.

“Let’s see if your top-of-the-class status translates into quick learning, Jimin,” Dr. Choi continued, motioning for her to come closer. “Minjeong, keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t faint. We can’t have any casualties in the OR.”

The light humor cut through some of the tension in the room, and even Dr. Kim seemed less exasperated as he continued monitoring the fetus.

Dr. Kim shakes his head and continues to monitor the fetus. 

“There is a sweet spot with letting the blood come out and not losing too much blood. We just have to monitor a bit with the vitals before we close it up.”, Dr. Choi explains. All of a sudden, the monitor started to beep and it was coming from the fetus. 

“Heart rate is down to 60”, Dr. Kim reveals and heads towards the patient. 

“Is she in shock?”, Minjeong asks. 

“Could be the hypotension. Increase the fluids”, Dr. Choi starts to fix the situation. 

“We will have to get the baby out”, Dr. Kim stated. “Is it alright to start the C-section?”

“Mother’s vitals are stable”, Dr. Choi communicates. Dr. Kim nodded and started to cut. Minjeong watches how awkward Jimin is standing, not knowing where to look or be. 

Dr. Choi may have sensed it and made eye contact with Jimin. He does an encouraging tilt of the head, ‘take action and watch him do his thing’. Jimin nodded slightly and took a step forward to Dr. Kim.  

Dr. Kim sighed at the invasion of space but tried to hold his ground, knowing that there’s an audience right there at the OR. “When doing a C-section, it should be clean and not too deep since the fetus is right below the uterus.”, Dr. Kim explained as he cut. 

Jimin nodded, her eyes widened as she watched the baby come out. “Compressions, Jimin. Try it.”, Dr. Kim instructed. “The baby is still adapting to the outside world and his heart rate was just dropping.”

Jimin held onto the baby and placed him onto the bed. With two fingers, Jimin used all her energy in keeping the baby alive. Cries were heard and her eyes widened. She did it. Her first baby that she saved. Her eyes glossed a bit but she kept her mentality grounded. This was not the time to celebrate her milestone. 

“Good work, Jimin”, Dr. Kim said awkwardly.

As the adrenaline from the emergency cases subsided and the day shifted into a slower rhythm, Minjeong found herself back in the break room, sipping a lukewarm coffee. The faint hum of the vending machine and the distant beeping of monitors were the only sounds accompanying her.

Jimin appeared at the door, her movements hesitant. She had been riding the high of her first successful moment in the OR, but now that it was over, the reality of the exhausting shift was catching up to her. She stepped in, her gaze landing on Minjeong.

“Mind if I join?” Jimin asked softly, holding a bottle of water.

Minjeong looked up, nodding as she gestured to the seat across from her. “Sure.”

The two sat in companionable silence for a while, the weight of the day settling over them. Jimin toyed with the cap of her water bottle, her mind replaying the events of the C-section. “That was... intense,” she said finally, her voice a mix of awe and exhaustion.

Minjeong smiled faintly, taking a sip of her coffee. “It always is.”

“Do you ever... get used to it?” Jimin asked, her eyes searching Minjeong’s face for an answer.

“Not really,” Minjeong admitted. “You get better at handling it, at staying calm and focused, but it never stops being intense. And that’s probably a good thing.”

Minjeong glanced up, her lips curling into a faint smile. “How are you holding up, top of the class?”

Jimin blinked, her eyebrows raising in surprise before a teasing grin spread across her face. “Top of the class? Since when do you care about academic rankings, Minjeong?”

Minjeong shrugged, taking another sip of her tea. “I don’t, really. I just happen to know things.”

“Uh-huh,” Jimin said, her voice playful. “And how exactly do you happen to know that I’m top of the class?”

Minjeong hesitated for a moment, debating whether to answer. Finally, she relented, her voice casual but laced with amusement. “Yizhuo told me. Apparently, you’re also the student body president for the med school.”

Jimin chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “I guess I should be flattered that Yizhuo is keeping tabs on me.”

“She keeps tabs on everyone,” Minjeong replied with a small smile. “But she’s particularly good at finding things out about people who make an impression.”

Jimin’s grin softened into something more thoughtful. “Well, now I’m curious. Did I make an impression on you , Minjeong?”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, though the faint pink dusting her cheeks didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet, here you are, sitting with me,” Jimin shot back, her tone light but teasing.

Minjeong couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Touché.”

Jimin nodded, her expression thoughtful. She hesitated before speaking again. “Thanks for... you know, not making me feel like I didn’t belong in there.”

Minjeong looked at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. “You did well, Jimin. You saved that baby.”

Jimin glanced back at her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, Minjeong.”

Minjeong nodded, her gaze returning to her coffee. The silence between them was comfortable now, filled with a mutual understanding.

Before long, the intercom crackled to life, calling Minjeong’s name. She sighed, finishing the last of her coffee before standing. “Duty calls.”

Jimin watched her go, a newfound respect settling in her chest. She’d always known Minjeong was capable, but seeing her in action today had solidified it. As Minjeong disappeared down the hallway, Jimin couldn’t help but feel a little more determined to hold her own the next time they found themselves in the OR together.

Chapter Text

It was another long Wednesday afternoon, the kind where the air in the lecture hall felt stagnant, and the weight of endless PowerPoint slides left everyone visibly drained. Minjeong leaned back in her chair, half-listening to the professor drone on about cardiology, while Yizhuo doodled idly in the margins of her notebook.

As the class wrapped up, the students began packing their things in a hurry, some already discussing where to grab their next caffeine fix. Jimin approached their row, her bag slung over one shoulder and her phone in hand.

“Yizhuo, don’t forget—student council meeting in twenty minutes,” Jimin said casually as she walked past, not even breaking stride.

Minjeong’s head snapped up so fast she nearly dropped her water bottle. “Excuse me, what ?”

Yizhuo didn’t even flinch. She continued packing her things, her expression calm. “What?”

“What do you mean, what ?” Minjeong asked, her voice tinged with incredulity. She gestured in the direction Jimin had disappeared. “Did she just say student council meeting? You’re going to a student council meeting?”

“Yes, Minjeong,” Yizhuo said, exhaling slowly as she zipped up her bag. “I always go to student council meetings.”

Minjeong blinked, her mind reeling. “Since when?!”

“Since always,” Yizhuo replied, her tone light but firm. “I’m the finance director, remember?”

Minjeong narrowed her eyes. “Finance director?”

“Yes,” Yizhuo said, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I manage the budget, secure sponsorships, and make sure all the council’s events stay on track financially. It’s called being awesome, Minjeong.”

Minjeong’s eyes widened further as if Yizhuo had just admitted to having a secret double life. “You... enjoy student council meetings?”

“Of course I do,” Yizhuo said, shrugging. “I like the financial side of things. Getting sponsors is basically my version of sport. It’s strategic, competitive, and rewarding. Plus, someone has to keep everything from going over budget.”

Minjeong stared at her, a mixture of awe and disbelief on her face. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Oh, hush,” Yizhuo replied, rolling her eyes. “It’s not that surprising.”

“It’s extremely surprising,” Minjeong said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “This is coming from the person who once said numbers were the enemy of fun.”

“That was different. Those were math quizzes. Budgeting is entirely different—it has a purpose,” Yizhuo shot back, a small grin on her face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go do my nerdy finance director duties.”

“This is amazing,” Minjeong said, shaking her head with a playful grin. “Yizhuo, the student council finance director. What’s next, public speaking workshops?”

“You’re impossible,” Yizhuo muttered, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips as she turned to leave.

Minjeong watched her go, a chuckle escaping her as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “Finance director,” she repeated to herself, still trying to wrap her head around it as she walked toward the library.

The library had always been Minjeong’s preferred place to study—it was quiet, spacious, and free of distractions. After parting ways with Yizhuo, she made her way to her usual spot by the windows, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the rows of bookshelves. Her body ached from lack of sleep, the past two days spent crashing on Yizhuo’s couch between shifts and lectures, but there was still work to do.

Minjeong settled into her seat, spreading out her notes and textbooks in a neat, deliberate arrangement. Her focus locked onto the material in front of her. The quiet hum of the library worked its magic, easing her mind into the rhythm of studying.

“Minjeong!” a familiar, enthusiastic voice broke through the stillness.

Minjeong looked up, startled, to find none other than Wonyoung heading toward her, her long legs carrying her swiftly across the room. Behind her was Aeri, following at a more leisurely pace with a bemused expression.

“Of all the people to find in the library, it had to be you,” Wonyoung teased, dropping her bag onto Minjeong’s table without hesitation and pulling out the chair next to hers. “Studying hard, I see?”

Minjeong sighed, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, I was. What are you doing here, Wonyoung?”

“Studying, obviously,” Wonyoung replied, flashing a cheeky grin. “I do that sometimes, you know.”

Aeri arrived at the table, setting her books down neatly before sitting across from Minjeong. “Don’t let her fool you,” Aeri said, smirking. “She was sulking about waiting for Jimin and decided to drag me here to ‘be productive.’”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “You’re waiting for Jimin?”

“Yeah,” Wonyoung said, resting her chin in her hand as she glanced over Minjeong’s scattered notes. “She’s in that student council meeting. Something about budgeting or event approvals, I don’t know. It sounded boring.”

Minjeong snorted, shaking her head. “Of course. Yizhuo’s there too. Finance director stuff.”

Wonyoung’s eyes lit up. “Wait, you’re waiting for Yizhuo? This is perfect! We can all suffer through the waiting game together.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Wonyoung leaned closer, her curious gaze scanning Minjeong’s study material. “What’s this? Cardiology? So intense.”

“Some of us actually have to study,” Minjeong said dryly, shoving a notebook toward Wonyoung to block her view. “It’s not all charisma and charm like certain law students I could name.”

“Jealous?” Wonyoung teased, her grin widening.

Aeri leaned back in her chair, watching the exchange with an air of amusement. “So let me get this straight. All three of us are sitting here because we’re waiting for student council members to finish their meeting?”

“Apparently,” Minjeong said, rubbing her temples. “What a life.”

“It’s kind of poetic, don’t you think?” Wonyoung mused, tilting her head. “The diligent council members slaving away while we bask in the glow of their hard work. Maybe we should leave them little notes of encouragement.”

“Or you could try not to distract me while I study,” Minjeong shot back, though there was no malice in her tone.

Aeri chuckled, pulling out her own textbook. “Don’t worry, Minjeong. I’ll keep her in line.”

“You’re outnumbered now,” Wonyoung said with a mock-evil laugh, grabbing a pen and scribbling on the edge of one of Minjeong’s loose sheets of paper. “Might as well join us in procrastination.”

Minjeong shook her head, a resigned smile on her face as Wonyoung’s antics continued. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the unexpected company made the library feel a little less lonely, even if it meant enduring Wonyoung’s playful chaos.

In the student council meeting, Jimin stood confidently at the head of the table, her presence commanding yet approachable. She gestured toward the slides projected on the wall as she outlined the plans for the annual Winter Banquet and Auction, a flagship student-led event.

“This year’s banquet will focus on supporting scholarships for underprivileged students. It’s our chance to make a real impact,” Jimin stated, her tone steady and persuasive. “We need everyone’s collaboration to make it happen. Let’s aim for new auction items that draw attention and sponsorships that go beyond our usual network.”

Across the table, Yizhuo scribbled notes diligently, her brows furrowed in concentration. As the finance director, she was already running through a mental list of potential sponsors and items to pitch for the auction. She thrived on this kind of meticulous planning, her eyes occasionally flicking up to confirm details with Jimin.

“Yizhuo,” Jimin addressed her directly, “if anyone can pull in the big-name sponsors, it’s you.”

Yizhuo smirked, her confidence understated but palpable. “I’m already on it. And I’ll loop in the team to refine the auction catalog as soon as I have the initial list.”

The meeting moved swiftly, each council member contributing their part, but it was clear that Jimin led the group with a sense of purpose. By the time it concluded, she had everyone motivated and ready to dive into their tasks.

As the meeting disbanded, Yizhuo adjusted her bag and caught up to Jimin, who was walking briskly out of the building.

“You’re heading to the library too?” Jimin asked as they fell into step.

“Yep. Minjeong’s waiting for me there,” Yizhuo replied, her tone casual but warm. “She’s been staying at my place these past couple of days. We’ve been juggling shifts and classes, so it’s just easier that way.”

Jimin’s steps slowed slightly, though she kept her expression neutral. “That makes sense. You two seem close.”

“Yeah, she’s my best friend,” Yizhuo said simply, her voice laced with a quiet affection. “Actually, we’ll have to stop by the grocery store on the way back. Minjeong’s cooking tonight.”

Jimin found herself smiling at the thought, the corners of her lips tugging upward before she could stop them. “Lucky you. What’s on the menu?”

“Who knows? She’s always surprising me with her cooking. Honestly, Minjeong could probably charm anyone with her food,” Yizhuo said with a chuckle.

Jimin hummed in acknowledgement, her gaze flickering ahead as they approached the library doors. Once inside, it didn’t take long to locate the trio. They were sitting on the first floor near the windows, the same spot Yizhuo casually mentioned as Minjeong’s favorite.

“That’s her go-to spot,” Yizhuo said, pointing toward the table where Minjeong, Wonyoung, and Aeri were gathered.

Jimin’s eyes softened as she observed them from a distance. Minjeong looked relaxed, though focused, as Wonyoung leaned close, gesturing animatedly at something in Minjeong’s notes. Aeri, seated across from them, appeared equally amused, her expression calm yet faintly entertained by the dynamic.

A strange twinge settled in Jimin’s chest as she took in the scene. The way Wonyoung’s shoulder brushed against Minjeong’s, the way Minjeong seemed unbothered by the proximity—it all felt... off. Jimin shook the thought away, masking her slight unease with an easy smile.

“Well,” Yizhuo said, breaking her out of her thoughts, “let’s rescue them from whatever distraction Wonyoung is cooking up.”

Jimin nodded, pushing her feelings aside as she followed Yizhuo to the table. Whatever this was, it wasn’t worth dwelling on. Not yet, at least.

“Hey”, Yizhuo rests her body on top of Minjeong which earned a groan from the hockey player. “Ready to head out?”

Jimin gives a soft hello to her friends. Aeri acknowledges her friend’s presence and finishes up her work before packing up. Wonyoung was way ahead of them since she barely took out any study materials as she was preoccupied with bothering Minjeong. 

Minjeong winces at the weight, finding it hard to breathe but answers, “Yea, I have a list of ingredients ready.”

“Can’t wait… although I love student council meetings.”, Yizhuo glanced at Jimin who gave her an eye roll. “I was going to pass out and your home-cooked meals are much needed.”

“Wait, wait—hold on,” Wonyoung said, her eyes lighting up as she leaned closer to Minjeong. “You’re cooking dinner tonight? Like, from scratch?”

Minjeong blinked, suddenly on edge under Wonyoung’s enthusiastic gaze. “Uh, yeah. I mean, I usually cook something at Yizhuo’s place if I’m staying over.”

“That’s amazing!” Wonyoung exclaimed, her voice slightly too loud for the library. “I would love to try your cooking. You’re going to let me have a taste, right?”

Minjeong’s eyes widened, her face flushing slightly. “W-What? I—uh—I don’t know. It’s not anything fancy, just—”

“Oh, come on,” Wonyoung said with a grin, resting her chin on her hand as she stared at Minjeong. “Please, Minjeong? I’m sure it’s incredible. You can’t keep those talents hidden from the world.”

Minjeong glanced toward Yizhuo, her silent plea for help evident in her expression. “Yizhuo?” she muttered under her breath, her tone practically begging.

Yizhuo, who had been watching the interaction with mild amusement, let out a soft sigh. “Wonyoung, stop flustering Minjeong. She’s not used to this level of attention.”

“But it’s cute,” Wonyoung said with a pout, though her teasing tone persisted. “Okay, fine. I’ll behave... for now.”

Before Minjeong could fully process her relief, Aeri, ever the keen observer, decided to step in. “You know,” she said, her voice light but measured, “instead of putting all that pressure on Minjeong, why don’t we all just go out for dinner? It’d be a nice way to get to know each other better.”

Wonyoung perked up immediately. “That’s actually a great idea.”

Minjeong exhaled quietly, grateful for Aeri’s intervention. “Yeah, I think that’s a better plan,” she said, her voice steadier now. “Plus, it saves me the stress of trying to feed everyone.”

“Alright then, dinner’s on,” Aeri confirmed, her smile lingering as her gaze shifted to Yizhuo. As the group began packing up their things to leave, Aeri’s mind wandered, replaying a memory from the party a few weeks ago.

When Aeri’s now ex-boyfriend had approached Yizhuo, his comments toeing the line between playful and rude. Aeri had winced as he made a joke that left Yizhuo visibly flustered, her cheeks reddening. Aeri had wanted to intervene, to tell him to stop, but the moment had passed too quickly, and she’d been left feeling embarrassed on Yizhuo’s behalf.

Ever since then, she’d been trying to find the right moment to apologize—not just for her ex’s behavior but for her own inaction. And now, with fate seemingly aligning their paths more often, she wondered if tonight’s dinner could be that moment- or to find a moment alone together to just talk.

As they exited the library, the soft glow of the evening sun setting over campus, Minjeong and Aeri trailed slightly behind the rest.

“Thanks for organizing dinner, Aeri,” Minjeong said, her voice carrying over her shoulder.

“No problem,” Aeri replied, her gaze flicking briefly to Yizhuo, who was texting quickly on her phone. Aeri smiled to herself—tonight might be her chance to make things right, and maybe even forge something new.

Dinner had been a lively affair, filled with laughter, teasing, and the occasional playful jab. The group had settled into an easy rhythm, their conversations flowing naturally as they shared stories and bonded over good food. By the time they stepped out of the restaurant, the night air was cool and crisp, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the meal.

Minjeong pulled out her phone as they lingered near the parking lot, her eyes scanning a text message. Her expression shifted slightly, concern flickering across her face.

“Everything okay?” Yizhuo asked, noticing the change immediately.

Minjeong nodded, though her tone was tinged with worry. “Yeah, it’s just... Chaeyoung has a fever. My sister texted me to let me know. I think I should head over and check on her.”

Yizhuo’s brows furrowed, and she immediately offered, “I’ll come with you.”

Minjeong shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s already dark out, Ningz. You don’t need to go out of your way.”

Before Yizhuo could argue further, Jimin stepped forward, her voice calm but decisive. “I’ll drive you.It’s better than you going alone on public transit.”

Minjeong hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking between Jimin and Yizhuo. Finally, she nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Jimin.”

Meanwhile, Aeri, who had been quietly observing the exchange, turned to Yizhuo. “I’ll drive you home. We’ll drop Wonyoung off first, and then we can head back.”

Yizhuo blinked, slightly surprised by the offer, but nodded. “Sure. Thanks, Aeri.”

Wonyoung, ever the social butterfly, chimed in with a grin. “Looks like we’ve got our rides sorted. Let’s go!”

The drive to drop off Wonyoung was filled with her usual chatter, her energy seemingly endless even after a long day. Aeri responded with her usual calm demeanor, while Yizhuo mostly listened, her thoughts elsewhere.

Once Wonyoung was safely dropped off, the car fell into a comfortable silence. Aeri glanced at Yizhuo out of the corner of her eye, her grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. She had been waiting for the right moment to bring it up, and now, with just the two of them, it felt like the time.

“Hey,” Aeri started, her voice soft but steady, breaking the comfortable silence in the car. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, glancing at Yizhuo briefly before focusing back on the road. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Yizhuo turned her head slightly, curiosity sparking in her expression. “What’s up?”

Aeri hesitated for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip before exhaling softly. “At the party a few weeks ago... Jaewon—my ex—said some things to you that were completely out of line. I should’ve stepped in, but I didn’t, and I’ve been feeling pretty awful about it since then.”

Yizhuo blinked, her expression shifting slightly as she looked down at her hands. She brushed her fingers against the strap of her bag, trying to downplay the flutter of nerves in her chest. “You don’t have to apologize for him,” she said lightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It wasn’t your fault, Aeri.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” Aeri replied, her tone firmer now. “But I still should’ve done something. Jaewon’s behavior wasn’t okay, and honestly... I’ve realized it wasn’t just that night. That’s just who he is. He’s... not a good person.” 

The confession hung in the air for a moment, and Yizhuo let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, her expression unreadable. Internally, though, her heart fluttered, a mixture of relief and something she didn’t quite want to name. She had spent weeks convincing herself that Jaewon’s comments hadn’t bothered her—at least not too much—but the truth was, they had stung. Still, she wasn’t about to admit that now, not when Aeri was looking at her with such earnestness.

“Well,” Yizhuo said, mustering a small smile, “if it makes you feel any better, I’ve already forgotten about it.”

Aeri gave her a sideways glance, her lips quirking up in a half-smile. “Really? You’ve forgotten about it, just like that?”

Yizhuo shrugged, her smile widening slightly. “What can I say? I’ve got a short memory.”

Aeri didn’t entirely believe her, not with the way Yizhuo’s cheeks flushed faintly, but she decided to let it slide. She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “I was such a fool for falling for someone like him.”

Yizhuo glanced at her, her smile widening slightly in an attempt to reassure her. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes, Aeri. What matters is that you realized it.”

Aeri sighed, drumming her fingers lightly on the steering wheel. “I actually went to that hockey game a couple of weeks ago. Not because I wanted to see him, but... I don’t know. I thought maybe he’d feel some kind of remorse or... something. But there wasn’t anything. He was laughing, joking around like he hadn’t done anything wrong.”

Yizhuo’s brow furrowed, her voice soft but firm. “He’s not worth your time, Aeri. Not if that’s the kind of person he is. You deserve better than that.”

Aeri’s lips curved into a faint smile, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks, Yizhuo. I needed to hear that.” She glanced at her again, her smile turning a little warmer. “Honestly, it’s been really nice hanging out with you these past couple of weeks. I hope we can keep this up.”

Yizhuo looked at her, something unreadable flickering in her gaze before she smiled back. “Yeah, me too. I think it’s been nice hanging out with you too. You’ve got this... calm energy. It’s different.”

Aeri chuckled, her grip on the steering wheel relaxing. “Calm energy, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” Yizhuo said, her voice light but sincere. “And hey, maybe this whole group dinner thing will be the start of something. It’s been good seeing more of you these past couple of weeks.”

Aeri’s smile lingered as they pulled up to Yizhuo’s place. She parked the car and turned to her, her gaze thoughtful. “Yeah, maybe it will. Either way, I hope we can keep this going.”

Yizhuo nodded, her heart inexplicably lighter as she opened the car door. “Me too.”

As Yizhuo stepped out of the car, she turned to Aeri with a playful grin. “Drive safe. And don’t let Jaewon live rent-free in your head anymore.”

Aeri laughed, raising a hand in a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you around.”

Yizhuo waved as she walked into her building, her smile lingering even after the door closed behind her.

Aeri watched her for a moment before driving off, a small smile still playing on her lips. It felt like a fresh start, and for the first time in a while, Aeri was optimistic about where it might lead.

The drive was steeped in quiet, the gentle hum of the engine filling the gaps where conversation might have been. Minjeong stared out of the window, the glow of passing street lights illuminating her thoughtful expression. Her mind was miles away, replaying the text from her sister about Chaeyoung’s fever and the endless responsibilities waiting at home.

“Thanks for driving me,” Minjeong said softly after a stretch of silence, her voice barely above the hum of the car.

“No problem,” Jimin replied, equally quiet. “Family’s important.”

Minjeong glanced at her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. They are.”

As they turned onto a quieter road, Jimin’s brows furrowed slightly. “I didn’t realize you lived so close to me. I pass by this area all the time.”

Minjeong’s expression faltered, her gaze slipping back to the window. “Oh... yeah, I guess it’s not too far.” Her voice was distant, and Jimin noticed the subtle shift, the way Minjeong’s shoulders seemed to tense ever so slightly.

Jimin hesitated before speaking again, her tone carefully neutral. “Yizhuo mentioned you’ve been staying with her lately. Is everything okay?”

Minjeong nodded quickly, brushing off the concern with a practiced nonchalance. “Yeah, it’s fine. I just thought my sister could use the time to focus on family stuff, you know? Chaeyoung keeps them busy enough without me hanging around.”

Her words were smooth, but Jimin caught the faint waver in her voice, the way her hand tightened around the strap of her bag. She didn’t press further, though something in her told her there was more beneath the surface.

As Minjeong stared out the window, her thoughts churned. She told herself it was a practical decision, staying at Yizhuo’s place, but the truth gnawed at the edges of her mind. She felt like a leach when she was at her sister’s house—eating their food, using their water, sleeping in a room that felt far too big and undeserved. It was like she was taking up space that wasn’t hers to claim, every little thing amplifying the emptiness she carried.

But then, at Yizhuo’s place, she felt like a burden too. Eating her best friend’s snacks, collapsing on her couch after long shifts, unable to truly rest even there. Minjeong couldn’t escape the hollowness, the nagging feeling that she didn’t belong, no matter where she went.

Forcing herself to focus, Minjeong continued aloud, “Living with Yizhuo has been fine. Chaeyoung cries a lot at night, and it can make sleeping difficult. This way, I’m not adding to the chaos at home.”

Jimin hummed in understanding, though her gaze remained thoughtful as she glanced at Minjeong. There was something in the way she spoke that didn’t quite align—a practiced casualness that felt slightly forced. Still, Jimin didn’t want to push.

Instead, she offered something gentle, something that wouldn’t feel invasive. “If you ever need a break—somewhere baby-free to breathe for a bit—my place is always an option too. No pressure or anything.”

Minjeong turned to her, surprised by the offer. Her lips twitched into a soft smile, genuine but brief. “Thanks, Jimin. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As they pulled up to Minjeong’s sister’s house, Jimin parked the car, her grip on the steering wheel firm as she glanced at Minjeong. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Minjeong nodded, her smile widening just a fraction. “I will. Thanks, Jimin.”

Jimin watched as Minjeong stepped out, her figure illuminated briefly by the warm glow of the porch light. Even as she walked away, there was a quiet weight in her posture, a heaviness Jimin couldn’t quite name but felt deeply.

She stayed parked for a moment longer, her thoughts swirling as she replayed the conversation in her mind. There was more to Minjeong’s story—Jimin was sure of it. But for now, she let it go, driving off into the night with a quiet resolve to be there when Minjeong was ready to share.

Minjeong stepped into her sister's house, the sound of Chaeyoung’s wailing immediately hitting her like a wave. The cries were high-pitched and relentless, cutting through the quiet of the night. She glanced toward the living room, where Taeyeon was pacing back and forth with Chaeyoung cradled in her arms, her expression frazzled and teetering on the edge of exhaustion. Baekhyun stood nearby, running a hand through his hair, his own distress evident as he tried to offer some support.

Dropping her bags by the door, Minjeong moved quickly into the kitchen, her mind already running through the steps. She opened the cabinet in the pantry, rummaging until her hand closed around the small bottle of fever medicine she’d insisted on keeping stocked for emergencies like this. With the medicine in hand, she grabbed a clean dropper and a thermometer and headed to the living room.

“Let me see her,” Minjeong said gently, her voice steady despite the chaos. Taeyeon hesitated for a moment before passing Chaeyoung to her sister. Minjeong felt the warmth radiating off the baby as she pressed a hand to her forehead. The fever was unmistakable, and Minjeong’s chest tightened with worry.

“She’s burning up,” Minjeong murmured, her eyes scanning Taeyeon’s face. “We’ll give her a few drops. It’ll help bring it down.”

Taeyeon nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted Chaeyoung in her arms. The baby’s cries grew louder as Minjeong prepared the dropper, measuring out the precise dosage.

“Hold her steady,” Minjeong instructed softly. Taeyeon sat on the couch and gently secured Chaeyoung, her movements careful but shaky as Minjeong leaned in to administer the medicine.

The moment the dropper touched Chaeyoung’s lips, her cries turned into screams, her little body wriggling in protest. Taeyeon winced, and her grip faltered as fatigue got the better of her.

“Here,” Minjeong said quickly, setting the dropper aside and reaching out to take Chaeyoung into her own arms. She cradled the baby close to her chest, her hand instinctively stroking Chaeyoung’s back as she began to whisper. “Shh... it’s okay. You’re okay, baby girl. I know it hurts. I’m so sorry, but you’re going to feel better soon. I promise.”

The cries continued, but they softened just slightly as Minjeong swayed gently, her voice low and soothing. Chaeyoung’s tiny fists clung to her shirt, her face buried against Minjeong’s shoulder.

In that moment, Minjeong felt an unexpected lump rise in her throat. She pressed her cheek against the top of Chaeyoung’s head, her heart aching in a way she didn’t entirely understand. It was as if the baby’s cries were pulling at something deep inside her, a raw empathy that made her want to cry along with her.

“It’s okay, Chaeyoung,” she whispered again, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Taeyeon watched from the couch, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she reached out to touch Minjeong’s arm. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Minjeong shook her head, offering a faint smile as she continued to hold Chaeyoung close. “You’re doing great, Unnie. She’s lucky to have you.”

But even as she said the words, a part of her felt hollow. The thought lingered, heavy and unspoken, as Chaeyoung’s cries finally began to quiet, replaced by soft hiccups and the occasional whimper.

Minjeong stayed like that for a while, rocking Chaeyoung gently until her breathing evened out and her little body relaxed against her. In the stillness, she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

The house was finally quiet, save for the soft hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the floorboards. Minjeong sat on the couch, her arms still cradling Chaeyoung, who had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep against her chest. The baby’s tiny breaths were warm against her neck, her little fingers clutching the fabric of Minjeong’s shirt as if she were holding on for dear life.

Minjeong’s gaze drifted to the dimly lit staircase where her sister and brother-in-law had retreated to their room, no doubt trying to catch whatever rest they could before Chaeyoung woke again. She had insisted they go, promising to stay with the baby for as long as needed. They had looked so worn down, their faces etched with exhaustion and worry. It was a look Minjeong knew all too well—the weight of responsibility, the constant fear of not doing enough.

Her eyes fell to Chaeyoung’s small, delicate face, her cheeks still flushed from the fever. Minjeong’s chest tightened as she thought about how fragile the baby seemed, how helpless she had looked earlier when the fever had taken hold. She had wanted to cry then, to let the overwhelming mix of emotions spill out, but she had held it together. She always did.

Now, in the stillness of the night, the tears threatened to come again. Minjeong blinked them back, her jaw tightening as she tried to push the feelings away. She didn’t even know why she felt this way—why Chaeyoung’s cries had struck such a deep chord in her, why holding her now made her feel both comforted and unbearably sad.

Maybe it’s because I see myself in her, Minjeong thought bitterly. Small, helpless, and crying for something I can’t even name.

Minjeong’s mind wandered to the house she had called home for the past few years. Despite living there, she hated how little evidence there was that she existed in this space. The living room walls were adorned with smiling family photos—her sister and brother-in-law on their wedding day, baby Chaeyoung’s first birthday, vacations they had taken together. Not a single picture of her was included. The mantle, filled with memories of their small but perfect family, looked like a celebration of a life she wasn’t part of.

All of her belongings were confined to the room she stayed in. Everything—her books, her clothes, even her hobbies—was tucked neatly away behind a closed door. If a stranger walked into the house, there wouldn’t be a single clue that Minjeong lived there. To them, she would be invisible.

The thought gnawed at her. She knew her sister didn’t mean it that way—Taeyeon wasn’t malicious, just... absorbed in the life she had built for herself. But it still stung. There were moments, small but telling, that reminded Minjeong of her place. The slight awkwardness when friends or relatives visited, and Taeyeon would have to mention, “Yes, Minjeong lives with us for now. She’s a 25-year-old med student, you know how it is.”

Minjeong hated how the words sounded, like an explanation or, worse, an excuse. She hated how the topic always seemed to hang in the air for a beat too long afterward. Her mind would wander to how she must look through their eyes—a grown adult still clinging to her older sister’s generosity, a person who hadn’t fully stepped out into the world on her own.

She tried to shrug it off, reminding herself that it wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be. Taeyeon had told her, more than once, how grateful she was to have Minjeong’s help with Chaeyoung. “You’re the best aunt Chaeyoung could ever have,” Taeyeon would say, her voice warm with sincerity. “I don’t know how I’d manage without you. You’re not a burden, Minjeong. I mean it.”

Minjeong appreciated the words, but there was always something beneath the surface that lingered—a hesitation, an awkwardness that came to light when others were around. She knew Taeyeon loved her, but in a house where everything was perfectly curated for her sister’s family, Minjeong couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t fit. Like she was taking up space in someone else’s life.

These feelings swirled in her chest as she held Chaeyoung close, her cheek pressed against the baby’s warm head. Chaeyoung didn’t care about any of that—she just needed comfort, safety, and love, and Minjeong was happy to give her that. But as she rocked her gently, whispering soothing words, Minjeong’s thoughts drifted.

Maybe one day I’ll have my own place. A space where I actually belong. A space that feels... like me.

She bit down on the lump rising in her throat and refocused on Chaeyoung, who let out a small, sleepy sigh. Minjeong stroked her back gently, forcing a smile. It was easier to think about Chaeyoung’s needs than her own. At least with the baby, she could pretend she was useful, that she had a purpose, even if it was fleeting.

Minjeong let out a shaky breath, her hand gently stroking Chaeyoung’s back. “You’re so lucky, you know that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You’ve got a family who loves you so much. They’d do anything for you.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, she wondered if she was talking to Chaeyoung or herself. She closed her eyes, resting her cheek against the baby’s soft hair. The warmth of Chaeyoung’s little body was grounding, a small reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone, even if it felt that way sometimes.

I’ll be okay, she told herself, though the words felt hollow. I have to be.

The night stretched on, and Minjeong stayed where she was, holding Chaeyoung close as if the baby’s steady breaths could anchor her to something solid. For now, that was enough.

Minjeong placed Chaeyoung carefully into her crib, the baby stirring briefly before settling back into a peaceful slumber. For a moment, she lingered, brushing a stray wisp of hair from Chaeyoung's forehead. The sight of her niece, so small and unburdened by the world, tugged at something deep within Minjeong. But the weight in her chest didn’t lift—it only seemed to press harder.

She left the room quietly, her footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. The house was still blanketed in the dim light of the digital clock- 2:00 AM, and the silence felt heavier than usual. Her body moved on autopilot as she gathered a towel and some fresh clothes before stepping into the bathroom.

The hiss of the shower filled the space, and soon the warmth of the water cascaded over her skin. For a brief moment, it felt like an embrace—a fleeting sense of comfort that melted away almost as quickly as it came. Minjeong closed her eyes, letting the steam envelop her as she pressed her forehead against the cool tile wall.

It started with a single tear, slipping down her cheek and mingling with the water. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until her chest began to heave with the effort of holding it all in. Desperation clawed at her throat as she bit down hard on her bottom lip, one hand covering her mouth to muffle any sound. She didn’t want anyone to hear her—not Taeyeon, not Chaeyoung, no one.

Her legs trembled beneath her as the weight of everything she had been carrying finally became too much. Slowly, she sank to her knees, the cold porcelain of the tub pressing against her as she slid down the wall. The sobs she tried so desperately to suppress remained trapped in her chest, a silent storm that left her gasping for air.

She was so tired—bone-deep exhaustion that went far beyond lack of sleep. It was the kind of weariness that came from feeling like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit, no matter how hard she tried to make herself smaller, quieter, more useful. The kind of tired that whispered cruel thoughts into her mind when the world was quiet and she was left alone with them.

Minjeong wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing herself into a tight ball as the water continued to pour over her. She wanted to scream, to let out the frustration, the hurt, the overwhelming sense of invisibility that seemed to define her life in this house. But instead, she stayed silent, her tears blending with the shower’s steady stream.

The moments stretched on, the water beginning to cool against her skin. Eventually, Minjeong forced herself to take a deep breath, her lungs aching as she tried to steady herself. She couldn’t stay there forever, as much as she wanted to. 

With a shaky exhale, she reached for the faucet, turning the water off. The silence that followed was deafening. Minjeong sat there for a moment longer, gathering what little strength she had left, before pulling herself to her feet. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as she dried off and dressed.

As she stepped out of the bathroom, the mask she wore for the world slipped back into place. Minjeong would face another day, just as she always did. But deep down, she knew the cracks in her façade were growing, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep holding everything together.

The classroom buzzed with the faint hum of chatter as students packed up their belongings. Minjeong adjusted the strap of her hockey bag, slung over her shoulder, a quiet but telling testament to the long night she had endured. Her body felt heavy, not just from the weight of the bag or the anticipation of tonight’s practice, but from the hours spent soothing Chaeyoung. The baby’s fever had left Minjeong bleary-eyed and running on fumes, though she masked it well behind a practiced stoicism.

Jimin, ever poised, was tucking her notes into her neatly organized bag, while Yizhuo, full of energy, rambled enthusiastically about the day’s lecture. The neurology professor had gone on one of his tangents again, and Yizhuo’s impressions were as entertaining as they were accurate.

As they stepped out of the classroom, Jimin turned to Yizhuo with her usual composed demeanor. "Do you have a moment to grab coffee? I wanted to go over details for the annual banquet and auction."

Yizhuo nodded without hesitation, her interest clearly piqued. "Sure, let’s do it."

Minjeong, feeling like an outsider to their plans, adjusted her hockey bag again and muttered, "I’ll head to the library, catch up on some studying." She’d already decided to use the time to focus, though the ache in her shoulders reminded her just how tempting a nap sounded.

Before she could turn to leave, Jimin’s hand darted out, catching the edge of her jacket sleeve. The grip was firmer than Minjeong expected, her hand tightening just enough to hold her in place. Minjeong blinked in surprise as Jimin glanced up at her, eyes soft yet determined, conveying something unspoken.

“Come with us,” Jimin said, her tone steady but laced with an undertone that Minjeong couldn’t quite place. “It’s my treat, and…” Jimin hesitated, her gaze softening even further as if she could sense the exhaustion Minjeong was trying so hard to hide. “You look like you need it.”

Minjeong felt a flicker of confusion, mixed with something else she couldn’t quite name. She wanted to protest, to insist she was fine, but the way Jimin’s eyes held hers made the words catch in her throat. There was no judgment there, only an unwavering steadiness that left no room for argument. After a moment, Minjeong gave a reluctant nod, adjusting her hockey bag as Jimin’s hand slipped from her sleeve. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she agreed to follow, though she still kept her distance.

As they walked towards the coffee shop, Yizhuo glanced at Minjeong, her brows furrowing slightly. "How's Chaeyoung doing?"

Minjeong felt the exhaustion tug at her edges but mustered a small smile. "She’s okay. It was just a fever, nothing serious. It went down this morning."

Relief washed over Yizhuo’s face, her usual bright energy returning. "That’s good to hear. You must’ve been up all night with her, though." She tilted her head, a soft fondness in her voice. "I need to visit her sometime soon. I miss that little munchkin."

Minjeong chuckled faintly, adjusting the strap of her hockey bag. "She’d love that. She’s always full of energy when she sees you."

Yizhuo smiled, her mood lighter as they continued towards the café. The easy rhythm of their conversation helped distract Minjeong from the heaviness she carried, even if only for a little while. Jimin, walking a step ahead, stayed quiet but seemed to take it all in, her sharp eyes glancing back at Minjeong briefly before leading the way.

At the coffee shop, Jimin and Yizhuo quickly settled into a corner table, diving straight into their discussion. Minjeong lingered near the entrance, shifting awkwardly before muttering a quick excuse and stepping outside for some air after dropping off her bag at the booth.

The crisp wind bit at her skin as she lit a cigarette, the familiar burn grounding her. She leaned against the wall, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke, her gaze drifting through the glass window. Inside, Jimin was speaking with calm precision, her expressions measured but engaged. Yizhuo, ever the eager listener, scribbled notes as she nodded along.

And then, almost as if sensing it, Jimin glanced up. Her gaze met Minjeong’s through the window, her expression softening. There was no disapproval in her look, only quiet understanding, as if she could see the tiredness Minjeong carried beneath her tough exterior. The moment was fleeting—Jimin soon turned her attention back to Yizhuo—but the look lingered in Minjeong’s mind. It stirred something she couldn’t quite name.

Taking a final drag, Minjeong stubbed out her cigarette and tucked her hands into her jacket pockets. As she stood there, watching the two of them from the outside, Minjeong didn’t know what Jimin wanted to talk about after this. But the way she had held onto her sleeve made Minjeong curious—and maybe, just a little uneasy. For now, she’d wait. Whatever it was, she’d face it head-on, just as she always did.

Re-entering the coffee shop, the faint warmth of the space washed over her. She slid into the booth and she absently watched Jimin and Yizhuo. The two were already deep in conversation, their voices low but energized.

"I’m so excited," Yizhuo said, practically bouncing in her seat, her face lit up with enthusiasm. "We’ve got so much more funding this year—both from sponsors and the faculty. Budgeting’s way more flexible now, and I’ve been able to allocate funds to things we’ve always wanted to include, like better catering and actual entertainment! Honestly, it’s going to be huge."

Jimin’s lips curved into a small, approving smile as she stirred her coffee. "You’ve done an incredible job, Yizhuo. I knew appointing you as the finance director would pay off." She leaned back slightly, pride evident in her tone. "It’ll be a great way to end our final year with a bang."

Yizhuo grinned wide, her excitement almost infectious. "Exactly! But," Jimin continued, her voice shifting to a more contemplative tone, "with such a bigger event than before, I’ll need more manpower to make it all run smoothly. We’re already stretching thin with the number of volunteers we have."

Without missing a beat, Yizhuo’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she pointed her pen toward Minjeong. "What about Minjeong?"

Minjeong, who had been zoning out while fiddling with the edge of her sleeve, blinked in surprise. "What about me?"

Yizhuo smirked. "You could help out at the banquet. It’s perfect! You’re strong, resourceful, and frankly, we need the free labor." She raised her eyebrows playfully, "Plus, you’d get to witness me in action. I’m still hurt that you didn’t even know your best friend was in the student council."

Minjeong groaned, leaning back in her seat with a dramatic sigh. "No way. I never go to these events, and you know it."

"Exactly!" Yizhuo retorted, crossing her arms and pouting in exaggerated offense. "As my best friend, you should be supporting me! This is my thing, and you’re my person—where’s the loyalty?" She turned her attention to Jimin for backup. "And besides, she should also be supporting you , Madam President."

Jimin chuckled softly, her amused gaze shifting to Minjeong, who looked utterly cornered. "She has a point, Minjeong. We could really use the extra hands, and the event’s for a good cause. All proceeds go toward scholarships and education programs for underprivileged students and children." Jimin’s voice was gentle yet persuasive, her eyes holding that calm steadiness that made people feel both heard and compelled to listen.

Minjeong huffed, running a hand through her hair. "You’re really playing the charity card right now?"

"It’s for education!" Yizhuo exclaimed, her pout morphing into a wide grin. "Come on, don’t be a grump. You’re gonna help us make an all-time record in donations this year. Just imagine how good that’ll look when we graduate."

Minjeong rolled her eyes, though the corners of her lips twitched slightly as if suppressing a smile. "Fine," she muttered, her tone reluctant but resigned. "But only because you won’t stop pestering me."

"That’s the spirit!" Yizhuo beamed, raising her coffee cup triumphantly. Jimin offered a small, approving smile in Minjeong’s direction, and for a moment, Minjeong felt like the exhaustion weighing her down had lightened just a fraction. Maybe, she thought, this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The coffee shop conversation wrapped up with Yizhuo triumphantly assigning all the physically demanding tasks for the banquet to Minjeong. Her groans of protest were dramatic enough to earn a few amused glances from the nearby customers, but it only fueled Yizhuo’s playful teasing. With a grin, Yizhuo packed up her things and stood to leave.

“I’ll head home to finish an assignment,” Yizhuo announced, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t forget—you’re coming over after hockey practice tonight,” she added, pointing at Minjeong with a mock-serious look.

Minjeong waved her off lazily. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there."

Yizhuo grinned and saluted in her usual exaggerated fashion. "Good. I’ll be waiting—and don’t forget, you’re cooking dinner!" She winked as she turned to leave, leaving Minjeong rolling her eyes in exasperation.

As Yizhuo walked out, Minjeong adjusted her hockey bag, readying herself to head to the library. Jimin stayed seated for a moment, her eyes following Minjeong thoughtfully. Then, with her usual composed air, she asked, "What are your plans now?"

Minjeong glanced at her, slightly caught off guard by the question. "Library," she replied simply, her tone casual. "Might as well make the day productive before practice."

Jimin nodded, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Sounds like a good idea. I’ll walk with you." It was the confirmation Minjeong needed to realize Jimin truly wanted to talk to her, and there was no sidestepping it.

It wasn’t a request, just a calm, matter-of-fact statement, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Minjeong didn’t argue—she wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about Jimin’s presence felt steadying, even amidst her exhaustion. With that unspoken agreement, the two of them stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, walking side by side towards the library.

The two walked side by side toward the library, the steady rhythm of their footsteps filling the quiet spaces between them. Minjeong kept her gaze forward, wondering what Jimin wanted to say but too tired to prod. As they neared the entrance, Jimin finally broke the silence.

“How’s Chaeyoung?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Minjeong’s response was almost mechanical. "She’s okay. Fever went down this morning and she’s eating well." Her tone betrayed no emotion, but the question seemed to scratch at something deeper. As if on cue, the memory of Chaeyoung’s cries resurfaced, followed quickly by the ghost of her own silent breakdown in the shower. She felt her heartbeat quicken, a tightness creeping into her chest as she focused on keeping her breathing steady.

Jimin must’ve sensed the tension, though she said nothing about it directly. Instead, she shifted the conversation, her tone softening. "I’d like to meet her someday," she said, her words unintrusive, almost tentative. "She sounds like she’s got quite the personality for a little one when Yizhuo was talking about her earlier."

Minjeong glanced at her, the unexpected warmth in Jimin’s voice chipping away at her defenses. "Yeah," she said, her voice quieter now. "She’s… something else."

The conversation seemed to reach a natural pause as they entered the library. Minjeong set her hockey bag down at one of the long wooden tables, pulling out her notes as Jimin lingered nearby.

"Mind if I join you?" Jimin asked hesitantly, her hands fidgeting with the strap of her bag.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips quirking into a rare teasing smirk. "I mean, you walked me all the way here. Kind of feels like it’d be a waste if you didn’t."

Jimin let out a soft laugh, her shoulders relaxing as she took a seat across from Minjeong. The two settled into the quiet ambiance of the library, the unspoken camaraderie between them easing some of the weight Minjeong had been carrying. For the first time that day, she felt a little less alone.

As a couple hours had passed by and the time was already 4:30 PM, Jimin glanced over at Minjeong, her voice breaking the comfortable silence. "When does practice start?"

Minjeong didn’t look up from her computer, glasses sliding down her nose and with her tone casual. "In about an hour."

Jimin nodded, falling silent again. But her gaze lingered on Minjeong, a quiet, contemplative look softening her features. Minjeong could feel the lingering stare and furrowed her brows, slightly bothered by the attention. She finally looks up. 

"What?" she asked, her tone edged with mild suspicion. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Jimin tilted her head slightly, her voice calm and laced with a touch of concern. "I’m not an athlete... but don’t you need to fuel up before practice?"

Minjeong blinked, caught off guard by the question. She opened her mouth to respond, but the motherly expression Jimin wore—a rare but gentle one—momentarily disarmed her. It wasn’t intrusive, just a quiet reminder wrapped in care, and Minjeong wasn’t sure how to feel about it. She let out a small huff, shrugging lightly.

"I’m fine," Minjeong said, brushing it off. "I’ve had worse days." Though her words came out dismissive, there was a flicker of appreciation buried beneath them—a faint acknowledgment of Jimin’s attentiveness, even if Minjeong wasn’t ready to admit it outright.

Minjeong smirked, lifting her cup of coffee with mock pride. "Besides, this is my fuel," she declared, taking a deliberate sip as if to prove her point.

Jimin sighed, a fond but exasperated expression crossing her face. She shook her head gently. "I meant actual food, Minjeong. Nutrition! You can’t just operate on black coffee, especially before hockey practice."

Minjeong tilted her head, her smirk softening into an amused grin. "I’ve managed so far," she teased, though the faintest hint of sheepishness crept into her voice.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You’re lucky you’ve got the stamina to pull it off, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. Coffee doesn’t count as a meal, no matter how much caffeine it has."

Minjeong rolled her eyes playfully, but a small part of her appreciated the motherly concern Jimin seemed to radiate. "Alright, alright," she relented, though not without her characteristic dry humor. "I’ll grab something after practice. Happy?"

Jimin didn’t say a word in response to Minjeong’s promise to eat later. Instead, she suddenly stood up, leaving all her belongings on the table. Minjeong stared after her, startled.

"Uh… where are you going?" Minjeong asked, her tone edged with confusion. But Jimin didn’t answer. She merely walked away with purposeful strides, disappearing out of the library.

Minjeong blinked, her gaze shifting to the table. All of Jimin’s belongings—the immaculately arranged notebook, her sleek laptop, and her still-warm cup of coffee—remained untouched. Realization dawned on her: she couldn’t just leave to chase after Jimin without abandoning both their things. She frowned, feeling a bit trapped.

"Seriously?" Minjeong muttered to herself, slumping back into her seat with a groan. She crossed her arms, glaring out the window in the direction Jimin had disappeared, as if that would somehow compel her to return faster. Ten minutes passed, each one stretching longer than the last, and just as Minjeong was about to text her- realizing if she actually has Jimin’s phone number. Just in time, Jimin reappeared.

She returned with two neatly wrapped sandwiches in her hands. Wordlessly, she placed one in front of Minjeong and kept the other for herself. Her expression was calm but left no room for argument.

"Here," Jimin said simply. "One for you, one for me. Eat."

Minjeong blinked, glancing from the sandwich to Jimin. "I don’t need to be taken care of," she said with a scoff, leaning back as if to put some distance between herself and the sandwich.

Jimin’s face remained unreadable, but her unimpressed stare was as sharp as ever. Her voice, though quiet, carried undeniable authority. "Eat," she repeated, as if there was no other option.

Minjeong huffed, muttering under her breath, "I’ll eat it because I want to, not because I was told to." She grabbed the sandwich reluctantly, unwrapping it with exaggerated sluggishness to make a point. Jimin, for her part, didn’t respond. She simply watched, the corners of her lips twitching slightly, as if she was holding back a smile.

The first bite was small, almost defiant, but Minjeong quickly realized just how hungry she was. One bite turned into another, and before she knew it, she had devoured the entire thing. Jimin, still holding her own untouched sandwich, raised an eyebrow knowingly.

"Not hungry, eh?" Jimin teased, her tone light but edged with satisfaction.

Minjeong wiped her mouth with a napkin, shooting Jimin a glare. "Whatever," she muttered, though her face was slightly flushed—whether from embarrassment or something else, she wasn’t sure.

Jimin finally allowed herself a small smile as she unwrapped her own sandwich. "See? Not so bad letting someone take care of you once in a while."

Minjeong didn’t respond, choosing instead to look out the window. Minjeong’s fingers idly smoothing out its crumpled edges. The weight of Jimin’s gesture lingered in the air, and though she appreciated it, the discomfort gnawed at her. She hated this feeling—the sense of being cared for, of someone going out of their way for her. It felt like a privilege she hadn’t earned, one she didn’t deserve.

"I owe you a sandwich," Minjeong muttered, her voice low and almost defensive. She avoided Jimin’s gaze, focusing instead on the wrapper as if it held the answers to her unease. "I don’t like being a burden."

Jimin tilted her head slightly, her expression softening but not pitying. She didn’t press, didn’t ask why Minjeong felt that way. Instead, she let the silence settle for a moment before breaking it with a smirk.

"You owe me more than just a sandwich," Jimin said, her tone light and teasing. "I like to be treated right, you know."

Minjeong finally looked up, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile despite herself. Jimin’s attempt to make the moment less heavy worked, even if it didn’t erase the thoughts swirling in Minjeong’s mind. 

Beneath her quiet exterior, the weight of her thoughts clawed at her, each one heavier than the last. She didn’t say it, but deep down, being cared for felt like a constant battle—a slippery slope lined with guilt and self-doubt.

To anyone on the outside, Minjeong’s life looked like one held together by the steady hands of love and support. Her family opened their doors for her; her friends stood by her side, unwavering. She knew she was lucky— too lucky, even. But the truth was, she couldn’t silence the quiet voice in the back of her head, the one that asked cruelly, If you have all this, why do you still feel like this? What’s wrong with you?

That question circled her mind every time someone showed her kindness. Her sister’s warm words, Chaeyoung’s innocent reliance, Yizhuo’s teasing—all of it felt undeserved. Minjeong couldn’t help but think, I should be grateful. I should be happy. So why am I not? That guilt tangled with every act of care she received, making it feel less like a gift and more like a debt she could never repay.

Minjeong had spent so long running from those emotions, afraid to face what they might mean. She had convinced herself that being cared for was a privilege she couldn’t afford, because what could she possibly give in return? What did she have to offer that could match the love and support she was given? She felt like no matter how much she did—helping with Chaeyoung, putting in hours of studying, staying strong on the ice—none of it would ever be enough to balance the scales.

Worse yet, she feared that allowing herself to lean into that care would only end one way: the same as always, with her feeling ungrateful, overwhelmed, and ending the night sitting on the cold tiles of the washroom floor, biting her lip to keep from sobbing out loud. She hated that vulnerability in herself, the part of her that never seemed satisfied no matter how much others gave.

But she couldn’t tell Jimin any of this. For now, Minjeong focused on keeping her walls intact, even as Jimin’s quiet kindness chipped at their edges in ways Minjeong didn’t know how to handle. But somewhere, deep down, a small part of her wondered—maybe even hoped—what it might feel like to let them down, just for a moment. To let someone see her fully and still choose to stay.

However, the thought of exposing that part of herself—messy, tired, raw—felt unbearable. Not today, not right now. So instead, she let the moment pass in silence, masking her turmoil behind a wry smirk and an arched eyebrow. If Jimin noticed the cracks in her armor, she didn’t point them out.

Minjeong rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "Fine. I’ll treat you right," she said, her voice laced with mock exasperation. "But don’t expect me to make a habit of it."

Jimin chuckled softly, her smirk softening into a genuine smile. "I’ll take what I can get," she replied, unwrapping her own sandwich at last. The tension between them eased, replaced by a quiet understanding that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. For now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

As the soft hum of the library surrounded them, Minjeong leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head. Their books and notes sat untouched for the moment, the focused atmosphere giving way to an easier, lighter one. Jimin sipped her coffee, her gaze flicking to Minjeong as if considering her next words.

“You know,” Jimin began casually, setting her cup down, “I’ve never learned how to skate.”

Minjeong froze mid-stretch, blinking at Jimin in disbelief. “Wait. What?” she asked, her tone sharp with genuine shock. “You don’t know how to skate? You’re joking, right?”

Jimin shook her head, her lips quirking up in amusement at Minjeong’s reaction. “Nope. Never learned. Not even once.”

Minjeong gasped dramatically, her hands coming to rest on the table as she leaned forward. “That’s unacceptable. You have to try it. Everyone should experience skating at least once.”

The conviction in her voice pulled a chuckle from Jimin, but Minjeong wasn’t done. Her eyes glimmered with a rare spark as she continued, her hands punctuating her words. “Skating—it’s hard to explain,” she began, her tone thoughtful. “The cold air, the speed… there’s something about it. When I’m moving, when the blades cut through the ice, it’s like everything else fades. It’s just you and the glide. Every step feels like it melts away the weight you didn’t even realize you were carrying.”

Her gaze shifted, her voice growing quieter as if speaking more to herself than to Jimin. “And then there’s hockey.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table. “It’s loud, fast, chaotic. But sometimes… sometimes I need that. When I’m on the ice in a game, it’s like everything boiling inside me has somewhere to go. The frustration, the noise—it all comes out in every stride, every shot. And when things get rough…” Her lips quirked into a lopsided smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t mind a fight.”

She hesitated, letting the words settle as a small part of her wondered if she should stop there. But the truth had already bubbled to the surface, and once it did, she couldn’t suppress it. Sometimes I let them hit me. It’s not about winning, not really. It’s the only way to shake the storm in my head. That flash of pain—it’s sharp, grounding. For a second, there’s just silence. No noise, no expectations, no endless spiral of questions I can’t answer. Just clarity.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Wow, Minjeong, you talk about skating like it’s some peaceful, almost spiritual experience. And then hockey—you’re basically out there throwing punches and inviting people to clock you.”

Minjeong gave a short laugh, more a puff of air through her nose, and shook her head. “They don’t always land their hits,” she said, though her tone was more defensive than she intended. She looked down, absently twisting the thread on her sleeve. “But yeah… I guess it’s kind of both.”

“You’re like a walking contradiction,” Jimin teased, resting her chin in her hand as she studied Minjeong. “Serene glides on the ice one minute, ready to brawl the next. What’s that about?”

Minjeong shrugged, the corners of her mouth twitching downward. “It’s just how it is,” she muttered, deflecting. But even as the words left her lips, she felt the weight of the contrast Jimin pointed out. She couldn’t reconcile it herself, but somehow, the duality of it all felt true—peace and chaos, calm and fire. Maybe that was just who she was.

“Sure,” Jimin replied, though her knowing smile said she didn’t believe that for a second. She wasn’t about to press—she could tell Minjeong wasn’t used to opening up like this—but she couldn’t help but admire how alive Minjeong seemed in that moment.

Jimin watched her intently, her amusement fading into something warmer. She wasn’t sure what she enjoyed more: the way Minjeong’s eyes sparkled as she spoke or the unguarded smile that lingered, a stark contrast to her usual guarded demeanor.

“I can’t relate though,” Jimin added into the teasing, breaking the moment with a light laugh, “because I’m terrible at handling the cold. I’m more of a ‘stay inside with a blanket and tea’ kind of person.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “That’s such a waste. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Jimin’s smirk widened slightly. “Maybe. But I’m enjoying this.” She gestured subtly toward Minjeong. “You get this... look when you talk about skating. Like it’s your favorite place in the world.”

Minjeong blinked, caught off guard by the observation. Her grin faltered for a moment before she quickly masked it with a shrug. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Sure, it’s not,” Jimin replied lightly, but the knowing glint in her eyes said otherwise.

“You should come to practice tonight,” she said suddenly, her tone casual but laced with excitement. “It’s usually pretty chill. We scrimmage, fool around a bit... Honestly, I think it’s just an excuse for the guys to hog the rink for themselves—it’s their form of stress relief.” She glanced at Jimin, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then, afterward, I’ll teach you how to skate.”

Jimin hesitated, her brows furrowing as she considered the offer. “I don’t know... I don’t want to intrude,” she said, her tone measured. “And teaching someone sounds like a lot of work. You already have enough on your plate.”

Minjeong waved off her concerns with a scoff. “You’re not intruding. It’s not that serious; it’s just practice. And besides,” she added, already pulling out her phone and typing a message, “teaching you will be fun. You’ll see.”

“What are you doing?” Jimin asked, leaning forward slightly to peek at Minjeong’s screen.

“Texting Sungchan to grab a pair of skates for you,” Minjeong replied nonchalantly, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She smirked to herself, knowing Sungchan would come through. After all, the guy was notorious for always having a spare pair of women’s skates—his go-to prop for impressing dates at the rink.

Jimin’s jaw dropped slightly. “You’re really doing this,” she muttered, incredulous.

“Yup,” Minjeong said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. She set her phone down and grinned at Jimin. “You’re not getting out of this.”

“What if the size doesn’t fit?” Jimin countered, still trying to find a way out of this increasingly inevitable situation.

Minjeong smirked, leaning forward with a playful glint in her eye. “I’m sure it’ll fit. Every women’s shoe size is basically the same.”

Jimin’s lips parted slightly, her brows furrowing as she let out a soft huff. “You sound like you’ve had a lot of experience with this,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Knowing women’s shoe sizes and all…”

Minjeong laughed, the sound light and unbothered. “I am a woman, you know,” she replied, leaning back with a smug grin, clearly enjoying Jimin’s reaction.

Jimin rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with exasperation. “You know what I mean,” she shot back, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

Minjeong’s grin widened, her voice teasing as she leaned forward slightly. “Maybe I do. But you’re still coming, so buckle up, Madam President.”

Jimin rolled her eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Fine,” she relented with mock exasperation. “But if I fall on my face, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll catch you,” Minjeong quipped, her grin widening as she stood to pack up her things. “But only if you admit I’m the best skating coach you’ll ever have.”

Jimin shook her head with a laugh, standing to follow. “I’m already regretting this.”

Minjeong glanced back, her expression softening slightly as she met Jimin’s gaze. “You won’t,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less certain. Jimin didn’t respond, but the unspoken warmth between them lingered as they headed out of the library together. Minjeong couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anticipation for the night ahead—it wasn’t just about skating anymore. It was about sharing something she loved with someone who, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she wanted to let in.

Jimin hesitated as she stepped into the arena, her nerves evident in the way she fiddled with the strap of her bag. She wasn’t ready to meet the faces of the hockey team, feeling like she was barging into their sacred space. She glanced at Minjeong, who strode ahead with her usual air of nonchalance, her hockey bag slung over one shoulder. There was a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of Minjeong’s lips, a glint in her eye that made Jimin’s nerves spike further. She wasn’t used to being on uneven ground—this wasn’t her element.

Without warning, Minjeong clapped her hands together sharply, drawing the attention of the entire team. “Alright, boys,” she announced, her voice ringing through the rink with a cold confidence that demanded attention. “We’ve got a newbie joining us tonight.”

The team froze, their collective shock tangible. Minjeong rarely initiated anything beyond the bare minimum during practice—seeing her take charge was an unexpected twist. But as soon as their eyes landed on Jimin, recognition dawned, followed by murmurs of excitement. After all, who could say no to Yu Jimin, the student body president—practically the epitome of perfection, from brains to beauty?

Though Minjeong wasn’t officially the team captain, the respect she commanded was absolute. The way she moved, spoke, and carried herself established her as a pseudo-leader—someone whose authority was never questioned. Her word was as good as law, and no one dared to challenge her suggestion.

“All good?” Minjeong asked, her sharp gaze sweeping over the team. There was no hesitation in their response.

“Yeah, all good!” one of the guys called, while others nodded enthusiastically.

Grins spread across the team as they began to shed most of their gear, transforming the practice session from a serious scrimmage into something more relaxed. “We’ll just do a casual skate tonight,” Sungchan announced, clearly aiming to put Jimin at ease.

Jimin felt her cheeks heat up, embarrassed that they were adjusting the night to accommodate her lack of experience. “Oh no, you really don’t have to—”

“No, it’ll be fun!” the chorus came in unison, loud and reassuring, making Jimin turn an even brighter shade of red. From the corner of her eye, she caught Minjeong flashing her a subtle smirk, her arms crossed as she leaned against the boards. The quiet, knowing glance Minjeong exchanged with the team didn’t go unnoticed. It was clear she had wordlessly told them to keep the energy encouraging—and no one wanted to let her down.

Soon, Minjeong took charge of preparing Jimin for the ice. She grabbed a few pieces of gear—elbow pads, knee pads, even a helmet—and secured each piece on Jimin with careful precision. “You’re going to need this,” Minjeong said, strapping the helmet under Jimin’s chin, her hands lingering just long enough to adjust it properly.

Jimin couldn’t help but notice how Minjeong, despite her smaller build, managed to exude a natural confidence as she worked. The safety gear practically engulfed her, making Jimin look comically over-prepared, but Minjeong didn’t seem to mind.

The final touch was Minjeong’s jersey, which she draped over Jimin with a slight grin. “There,” Minjeong said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Now you look like you belong.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow at the slightly oversized jersey but didn’t protest. However, she couldn’t stop her heart from skipping a beat when Minjeong knelt in front of her to help tie the laces of her skates. The motion was casual, efficient, but something about it made Jimin feel oddly... cared for.

“Alright,” Minjeong said, standing up and clapping her hands again. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Jimin wobbled as she stepped onto the ice, gripping the boards tightly for support. The guys surrounded her almost immediately, forming a loose circle as they cheered her on. Their energy was infectious, and despite her nerves, Jimin found herself laughing as she pushed off hesitantly. To her surprise, the encouragement seemed to work—she learned quickly, her movements becoming steadier with each stride.

It didn’t take long before she gained enough confidence to skate a little further without Minjeong’s support. She grinned triumphantly at the small victory, only to yelp in surprise as her balance gave out, sending her tumbling onto the ice with a soft thud.

The guys rushed toward her instinctively, ready to help, but one glance from Minjeong froze them in their tracks. Without saying a word, Minjeong skated over, her presence commanding enough to make the team back off and give them space.

Minjeong crouched beside Jimin, her expression calm but tinged with amusement. “Not bad for your first fall,” she said, holding out a hand to help Jimin up.

Jimin sighed, letting Minjeong pull her to her feet. “I’m starting to think you enjoy watching me struggle.”

Minjeong smirked, brushing imaginary dust off Jimin’s jersey. “Maybe. But you’re doing better than I expected.” She turned to glance back at the team, her sharp gaze enough to keep them at bay. “Alright, let’s keep going. You’re not done yet, President.”

Jimin couldn’t help but laugh, despite herself. For once, she didn’t mind feeling like she was out of her element—not when Minjeong was there, steady and unshakable, to guide her through it.

The skating session wrapped up with a chorus of cheers and invitations from the hockey team for Jimin to come again. Their enthusiasm flustered her, her cheeks turning pink as she tried to wave off their kindness. “I-I’ll think about it,” Jimin stammered, her usually composed demeanor cracking under the weight of their friendly persistence.

Minjeong stood off to the side, her arms crossed and a wide grin spreading across her face. She laughed at Jimin’s response, clearly amused. “Look at you, stealing the spotlight already. Who knew you’d be the team’s favorite after one session?”

Jimin groaned softly, nudging Minjeong’s shoulder as they walked out of the arena together. The cool night air greeted them, crisp and refreshing after the energy of the rink.

“It was fun, right?” Minjeong asked, her voice light as she tilted her head up to admire the clear sky. There was something peaceful about the quiet moments after practice, the contrast to the chaos on the ice.

Jimin glanced at her, the corners of her lips quirking up. “Yeah,” she admitted, nudging Minjeong’s shoulder again, softer this time. “It was fun.”

As they approached the parking lot, Jimin pulled out her car keys, offering Minjeong a ride to Yizhuo’s apartment. “Come on, I’ll drop you off. It’s late.”

Minjeong nodded, adjusting her hockey bag as she followed. Jimin, distracted, finally glanced at her phone for the first time all day. Her footsteps slowed, her brows furrowing as her expression shifted from relaxed to worried. Then her eyes widened, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks.

“What’s wrong?” Minjeong asked, noticing the immediate change in Jimin’s demeanor.

Jimin cursed softly under her breath, her fingers moving quickly to unlock her phone. “I was supposed to meet Ryujin for dinner tonight,” she muttered, regret clear in her voice as she fired off a rapid apology text. “I can’t believe I forgot…”

The name hit Minjeong like a puck to the chest. Ryujin. Her throat tightened instinctively as the memory resurfaced. Ryujin. Of all people. The hockey game. The fight. Ryujin had landed hit after hit with precision and fury, while Minjeong had taken it all, letting her body absorb the force as a distraction from her own racing mind. 

Her gaze flicked back to Jimin, whose panicked expression as she stared at her phone told Minjeong all she needed to know. Ryujin wasn’t just another name. She wasn’t just some wrong-place-wrong-time fight Minjeong had walked into. Ryujin was important—to Jimin. That much was clear.

“Oh,” Minjeong said finally, her voice quieter now. “That’s my fault. I distracted you.”

“No, it’s not—” Jimin started, but Minjeong cut her off with a dismissive wave.

“Go,” Minjeong said firmly, motioning toward Jimin’s car. “Go to Ryujin. I can get to Yizhuo’s on my own. I’ve done it a million times.”

Jimin hesitated, clearly torn. “But—”

“Seriously,” Minjeong interrupted, nudging her gently toward the parking lot. “I’ll text you once I get to Yizhuo’s, if that makes you feel better. But missing this dinner and not even showing up to apologize? How dare you, Yu Jimin,” she teased, forcing a playful smirk onto her lips.

Jimin didn’t think it was a laughing matter—not even close. How could she have completely forgotten about Ryujin? And yet, the answer was standing right in front of her. With a dumb, lopsided grin and hair sticking out in all directions, Minjeong was the reason. Whether it was the way she commanded the rink with quiet authority or the ridiculous effort she’d put into strapping Jimin into oversized safety gear, she had managed to occupy every corner of Jimin’s attention without even trying.

Jimin sighed, shaking her head. “Text me as soon as you get there,” she insisted, pointing a finger at Minjeong.

“I promise,” Minjeong replied, her tone light but sincere. Minjeong gave her a playful wave. “Drive safe, Madam President!”

Jimin rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t have time to figure out what it was about Minjeong that made her lose track of everything else. Right now, she has dinner to fix, and Minjeong—well, Jimin will figure that out later.

Jimin parked her car outside the cozy corner café where she was supposed to meet Ryujin hours ago. Her heart sank a little when she saw the dimly lit interior; most of the tables were empty, and the staff were tidying up for the night. The lively chatter and clinking of cutlery from earlier had faded, replaced by the quiet hum of closing time.

She stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on Ryujin. The girl was easy to spot, seated by the window with one arm draped casually over the back of the booth. Her phone rested on the table, untouched, and the coffee in front of her had likely gone cold. Ryujin’s usual relaxed confidence was still intact, but the way her unfocused gaze out the window betrayed her disappointment.

Jimin approached cautiously. Ryujin’s eyes flicked up when she heard the sound, and Jimin braced herself for the icy glare she was sure would follow. Instead, Ryujin leaned back in the booth, crossing her arms with an unimpressed look that had just the faintest hint of amusement.

“You’re late,” Ryujin said, her voice calm but with an edge that Jimin couldn’t ignore.

Jimin winced, sliding into the seat across from her. “I know. I’m so sorry, Ryujin. I completely lost track of time.”

Ryujin raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with the excuse. “You? Lose track of time? Yu Jimin, the queen of schedules and perfect punctuality?” She leaned forward slightly, her tone dripping with mock disbelief. “What was so important that you forgot about me ?”

Jimin opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Her mind unhelpfully conjured up the image of Minjeong tying her skate laces earlier, her amber hair messily tucked behind her ears and that stupid, confident smirk on her face.

Jimin exhaled slowly, her hands clasping together nervously on the table. “I got caught up with something,” she began, keeping her tone neutral, though the guilt still lingered.

Ryujin leaned back slightly, her gaze steady but tinged with something softer, almost vulnerable. “Something important, I’m guessing,” she said, her voice light but carrying an undertone Jimin couldn’t quite pin down.

Jimin hesitated, unsure how to respond. She could feel Ryujin waiting for her to say more but not pushing. That restraint was what made it harder—the quiet understanding that Ryujin always seemed to offer, even when Jimin let her down.

Ryujin let out a soft breath, her fingers drumming absently against the edge of the table. “Look, I’m not trying to make this a big deal,” she said carefully. “But honestly, it’s hard not to feel like I’m… an afterthought sometimes.” Her voice softened on the last few words, as if saying them out loud felt heavier than she expected.

Jimin winced at the words. She knew Ryujin wasn’t accusing her outright, but the weight of them still settled heavily on her. “It’s not like that,” she said carefully, her voice quiet. She paused, choosing her words with caution. “You mean a lot to me, Ryujin. You always have.” She hesitated before adding, “But I’m still figuring out what that looks like.”

Ryujin tilted her head slightly, studying her with an unreadable expression before a small, almost wry smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I get it.” Her gaze drifted momentarily toward the window, the hurt still lingering beneath her usual calm. “But next time, just… let me know, okay? Even if it’s just a quick text. I’d rather hear about it than feel like I’m out of the loop.”

Jimin nodded, relief and guilt swirling in equal measure. “I will,” she promised, meaning it. “I’m sorry.”

Ryujin turned back to her, the faintest trace of her usual confidence returning. “Don’t worry about it,” she said lightly, though the undercurrent of vulnerability still lingered. “I guess I’m just greedy for your time.”

Jimin couldn’t help but smile, though it was tinged with the weight of unspoken feelings. For now, she told herself, it was enough to let Ryujin know she mattered—even if she didn’t have all the answers yet.

“I mean it. I’ll make it up to you.”, Jimin said earnestly, her voice softening.

Ryujin’s lips quirked upward into a small, wry smile. “You’d better,” she said, her tone teasing but still holding a trace of vulnerability. After a brief pause, she added, “I’m being patient here, Jimin. But you have to meet me halfway.”

Jimin nodded, guilt swimming in her chest. She reached across the table, hesitating for a moment before resting her hand lightly on Ryujin’s. “I will.”

Ryujin’s gaze softened at the gesture, though a shadow of doubt lingered in her expression. “Alright,” she said after a beat. “Then let’s start with dessert. Your treat.”

“Done,” Jimin said immediately, a relieved smile breaking through. She flagged down the server, eager to take any step toward smoothing things over.

As the server walked away with their order, Ryujin tilted her head again, her sharp gaze returning.

Jimin couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as Ryujin leaned back, her sharp gaze still lingering after the server left. “What now? You’re not going to hold this over my head forever, are you?” she asked, trying to keep the mood light but bracing herself for Ryujin’s response.

Ryujin tilted her head, feigning consideration. “Hmm, tempting,” she said, her voice teasing. But then her expression softened, the guarded playfulness in her eyes easing just a little. “Nah. I figure I get enough entertainment watching you squirm.”

Jimin rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Ryujin shot back with a smirk, “you still keep me around. Makes you wonder, huh?”

Jimin didn’t respond right away, the playful banter tapering off into a moment of quiet between them. She toyed with the edge of her napkin, her thoughts momentarily wandering. Ryujin had always been the constant in her life, from scraped knees on playgrounds to late-night heart-to-hearts she couldn’t have with anyone else. Even now, with their relationship shifting into something undefined, Ryujin was still steady, still here.

That thought both comforted and unsettled her.

The server returned with their dessert—a rich slice of cheesecake topped with fresh berries—and set it down between them. Ryujin raised an eyebrow and picked up her fork, slicing off a small bite. “Alright, let’s see if this is any good,” she said, her tone casual, though her focus remained on Jimin.

Jimin reached for her own fork, glancing up to meet Ryujin’s gaze. She hesitated for a moment, then broke the silence. “Ryujin… you know I care about you, right?” The words came out softer than she intended, but she didn’t look away.

Ryujin paused mid-bite, her fork hovering above the plate. Her usual confidence flickered, replaced by something gentler, more cautious. “I know,” she said quietly. “I just don’t always know what that means. For us.”

Jimin bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly regretting opening this door. She sighed, lowering her fork to the table. “I’m still figuring it out,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to lose… this. You. Whatever this is.”

Ryujin set her fork down as well, leaning forward slightly. There was no teasing in her expression now, only honesty. “You’re not going to lose me, Jimin,” she said. “But if we’re going to keep this… whatever this is, we have to be honest with each other. Even if it’s messy.”

Jimin nodded, her chest tightening with both relief and a hint of unease. “Okay,” she said finally. “Honest. Got it.”

Ryujin’s lips curved into a small smile, and she picked up her fork again. “Good. Now eat your half of the cheesecake before I decide to take that too.”

The tension broke as Jimin let out a laugh, grateful for the way Ryujin always seemed to know when to lighten the mood. She picked up her fork, determined to enjoy the rest of the evening—and to keep figuring out, step by step, what “this” meant for them.

The glow of her phone screen lit up the table for the third time, the unknown number catching Jimin’s eye like a flicker of light in the corner of her vision. Her fingers itched to pick it up, a nagging anticipation building in her chest. She tried to ignore it, tried to focus on Ryujin’s voice as her friend recounted something about her day. But the pull was strong, far stronger than she wanted to admit.

Jimin darted another quick glance at her phone, and the motion wasn’t subtle enough. Ryujin sighed quietly, setting her fork down with deliberate care. Her gaze, usually light and teasing, had sharpened with an edge of tension. The silence that followed was brief but heavy.

“You keep looking at your phone,” Ryujin said evenly, though her tone carried the slightest tremor of uncertainty. “Who is it?”

The question hung in the air, and Jimin hesitated. She didn’t know how to answer without making it worse. The truth was, her mind had been preoccupied all night—and it wasn’t with Ryujin. Guilt settled heavily in her chest, but she couldn’t stop herself from clearing her throat and reaching for her phone.

“It’s nothing,” Jimin said quickly, though her heartbeat betrayed her as it hammered in her ears. She unlocked her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the message.

Hey, I realized I didn’t have your number. Yizhuo wouldn’t give it to me at first. Let’s just say I had to beg. The next line came with an undertone Jimin could easily picture Minjeong delivering with a straight face: Apparently, I was ‘too eager.’

Jimin couldn’t help it—her lips twitched upward, a small smile breaking through before she could stop it. The thought of Minjeong, stubborn and probably annoyed as she tried to wrestle her number from a teasing Yizhuo, was far too amusing. Quickly, she saved the number with a nickname: Brooding Hockey Coach.

“What’s so funny?” Ryujin’s voice cut through the moment like a sharp blade, her gaze narrowing on Jimin’s barely-contained expression.

“Nothing,” Jimin said again, far too quickly, as she typed out a reply: Guess Yizhuo likes to keep me exclusive. Don’t worry, you’ve earned it. :)

Ryujin’s eyes flickered toward Jimin’s phone again, her jaw tightened briefly, but she masked it with a long exhale, leaning back into her seat with her arms loosely crossed. She wasn’t upset—at least, not outwardly—but she had known Jimin long enough to notice when her attention was divided.

A soft buzz shook the table again, and Jimin’s grip on her phone tightened instinctively. Ryujin’s gaze lingered, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, though she said nothing. The unspoken weight of her scrutiny pressed down on Jimin, amplifying the nagging guilt in her chest.

The message lit up her screen, and Jimin quickly glanced down:

Also… I’m safe…safe-ish. Though Yizhuo made sure to remind me 500 times to text you. Consider this my final act of obedience for the night.

Jimin’s lips twitched, the corners curving upward before she could stop herself. She could practically hear Minjeong’s dry, matter-of-fact tone in those words, and the image of her wrestling Jimin’s number from Yizhuo’s grasp only added to the humor. The laugh that escaped her started softly, bubbling up despite her efforts to suppress it.

“Right.” Ryujin’s voice sliced through the moment, calm yet undeniably sharp. “Nothing’s funny.”

Jimin froze, her amusement evaporating as she looked up to meet Ryujin’s gaze. The tension in the air shifted, weighted and fragile. “It’s not like that,” Jimin said softly, setting her phone down as if the gesture alone could ease Ryujin’s unease. “It’s just Minjeong letting me know she’s safe.”

Ryujin stilled, the name landing heavier than Jimin had anticipated. Her expression didn’t change much, but there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, subtle yet impossible to miss. Her fingers tapped against the table once before stopping entirely. “Minjeong,” she said slowly, her tone carefully neutral. “She’s the one from… that hockey game, isn’t she?”

Jimin’s throat tightened. She knew better than to lie—it was no use denying the obvious. “Yeah,” she admitted, keeping her tone light, though her heart raced. “She’s a friend.”

Ryujin’s lips pressed into a thin line, her usual composure faltering ever so slightly. “A friend,” she repeated, her voice calm but carrying a faint edge. The name alone seemed to stir something in her, an echo of a memory she wasn’t quite ready to relive. “Well, she seems... persistent,” Ryujin said lightly, though her tone carried an edge that Jimin couldn’t quite decipher. “I guess that’s something to admire.”

Jimin winced, the guilt swirling higher. “That wasn’t—” she started, but stopped herself. Her fingers hovered over her phone again, her gaze flicking to the screen just in time to catch Minjeong’s follow-up message:

Did I interrupt your big, important dinner? Tell your friend I said hi. Or don’t. Your call.

Jimin shook her head, a quiet mix of fondness and exasperation bubbling to the surface. Her fingers moved quickly as she typed out a response:

Interrupt? No. Distract? Absolutely. Tell Yizhuo thanks for keeping you alive long enough to text me.

As soon as she hit send, Jimin glanced up to find Ryujin watching her with an unreadable expression. The silence stretched between them, weighted with unspoken thoughts. “Sorry,” Jimin murmured, guilt flickering in her voice. “I’ll put my phone away now.”

Ryujin’s expression remained steady, but there was something guarded in her gaze. Finally, she nodded, letting out a long exhale. “Good,” she said lightly, though her tone carried a faint edge. “I was about to confiscate it anyway.”

Jimin offered a small, sheepish smile but didn’t reach for her phone again, the tension between them lingering like a shadow.

Ryujin tapped a finger idly against her coffee cup, her expression unreadable as she broke the silence. “So, how’d you end up getting close with Minjeong, anyway? I thought I’d seen everyone you call a friend at least once.”

Jimin hesitated, suddenly hyperaware of how long it had taken her to answer. “Oh, um, she works at the same hospital as me,” she said, keeping her tone casual. “It’s not like I sought her out or anything—we just kept bumping into each other. You know, the cafeteria, the hallways... kind of inevitable after a while.”

Ryujin nodded slowly, her eyes flickering with curiosity. “And now you’re texting her late at night? Sounds like you’ve been bumping into her a lot more than usual.”

Jimin let out a soft laugh, though it felt a little forced even to her own ears. “I guess so,” she admitted, toying with the edge of her napkin. “Her best friend is mutuals with Aeri, so we all ended up in the same circles eventually. It just... kind of happened.”

Ryujin hummed in response, her gaze lingering on Jimin a moment longer before she asked, “Was she with you earlier?”

Jimin stiffened slightly at the question, her mind flitting back to the soft crunch of skates on ice and the warmth of Minjeong’s rare, genuine laughter. “Yeah,” she said after a pause, nodding slowly. “She was.”

“And?” Ryujin pressed, though her tone remained calm, her curiosity seemingly casual.

“And nothing,” Jimin said with a quick shake of her head. “We just... hung out for a bit.” She didn’t elaborate, carefully leaving out the details of the skating lesson. Something about the memory felt too private to share, especially with Ryujin.

Ryujin didn’t push further, but her thoughts stirred as she picked up her fresh coffee cup, the warmth grounding her as she processed. For years, she’d known how to navigate Jimin’s priorities—school, career, everything that had come before anyone else, even herself. When Ryujin had confessed her feelings years ago, she’d done so without expecting anything, fully aware of Jimin’s cautious nature. She’d told herself she could be patient, that her friendship with Jimin was enough. And it had been, for the most part.

But now, watching Jimin’s subtle, almost unconscious reaction to Minjeong—a small smile, a quiet laugh at a simple text—Ryujin felt something twist uncomfortably in her chest. It wasn’t the kind of attention she’d ever seen Jimin give someone else, not even her. There was a liveliness there, an energy that seemed to stir awake only in Minjeong’s presence. And it didn’t sit well with Ryujin.

She set her coffee cup down with a soft clink, her expression smoothing into careful neutrality. “Look,” she began, her voice calm but deliberate. “I’m glad you’re making new friends. Really, I am. But just... don’t let this turn into a distraction, okay? You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. I’d hate to see you lose focus now.”

Jimin blinked, startled by the words and the undercurrent they carried. “It’s not a distraction,” she said quickly, though the defensiveness in her tone surprised even herself. “She’s just... a friend.”

Ryujin raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “If you say so,” she said lightly, though the words lingered in the air between them. After a moment, she leaned back in her seat, her expression softening slightly. “I just want what’s best for you, Jimin. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Jimin murmured, but even as she spoke, her thoughts wandered. The word “distraction” nagged at her, pulling a quiet, ironic smile to her lips despite herself. Ryujin talking about distractions—well, wasn’t that rich? Ryujin had, in an indirect and messy way, been the one to pull them into the same orbit. If Ryujin hadn’t let her temper flare at the hockey rink that day, Jimin probably wouldn’t have crossed paths with Minjeong beyond polite nods in passing.

The resurfaced memory still made her cringe—Ryujin’s frustration boiling over, her voice sharp and cutting as she squared off with Minjeong at the rink. It had escalated so quickly, too quickly, and Ryujin’s fist had connected with Minjeong’s shoulder. The sound of the impact echoed in the cold air, sharp and jarring.

What unsettled Jimin the most wasn’t the punch itself, but the way Minjeong had just... stood there. Silent. Unflinching. She hadn’t fought back, hadn’t even raised her voice. She’d simply taken the hit, her expression unreadable, as if she were letting Ryujin’s anger wash over her without resistance. It was that quiet, stubborn defiance that had made Jimin’s stomach twist with secondhand embarrassment. She’d felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she rushed to pull Ryujin back, her voice stumbling over apologies that felt inadequate.

Afterward, Jimin had stayed behind, awkwardly trying to patch things up with Minjeong. Minjeong had shrugged, brushing off the apology. But there had been something in her eyes—something quiet and guarded—that made Jimin pause. 

She’d assumed that would be the end of it. But after that day, she and Minjeong kept bumping into each other—at the hospital, at mutual gatherings, even in the most unexpected places. Those fleeting encounters, once incidental, slowly turned into something else. Conversations grew longer, smiles came easier, and before Jimin realized it, Minjeong had become a fixture in her life.

It was strange how life worked sometimes, bringing people together in ways no one anticipated.

The irony wasn’t lost on her now, sitting across from Ryujin as she talked about distractions, oblivious to the part she’d played in drawing Minjeong closer into Jimin’s life.

Chapter Text

Minjeong leaned against the edge of Yizhuo’s desk, arms crossed and a scowl firmly etched on her face. “Just give me her number,” she said, her tone bordering on exasperation.

Yizhuo, seated comfortably in her chair, spun lazily from side to side, a teasing grin plastered across her face. “And why, exactly, are you so eager to get Jimin’s number?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock curiosity. “You’ve never been this desperate for anyone’s contact info before. What’s the deal?”

Minjeong groaned, running a hand through her already messy hair. “It’s not a big deal,” she muttered, though the faint flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “I just... I want to tell her that I’m safe, okay?”

Yizhuo raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. “Safe? From what? Me?” She gestured dramatically to herself, holding the phone just out of reach. “Because let’s be real, you’re not exactly safe from my teasing right now.”

Minjeong lunged for the phone, her movements quick but not quick enough. Yizhuo, ever the slippery one, dodged to the side with a laugh, spinning her chair away as Minjeong scrambled to grab it.

“Yizhuo, I swear—” Minjeong growled, voice low and threatening, though her increasingly flushed face did little to sell the intimidation.

“What’s the magic word?” Yizhuo taunted, leaning back dramatically in her chair as if to savor her victory.

Minjeong groaned, slumping back against the desk in defeat. “You’re impossible,” she muttered darkly.

“Fine, fine.” Yizhuo grinned, holding up her hands as if in surrender. “But you’re going to have to work for it. Beg.”

Minjeong shot her a withering look. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Yizhuo replied, her expression smug. “You want it that badly, you’ve gotta prove it.”

The sigh that escaped Minjeong could’ve moved mountains. After a long moment of stewing, she clasped her hands together in an exaggerated pleading gesture. “Please, oh great and powerful Yizhuo,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Grant me the sacred digits of Yu Jimin.”

Yizhuo laughed so hard she nearly tipped her chair over. “Alright, alright,” she said between giggles. “That was pathetic enough to deserve a reward.”

As Yizhuo tapped the number into her phone and hit send, her grin only widened at the way Minjeong snatched her own phone the moment it buzzed. “You’re hopeless,” Yizhuo said with a shake of her head. “But at least you’re entertaining.”

“Thanks,” Minjeong muttered dryly, already pulling up Jimin’s contact. She glanced at her phone, unsure what to write, when Yizhuo leaned forward again, her grin somehow still managing to grow.

“So she was with you, huh? The whole night?” Yizhuo asked with barely concealed glee.

Minjeong froze mid-gesture, her lips tightening ever so slightly. “What’s it to you?”

“Oh my god.” Yizhuo practically bounced in her seat. “She was with you. And during hockey practice, too? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Minjeong grumbled, but Yizhuo was already gleefully unraveling her thread of denial.

“Was she just hanging out, or was she, like, skating or something?” Yizhuo pressed.

Minjeong sighed heavily. “She was trying to skate, okay? I might’ve... helped a little.”

Yizhuo’s mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. “Kim Minjeong, personal skating coach? That is adorable. ”

“It’s not like that,” Minjeong growled, though the flush on her cheeks deepened. “She’s learning. That’s it.”

Yizhuo leaned back in her chair, arms crossed and smirking like the Cheshire Cat. “Right, right. Just learning. Totally normal. No big deal.”

Minjeong threw a throw pillow at her, watching in frustration as Yizhuo ducked and laughed even harder. She shook her head, focusing on her phone as she finally typed out a quick message to Jimin. Despite herself, a small smile tugged at her lips when Jimin’s response buzzed back almost immediately.

“Look at you,” Yizhuo teased, leaning over the armrest of her chair. “All smiles now. I should’ve recorded this.”

“Can you not ?” Minjeong snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite. She tossed her phone onto the couch, covering her face with her hands as she groaned. “Why am I friends with you?”

“Because I’m fun,” Yizhuo chirped, undeterred. “And you, my dear, are a disaster.”

Minjeong peeked at Yizhuo through her fingers, scowling despite the faint smile threatening to tug at her lips. “You’re lucky I tolerate you.”

“Lucky me,” Yizhuo shot back with a grin, tossing her pillow back toward Minjeong as her laughter echoed through the room.

The apartment was quiet, the muffled hum of traffic outside the only sign that the world was still moving. Minjeong stretched out on Yizhuo’s couch, staring at the ceiling as the events of the day played over in her mind like a film reel stuck on repeat. Sleep didn’t seem to be an option tonight, not with everything swirling in her head.

Her fingers toyed absentmindedly with a loose thread on the cushion beneath her. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had long days before. Hockey practice, school, the occasional late-night hangouts—none of that was new. But today had been... different. And the reason for that difference was Yu Jimin.

Minjeong sighed, shifting slightly as she felt a strange mix of exhaustion and restlessness settle into her bones. She hadn’t expected Jimin to leave such an impression, especially not this quickly. But as she lay there in the quiet of the night, she couldn’t deny that her thoughts kept circling back to the student body president.

It wasn’t like her to dwell on someone this much, to let her mind wander to the little things—Jimin’s exasperated look when Minjeong refused to eat real food, the way her guarded exterior softened, just slightly, when Minjeong helped her lace up her skates. There had been something... comfortable about it all. No guilt, no nagging sense of imbalance, just an easy rhythm they had fallen into without even realizing it.

Minjeong couldn’t remember the last time she felt that way with someone. Most of her relationships—friends, family, even teammates—came with a sense of responsibility that weighed on her. She always felt like she owed people something, like she had to prove her worth or make up for the ways she thought she fell short. But with Jimin, it had been different. Effortless, almost.

The memory of Jimin pressing a sandwich into her hands earlier flickered to the forefront of her mind, followed by the image of her cautious but determined attempts to glide across the ice. For every moment Jimin had taken care of her, Minjeong had returned the favor in some small way- or big way since Minjeong decided to teach Jimin how to skate. It wasn’t one-sided, wasn’t weighed down by expectations or burdens. It just... was.

A faint smile tugged at her lips as she thought about their dynamic, the quiet balance that had somehow formed between them. Jimin, with her warm concern and subtle care, had coaxed something out of Minjeong that she hadn’t realized she’d been missing—a sense of ease, of not having to overthink every interaction. And in turn, Minjeong had found herself wanting to reciprocate, to make Jimin feel just as steady as Jimin had made her feel.

Her phone buzzed quietly on the coffee table, breaking the stillness for a moment. Minjeong glanced at the screen, her heart skipping just slightly when she saw Jimin’s name. She reached for it, her fingers lingering over the message for a moment before opening it.

Still awake? Hope Yizhuo isn’t making your life miserable.

Minjeong let out a soft huff of laughter, her earlier restlessness easing as she typed back: Barely surviving. But I’m sure you’ll hear all about it from her anyway.

She set the phone down, her smile lingering as she stared at the faint glow of the screen. For now, things felt... right. And as much as her mind tried to overanalyze, to pick apart what exactly was forming between her and Jimin, she decided to let it be. At least for tonight. Maybe, just maybe, this was something worth exploring. Something that didn’t need to be defined just yet.

Minjeong’s phone buzzed again, breaking the brief stillness she had settled into. She raised an eyebrow, glancing at the screen to see another message from Jimin:

Yizhuo always has stories. Should I be worried about what she’s saying about me?

The faint smile tugged at Minjeong’s lips again. She could practically picture the subtle tilt of Jimin’s head and the slight crease in her brow as she typed that message. Without hesitation, she tapped out a reply:

If I told you, it’d ruin the fun. But I’ll give you a hint: she’s not holding back.

Setting the phone back on the table, Minjeong sighed softly and let her head fall against the couch cushion. Moments like this—simple, easy exchanges with no hidden expectations—felt rare in her life. For someone like Minjeong, who had grown so accustomed to carrying the weight of unspoken obligations, this kind of connection felt almost foreign.

The door to Yizhuo’s room creaked open, interrupting her thoughts. Yizhuo emerged with her hair a messy halo around her head. She leaned against the doorframe, squinting at Minjeong like she’d caught her in the middle of something.

“You’re still up?” Yizhuo asked, her voice groggy but laced with curiosity.

Minjeong shrugged, keeping her face neutral. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Uh-huh.” Yizhuo crossed her arms, her sharp gaze narrowing slightly. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with all the texting you’re doing, would it?”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, but the faint flush creeping up her neck gave her away. “Go back to bed,” she muttered, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it at Yizhuo.

Yizhuo caught the pillow with a laugh, her grin widening. “You’re so bad at hiding things, you know that?” she teased, tossing the pillow back onto the couch. “But hey, don’t let me interrupt your cute little texting session. Just make sure you actually sleep at some point.”

Minjeong muttered something unintelligible under her breath, refusing to look at Yizhuo as she shuffled back into her room. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Minjeong alone with her thoughts once more.

She glanced back at her phone, her eyes lingering on Jimin’s name in the message thread. For a moment, she debated whether to send another message—something light, something teasing, anything to keep the conversation going. But instead, she set the phone down again and let her head fall back against the cushion.

Tomorrow, she thought. She’d figure out what to say tomorrow.

For now, the quiet hum of the city outside lulled her back into a calm she hadn’t felt in a while, her mind finally starting to slow. And for the first time in what felt like ages, Minjeong let herself breathe.

Minjeong’s text the next morning, meant only as a casual response to Jimin’s lighthearted message, inadvertently became the start of a steady thread of communication between them. Over time, their messages turned into a fixture in Minjeong’s day, punctuating the monotony of her rigorous routine as a med student.

Jimin, with her warm but teasing messages, brought a sense of levity to Minjeong’s otherwise relentless schedule. Even the simplest interactions, like a quick exchange about cafeteria coffee being “unfit for human consumption,” sparked a smile that Minjeong didn’t realize she needed.

Whether it was encouraging her to finally eat a proper meal instead of a bag of chips, checking in after late-night study sessions, or simply sharing a dumb meme to lighten the mood, Jimin’s thoughtful gestures became a constant that Minjeong found herself relying on. 

Despite how often their routines revolved around long hours and endless responsibilities, they found themselves making time for each other. 

The warm hum of conversation surrounded Jimin as she lingered with her usual group after class. Yeji and Jisu were animated as ever, their energy magnetic, while Sungchan’s boys cracked jokes to the side, their loud camaraderie filling the space effortlessly. Jimin smiled, nodding along to the conversation, though her mind started to wander.

Meanwhile, Minjeong leaned casually against the wall a few feet away, watching as Jimin navigated her way through the group with effortless ease. It wasn’t the first time Minjeong had noticed how popular the student body president was, though she often stayed on the edges of such gatherings herself. The occasional greetings and nods Minjeong exchanged with Jimin’s group were only out of necessity—mostly thanks to Yizhuo’s social butterfly tendencies or Minjeong’s position on the hockey team. But Jimin? Even if she wanted to stay out of the spotlight, it seemed the spotlight always found her.

Jimin finally turned, offering her goodbyes to the group with a parting smile. As if on cue, she jogged to catch up with Yizhuo and Minjeong, who were already making their way toward the library.

“You guys were seriously about to leave me behind?” Jimin teased, adjusting the strap of her bag as she fell into step beside them.

“You looked busy,” Yizhuo replied, her voice light and teasing as she shot Jimin a look. “Didn’t want to interrupt your fan club meeting.”

“They’re not a fan club,” Jimin muttered, though her faint smile betrayed her amusement. “They’re just... friends.”

“Friends who look like they’d give you the world on a silver platter,” Minjeong chimed in, her tone dry but amused. “No big deal, though.”

“Not helping,” Jimin said, throwing them a sideways glance but laughing all the same.

As the three of them walked toward the library, a comfortable rhythm settled over the group, something that had become routine in the past few weeks. Jimin’s presence had integrated itself seamlessly into Minjeong and Yizhuo’s dynamic, and neither of them seemed to mind.

Just as they reached the steps, Jimin’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out absentmindedly, her thumb hovering over her phone as a new message lit up the screen. After a moment, she locked it and slid it back into her pocket. “It’s Aeri,” she said finally, her tone steady with a faint tinge of relief. “She just finished class and wants to join us.”

At the mention of Aeri, Yizhuo immediately perked up. “Oh, nice! I miss Aeri,” she said warmly, her smile stretching wide. “I could use her sarcasm to balance out the usual gloom of this one,” she added with a playful jab toward Minjeong.

Minjeong merely shrugged, her expression calm but faintly amused. “Aeri’s great,” she agreed lightly. “At least she doesn’t spend half her time trying to mess with me like some people.”

Yizhuo held her hands up in mock innocence. “What? Me? Never.”

Jimin offered a small smile at their banter, but before she could say anything else, her phone buzzed again. This time, as she read the message, her grip on the device tightened just slightly. The faint ease in her demeanor evaporated, replaced by something more guarded. She slipped the phone back into her pocket, her gaze momentarily dropping to the ground.

“What’s up?” Yizhuo asked, sensing the subtle change in Jimin’s mood.

Jimin exhaled softly, her tone careful as she replied, “Ryujin’s with her.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Minjeong blinked, a flicker of recognition crossing her features. She remembered the name—Ryujin was the one she had accidentally clashed with during their last hockey game. That fight had been... awkward, to say the least. Yizhuo had asked Minjeong to throw off Aeri’s ex during the scrimmage to get under his skin, but thanks to a mix-up with jersey numbers, Minjeong had ended up tangling with Ryujin instead. It hadn’t been pretty. The memory of Ryujin’s frustration, sharp and barely contained, flickered in Minjeong’s mind. She knew Ryujin hadn’t forgotten it, and honestly, neither had she.

Yizhuo, for her part, glanced at Minjeong with a subtle wince. She hadn’t exactly made things better by orchestrating the whole fiasco. “Oh,” Yizhuo said lightly, though the hint of awkwardness in her tone was hard to miss. “Ryujin, huh. That’s... interesting.”

Minjeong stayed quiet, her thoughts swirling as she processed the information. She didn’t know much about Ryujin beyond that one unfortunate altercation, but now that name was suddenly cropping up again, tied to Jimin of all people. Minjeong cast a side glance at Jimin, trying to gauge her reaction, but Jimin’s expression was impossible to read—calm, composed, but somehow distant.

Jimin, however, was anything but calm internally. Her mind raced, the storm of emotions she’d been trying to suppress threatening to spill over. For weeks, she’d been carefully trying to manage the growing tension between herself and Ryujin—not because she didn’t care about her, but because things had become... complicated. Jimin valued Ryujin deeply, but the weight of her best friend’s feelings was something she wasn’t sure she could carry, let alone reciprocate.

And now there was Minjeong—a new, unexpected variable. The thought of Ryujin discovering how much Minjeong had been occupying her time and thoughts unsettled Jimin. Not because she wanted to hide anything, but because she knew it would only make the fragile balance she was trying to maintain even messier.

Jimin pushed the thoughts aside, taking a steadying breath as she glanced between Yizhuo and Minjeong, both of whom seemed uneasy at the prospect of encountering Ryujin again. She forced a small, reassuring smile. “Aeri’s with her, so it’ll be fine,” she said, her tone light but steady. 

Yizhuo nodded quickly, her smile returning. “Yeah, Aeri’s great. She’s always fun to have around.”

“Then don’t worry,” Jimin added, her smile softening. “Let’s just grab our spot and settle in.”

They entered the library together, Yizhuo leading the way as she shot Minjeong a quick, conspiratorial look. It was the kind of glance that silently acknowledged the potential awkwardness ahead, though Minjeong didn’t react, her focus squarely on finding their usual corner. She wasn’t entirely sure how the evening would play out, but whatever was coming, she figured it was better to face it head-on than dwell on it.

Meanwhile, Jimin’s thoughts remained tangled. She knew Aeri’s easygoing nature would help diffuse any potential tension—Aeri had always been effortlessly good at that. But Ryujin’s arrival loomed in the back of Jimin’s mind, a quiet reminder of the complexities she was trying to navigate. For now, though, she pushed the worry down, determined to make the most of the evening. Whatever complications arose, she would figure it out—she always did.

The soft creak of the library door opening pulled Jimin’s attention. She glanced up instinctively, her gaze landing on Aeri’s familiar stride first. Aeri’s presence, as usual, commanded the room with a natural ease, her confident smile softening the air as she approached. But just a step behind her was Ryujin.

Minjeong stiffened slightly, her jaw tightening as she recognized the other girl. Ryujin’s sharp features were calm, composed, but there was a quiet intensity in the way her gaze swept the room. It wasn’t confrontational, but it carried an undeniable weight. If she noticed Minjeong, she gave no indication.

As they reached the table, Aeri’s smile brightened further, her warmth filling the space effortlessly. “Hey, look who’s all studious,” she teased, her eyes sweeping over the group.

Yizhuo grinned, her usual energy returning in full. “Aeri! Perfect timing,” she said, gesturing to the seat beside her. “I was just saying how much we needed your sarcasm to keep us alive.”

Meanwhile, Ryujin’s gaze landed briefly on Jimin, her polite smile lingering just a beat too long before it shifted to the others. “Hi,” she said simply, her voice measured and steady. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.” Her gaze shifted to Yizhuo. “You’re Yizhuo, right?”

“That’s me,” Yizhuo replied, her tone light and friendly as she gave a small wave. “And you’re Ryujin.”

Ryujin nodded once, her attention turning to Minjeong next. “Kim Minjeong,” she said, her tone neutral yet weighted, as though testing the name.

Minjeong straightened slightly, giving a measured nod in return. “Ryujin,” she replied, her voice calm but restrained.

The air felt charged with unspoken tension, but Aeri, ever perceptive, smoothly took the reins. She slid into the seat beside Yizhuo and launched into a conversation about classes, her tone casual and deliberately disarming. Slowly, the edges of the group’s collective unease began to soften.

Ryujin, after a moment, eased into the seat directly across from Jimin, leaning back in her chair with practiced composure. Her sharp gaze flicked toward Jimin, one brow lifting slightly. “Library study sessions, huh?” she mused, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “That’s new. I thought you preferred to study alone.”

The comment, though casual, lingered. Minjeong caught the faint flicker of surprise in Jimin’s expression before she quickly masked it with a polite smile. “It’s a new habit,” she said lightly. “Helps me stay focused.”

Minjeong’s brow furrowed as the words sat with her. She knew how much Jimin valued her independence, and the notion that their library sessions might be disrupting that tugged at her thoughts. She didn’t show it, instead turning her attention back to her notes, though the subtle tension in the room was hard to ignore.

The silence that followed was brief, broken by Minjeong suddenly clearing her throat. She glanced at Ryujin, shyly offering a small smile. “By the way,” she began hesitantly, “about the hockey game... I wanted to apologize.”

That caught everyone’s attention. Aeri paused mid-sentence, her eyebrows lifting in surprise, while Jimin looked up sharply. Yizhuo tilted her head, clearly intrigued but wisely staying quiet.

Minjeong pressed on, her tone sincere. “It wasn’t intentional—I just... wanted to start fresh.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, the room seeming to quiet even further. All eyes shifted to Ryujin, who blinked at Minjeong, her expression unreadable. There was a beat of silence—just long enough to feel heavy—before Ryujin’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“It’s hockey,” Ryujin said simply, her voice steady but tinged with a trace of humor. “It happens. We get riled up, and the game gets intense. After the game? It’s history.”

Minjeong exhaled softly, relief washing over her in waves. “Thanks,” she said quietly, her smile becoming a touch more relaxed.

Jimin visibly melted in her seat, a tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding finally easing. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, catching Aeri’s teasing grin across the table. Aeri gave her a subtle wink, and Jimin’s cheeks flushed faintly as she shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Yizhuo, ever the opportunist, sensed the lightning mood and jumped in with her signature grin. “Speaking of hockey,” she began, her tone conspiratorial, “Jimin’s a natural. Minjeong told me all about her skating lesson.”

Ryujin’s brow lifted, her gaze snapping to Jimin. “You? On the rink?” she asked, disbelief laced with amusement. “That’s a first. I’ve been trying to get you to skate forever, and you’ve always refused.”

Jimin chuckled softly, shrugging. “Well, I wasn’t exactly fearless, but Minjeong’s a good teacher.”

Yizhuo nodded eagerly, her grin widening. “She told me you picked it up pretty quickly on last tuesday night. Impressive, considering your whole ‘I’m afraid of the blades and the ice’ thing.”

At that, Ryujin’s expression shifted subtly, her eyebrows drawing together in realization. “Tuesday night?” she echoed, her gaze sharpening just slightly.

Her expression shifted again, her brows knitting together for a brief moment before her gaze flicked to Jimin. The realization was there—clear in the way Ryujin’s brow relaxed and her lips pressed into a faint line. She didn’t say anything, didn’t voice the connection out loud, but the look was enough. It spoke volumes: Tuesday night. So that’s where you were.

Jimin stilled, her pulse quickening as the weight of Ryujin’s silent understanding settled between them. For a split second, she felt exposed, as though Ryujin could see straight through the carefully constructed excuses she had built.

Aeri’s voice broke the moment like a needle puncturing a balloon, her tone bright and effortless as always. “Minjeong must have some secret coaching skills,” she said with a grin, glancing between the two hockey players. “I mean, getting Jimin on the ice? That’s practically a miracle.”

The group chuckled softly, and the ease in their voices chipped away at the tension in the air. Jimin tore her gaze from Ryujin, grateful for the reprieve. She forced herself to join in the laughter, her voice just light enough to blend with the others.

But Ryujin hadn’t fully shifted gears. Her posture was relaxed—casual, even—but her gaze lingered on Jimin for a fraction longer than necessary before she leaned back in her chair. There was no malice in her expression, no open confrontation, but the undercurrent of her thoughts was impossible to miss.

Minjeong, ever the observer, caught onto the subtle dance of emotions between the two but chose to stay quiet. Instead, she shifted her focus to the topic at hand, determined to keep things moving. “To be fair,” she said, her voice calm but steady, “Jimin picked it up quickly because she worked at it. She didn’t even fall that much. That’s pretty rare for a beginner.”

Jimin shot her a quick, grateful glance, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from anything more personal. “It’s true. Minjeong’s a good coach,” she said, her tone bright but natural. “It wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be.”

Ryujin’s lips curved into a faint smile at that, but there was something unreadable in her eyes. “Guess you just needed the right push,” she said lightly, though her words felt layered in a way that made Jimin’s chest tighten slightly.

Aeri, sensing the ebb and flow of the conversation, chimed in again, her smile easy. “So, are you planning to make skating a regular thing now, Jimin?” she teased. “You know, add it to your busy schedule of ruling the school?”

Jimin chuckled, grateful for the shift in tone. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’m just happy I survived the first time.”

The study session wrapped up, and the group slowly trickled outside into the cool evening air. Aeri and Yizhuo were still mid-conversation, their voices carrying an easy rhythm that reflected their newfound camaraderie. Ryujin walked alongside them, her quiet demeanor contrasting the livelier energy around her, though her sharp gaze occasionally flickered toward Jimin. Minjeong stayed toward the back, content to keep a low profile as she adjusted the strap of her bag.

Aeri stretched her arms above her head, letting out a small sigh as she glanced at Jimin. Ryujin lingered a step behind them, quiet and watchful.

“Well, that was productive,” Aeri said, though her tone carried a playful edge. “But I’m beat. Law school doesn’t exactly take it easy on you.”

Jimin smiled gently, noticing the faint shadows under Aeri’s eyes. She hesitated for a moment before nudging her friend lightly on the arm. “You should head home and rest,” she said softly, her tone leaving little room for argument. “I’ll be fine.”

Aeri’s gaze flicked to Ryujin, lingering for a moment before returning to Jimin. There was a brief hesitation, a silent question in her eyes, but Jimin gave her a reassuring nod. “Seriously, go,” she added, her voice warm but firm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Aeri exhaled, giving in with a small smile. “Alright,” she said, turning to wave at the others. “Goodnight, everyone.”

Yizhuo waved back enthusiastically, while Minjeong offered a small nod of acknowledgment. Ryujin stayed quiet, her expression unreadable as Aeri walked away, disappearing into the night.

As the group lingered by the entrance, the conversation naturally drifted toward Minjeong and Yizhuo. Yizhuo tugged on Minjeong’s sleeve, looking up at her with a soft pout. “We should head back. I’m hungry, and you’re cooking tonight.”

Minjeong let out a quiet sigh, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. “Fine,” she muttered, her tone laced with mock exasperation. “But don’t expect anything fancy.”

Yizhuo grinned, nudging Minjeong with her elbow. “Might as well have moved in. You practically live on my couch these days.”

Minjeong shot her a half-hearted glare. “It’s not like that,” she muttered. “I’m just... around.”

Jimin tilted her head, taking in the exchange. Yizhuo’s previous remarks about Minjeong practically living with her now took on a more literal weight. “How long has it been?” she asked, her tone more curious than judgmental.

“Almost three days this time,” Yizhuo answered before Minjeong could, her grin widening. “But I’m not complaining. She cooks, cleans up sometimes, and keeps me entertained. Perfect roommate material.”

Minjeong groaned softly. “You’re so dramatic.”

Jimin’s brow furrowed slightly as she processed the information. She hadn’t realized Minjeong’s situation was more than casual visits—it was starting to sound like an extended stay. But before she could ask further, she noticed the way Minjeong’s posture shifted, the subtle tension in her shoulders as though bracing for something.

Yizhuo, always perceptive, pivoted the conversation effortlessly. “Anyway, I’m not complaining,” she added with a playful grin. “Minjeong’s cooking is top-tier, so it’s a win for me.”

Minjeong relaxed just slightly at Yizhuo’s words, though she still avoided Jimin’s gaze. Jimin, sensing the sensitivity of the topic, chose not to press further. “That’s good,” she said softly. “It sounds like you’re both taking care of each other.”

Jimin smiled faintly, but her mind lingered on Minjeong’s quiet demeanor. She wanted to stay, to keep the conversation going, if only to feel the comfort of their company a little longer. But a light touch on her arm broke her train of thought.

Ryujin’s hand rested gently on Jimin’s elbow, a silent but firm indication that it was time to leave. Jimin glanced at her, reading the unspoken message in Ryujin’s steady gaze. For a moment, she hesitated, wanting to resist, but she could see the patience in Ryujin’s expression—a reminder of their quiet, enduring connection.

“Alright,” Jimin said finally, turning back to Yizhuo and Minjeong. “You two take care. I’ll see you soon.”

“You too,” Yizhuo replied cheerfully, waving as she and Minjeong began walking away. Minjeong glanced back briefly, offering a small nod before following Yizhuo down the street.

Jimin watched them go, the warmth of their dynamic still lingering in her chest. But as Ryujin gently guided her away, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the night settle over her—an odd mix of comfort and uncertainty, like something shifting just beneath the surface. For now, though, she let Ryujin lead, their footsteps echoing softly into the quiet evening.

The subway hummed quietly beneath their feet, the gentle sway of the car creating a lulling rhythm as Minjeong and Yizhuo sat side by side. The evening crowd was sparse, leaving their corner of the train mostly empty. Minjeong leaned back against the seat, her gaze fixed ahead, while Yizhuo shifted restlessly, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger.

“So,” Yizhuo began, her tone light but with a mischievous edge that Minjeong immediately recognized. “Ryujin, huh?”

Minjeong sighed quietly, not bothering to look at her. “What about her?”

“Oh, you know,” Yizhuo said, drawing out the words dramatically. “She and Jimin. There’s clearly something there—feels like competition to me.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, finally turning her head to give Yizhuo an unimpressed look. “It’s not like that,” she said firmly. “Not for me, anyway.”

Yizhuo raised an eyebrow, her smirk playful but curious. “Not for you? So what is it, then?”

Minjeong hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. She wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Jimin was... Jimin. Someone she genuinely enjoyed spending time with, someone who brought an unexpected ease to her days. “I don’t know,” Minjeong admitted after a moment, her voice quieter. “I just like hanging out with her.”

“Hmm,” Yizhuo hummed, leaning her head on Minjeong’s shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “You’re such a mystery sometimes, Minjeong.”

Minjeong didn’t respond, her gaze drifting to the passing darkness outside the subway window. The train slowed as they approached the next station, the lights of the platform briefly illuminating their faces. Yizhuo shifted slightly, her voice softer now. “Has Taeyeon texted you?”

Minjeong nodded, her expression unreadable as she glanced at her phone. “Every day,” she said quietly, the evenness of her tone giving nothing away.

Yizhuo tilted her head, her curious gaze lingering on her best friend. “And?” she prompted gently.

After a brief pause, Minjeong held up her phone, revealing a text from her sister. “She usually asks if I’m coming to dinner,” she said lightly. Swiping to the next part of the message, she added, “She sent this today, too.” The screen displayed a photo of her niece, Chaeyoung, holding up a colorful drawing with a wide grin.

Yizhuo nodded softly, a faint smile touching her lips. “She misses you, doesn’t she?”

Minjeong shrugged, pocketing her phone as if that would shrug off the question, too. “I guess,” she replied lightly.

Yizhuo’s lips curved into a small smile, though her tone shifted playfully. “You should go back, you know. You’ve been rotating the same set of clothes for days,” she teased, tugging at the sleeve of Minjeong’s hoodie. “It’s starting to get obvious.”

Minjeong let out a soft huff, rolling her eyes, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, leaning back into her seat as the train rattled on. “And,” Minjeong continued with a sincere tone, “I just like hanging out with you. Don’t want to go back just yet.”

Yizhuo’s chest tightened at the casualness of Minjeong’s tone. She knew her best friend well enough to understand what wasn’t being said. Minjeong wasn’t the most verbal when it came to her feelings, but Yizhuo had picked up on the nuances—the way Minjeong sometimes hesitate when talking about her sister, the way she avoided going back to Taeyeong’s place for days at a time. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots.

As silence fell between them, Minjeong let her thoughts wander. Her family texted her, too—her parents, specifically. They’d ask when she was free to visit or when she’d be coming uptown for dinner. The messages were always warm, never demanding, but they left a strange ache in her chest. She knew they meant well, but lately, the thought of sitting through a family meal, of navigating small talk and expectations, had felt more overwhelming than comforting. Excuses came easily, and delayed replies had become routine.

Yizhuo spoke again, her voice quiet and unusually serious. “You know, you can stay as long as you want,” she said, almost too casually. “I mean it.”

Minjeong glanced down at her, her expression softening. “Yeah,” she said simply, a faint smile brushing her lips. “I know.”

But Yizhuo wasn’t done. She kept her head resting on Minjeong’s shoulder, her voice dropping to a near whisper, more to herself than anyone. “You’re my best friend. I just want to keep you around... for as long as I can.”

Minjeong didn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the faint reflection of the two of them in the subway window. She wasn’t great with words, especially when it came to feelings, but the warmth in her chest told her that Yizhuo already knew.

Yizhuo didn’t press further. She’d long since learned that Minjeong needed space to process her thoughts, and pushing too hard would only make her retreat. But that didn’t stop Yizhuo from thinking, from remembering the times when Minjeong had seemed so weighed down by her thoughts, so distant and quiet that it scared her.

She clenched her hands into small fists, her resolve firm. She didn’t know exactly what Minjeong was going through, but she’d made it her personal mission to keep her best friend tethered to something—someone. Minjeong might not say it out loud, but Yizhuo could see it in the way she stayed, in the way she let herself be dragged into Yizhuo’s orbit for days at a time. And Yizhuo? She would do anything to keep Minjeong there, for as long as possible. Forever, if she could. Because a life without Minjeong wasn’t something she wanted to imagine.

The train slowed as they neared their stop, the announcement crackling through the speakers. Yizhuo sat up, straightening her bag as she gave Minjeong a small nudge. “Alright, chef,” she said, her playful energy returning. “Let’s see what you’ve got in the kitchen tonight.”

Minjeong smirked, shaking her head as she stood. “You’re lucky I tolerate you,” she quipped.

“And don’t you forget it,” Yizhuo shot back, grinning as they stepped off the train together.

Despite the lighthearted teasing, Yizhuo couldn’t help but glance at Minjeong as they walked. She hoped her best friend knew, even if she couldn’t say it, that there was no timeline or expiration date on their friendship. Minjeong didn’t have to say much for Yizhuo to understand—she just hoped that, in the quiet moments, Minjeong felt the same.

The walk back was quiet, the cool evening air wrapping around them as they wove through the mostly empty streets. Ryujin stayed a step behind Jimin, her thoughts a tangled mess she couldn’t quite sort through. The evening at the library played on a loop in her mind—the effortless way Minjeong had integrated into their group dynamic, the easy banter between her and Jimin, and, most of all, the subtle shift in Jimin’s demeanor whenever Minjeong spoke.

Ryujin had always prided herself on being level-headed, even in the face of complicated emotions. But tonight, that composure had felt like it was slipping through her fingers. The quiet understanding she shared with Jimin had always been enough—at least, that’s what she’d convinced herself. But now, watching someone else step into Jimin’s world with such ease, she couldn’t help but feel the edges of that understanding start to fray.

She shoved her hands into her pockets, her jaw tightening as she replayed the moment Yizhuo mentioned the skating lesson. That small detail—a seemingly inconsequential event—had stuck with her, gnawing at the corner of her thoughts. Tuesday night. The same night Jimin had shown up to their café meet-up late, brushing off her tardiness with a quick excuse. Now, that excuse carried a different weight, one that Ryujin hadn’t been prepared for.

The night felt heavier now, the cool breeze barely cutting through the tangled mess of her thoughts. She wasn’t usually one to dwell on trivial things, but the skating lesson—something so small, so mundane—had been bothering her in a way she couldn’t explain.

For years, Ryujin had been trying to coax Jimin onto the ice, teasing her about her hesitations, offering to teach her whenever the opportunity arose. Jimin had always refused, laughing off the idea and claiming she’d “fall flat on her face.” And yet, it had been Minjeong who managed to do what Ryujin couldn’t. It was the realization of that—the shift in dynamics, the quiet replacement—that gnawed at her.

Ryujin let out a small sigh, tugging her jacket tighter as the cool evening breeze brushed past. She could still feel the faint sting of envy prickling at the back of her mind, though she’d never admit it out loud. 

“Ryujin?” Jimin’s voice broke through the haze, pulling her back to the present. Ryujin blinked, glancing at her. Jimin was watching her closely, her brow creased with quiet concern.

“How was it?” Jimin asked softly, her voice careful but tinged with nervousness. “Meeting Yizhuo and Minjeong.”

The question caught Ryujin off guard, though it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Ryujin hesitated, her gaze flicking briefly to the ground before meeting Jimin’s again.

“They’re... interesting,” Ryujin said finally, her tone measured. She thought for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smirk as she added, her mind drifted to Yizhuo—an easier and far more amusing distraction., “Yizhuo, especially. She’s kind of chaotic—more than I expected, honestly.”

How Yizhuo had made it into medical school was nothing short of a miracle in Ryujin’s eyes. Chaotic didn’t even begin to describe her. It wasn’t her intelligence Ryujin doubted—Yizhuo was sharp, no question about that—but the sheer amount of mischief she managed to stir up in her daily life made her feel like an anomaly among the serious, laser-focused students around them.

Jimin’s lips twitched upward, her expression shifting into tentative amusement. “Why do you say that?”

Ryujin chuckled softly, the memory of Yizhuo’s antics resurfacing. “Earlier on when Aeri got us our second dose of caffeine and Minjeong was in the washroom, she tried to sabotage Minjeong’s coffee with three packets of salt. Three. Because, apparently, she felt like it. She didn’t even look guilty about it.”

Jimin’s laugh broke through the tension, bright and genuine. “That sounds exactly like her,” she said, shaking her head. “She’s always been... mischievous.”

“Mischievous is putting it lightly,” Ryujin replied, her smirk softening. “Honestly, though, she’s amusing. A little sinister, maybe, but harmless.”

“And Minjeong?” Jimin asked quietly, her tone steady but cautious.

Ryujin hesitated, her mind flickering back to the evening at the library. Minjeong had been steady, confident—someone who didn’t try to force her way into conversations, yet somehow ended up at the center of them anyway. It was frustrating, almost, how easily Minjeong seemed to find her place. But more than that, it was the way Jimin’s guard softened around her.

“She’s...” Ryujin started, searching for the right words. “She’s fine.” The reply came out quieter than she intended, almost like she was convincing herself as much as answering Jimin. Her hands shoved deeper into her jacket pockets, her thumb brushing against the seam in a nervous tick. Her tone lacked the usual warmth Jimin was used to. It wasn’t dismissive, but it didn’t offer much either—just a polite acknowledgment, empty of detail.

Jimin’s brows furrowed slightly at the response. “That’s all?” she asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and a hint of nervousness. “You’re being... diplomatic.”

Ryujin let out a soft breath, glancing off to the side as her hands slid deeper into her jacket pockets. “I’m just trying to cooperate,” she said, her voice steady but distant. “You wanted us all to get along, and I’m doing my part. Besides, I figured it was best to put that whole hockey... thing behind us.”

The words lingered in the air, but Jimin couldn’t ignore the faint tension buried beneath them. She knew Ryujin wasn’t the type to hold grudges—not openly, at least—but this felt like more than just the lingering awkwardness of a hockey misstep. Her mind flickered back to the conversation they’d had at the café, when Ryujin’s tone had sharpened ever so slightly as she’d warned Jimin not to let “new friends” become a distraction.

Something about that moment hadn’t sat right with Jimin, and now, as she watched Ryujin carefully avoid her gaze, it felt like she was brushing past something deeper. Taking a breath to steady herself, Jimin decided to push back—gently, but firmly.

“They’re good people,” Jimin said, her voice calm but resolute. “Yizhuo’s a little chaotic, sure, but she means well. And Minjeong’s... steady. They’re smart, and they know what they’re doing. It’s a new environment, but that’s not a bad thing.”

Ryujin nodded once, a motion so slight it was almost imperceptible. Her lips pressed into a faint line before she added in an undertone, “I just hope you keep it at that.”

The words were quiet, almost lost in the space between them, but they carried an unmistakable weight. Jimin blinked, her expression tightening as she bit down on her lip, choosing not to respond. She didn’t want to keep pulling at the thread of tension between them, not when it felt like it might unravel into something neither of them were ready to address.

The rest of the walk passed in near silence, the faint hum of the city filling the space where their conversation had faltered. Jimin couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in her chest, but she kept her thoughts to herself, her gaze fixed on the path ahead.

When they finally reached Jimin’s apartment building, Ryujin lingered just a step behind, her eyes flicking briefly to the door before turning back to Jimin. “Do you want me to come in?” she asked, her tone casual but tinged with something quieter.

Jimin hesitated, her fingers tightening on the strap of her bag. She glanced at Ryujin, her expression softening as she offered a small, tired smile. “I’m okay,” she said gently. “I’m just... tired. I’ll see you later.”

Ryujin exhaled softly, the faintest hint of disappointment crossing her features before she masked it with a shrug. “Alright,” she said simply, taking a step back. “Get some rest.”

With that, Ryujin turned and walked away, her hands once again stuffed into her pockets as she disappeared into the night. Jimin watched her go, the weight in her chest pressing heavier as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The night had ended in quiet, but it wasn’t the kind of quiet that brought peace. It was the kind that left everything unresolved.

Chapter Text

The trauma bay was alive with urgency when the patient was wheeled in, the sharp sound of monitors and clipped commands filling the air. Minjeong stood at the foot of the gurney, gloves snapped on, eyes scanning the patient swiftly. Dr. Choi was beside her, delivering details with the practiced ease of someone who’d seen it all.

“Twenty-four-year-old male,” Dr. Choi began, his voice steady but firm. “Single gunshot wound to the right lower abdomen. Entry wound clean, no exit, minimal blood loss at the scene, but it’s picking up now. They couldn’t find the bullet in transit—likely lodged near or in a major vessel.”

Minjeong nodded sharply, her thoughts clicking into place as she examined the wound. Blood pooled around the edges, fresh and dark. The patient was pale, his breathing shallow but still present.

“Vitals are borderline stable,” a nurse added, standing at the monitor. “BP dropping—89 over 50.”

Dr. Choi glanced at Minjeong, his expression firm but encouraging. “You’re up, Kim. Walk us through it.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. Dr. Choi had built trust in Minjeong’s abilities through months of watching her work under pressure. Now, he stepped back to let her take the lead.

Minjeong took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “First, we stabilize his blood pressure. Start two large-bore IVs—one for fluids, one for blood,” she instructed, her voice clear and decisive. “Type and cross-match immediately. Prep a liter of saline to start. Once he’s stable, we’ll assess the trajectory of the wound.”

The team sprang into action, nurses moving quickly to set up the IVs as another began prepping the ultrasound. Minjeong turned her focus back to the wound, her gloves already slick with blood as she packed gauze tightly around the entry site to control the bleeding.

“The bleeding is venous,” Minjeong observed aloud, glancing at Dr. Choi for confirmation. He gave a small nod, his arms crossed as he watched her closely but didn’t intervene. “We’ll need to locate the bullet surgically. Let’s stabilize first and reassess.”

The saline drip was connected, the fluids flowing as Minjeong adjusted the pressure on the wound. The patient groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering, but he didn’t regain full consciousness. Minjeong stayed focused, her movements methodical.

“Okay, pressure’s holding,” she said after a moment. “Ultrasound is next. Let’s get a look at what we’re dealing with.”

The probe glided over the patient’s abdomen, the screen lighting up with black-and-white images. Dr. Choi leaned in slightly, his brow furrowing as he pointed to a shadow near the iliac vein.

“There,” he said. “That’s your bullet.”

Minjeong nodded again, her mind already mapping the next steps. “Prep the OR,” she said firmly. “In the meantime, I’ll control the bleed as much as possible. Clamp ready.”

She moved with confidence, laying out each step with precision. The team responded seamlessly, and Dr. Choi’s approving gaze never wavered. When the patient was finally stable enough for transport to surgery, Minjeong finished stitching the temporary closure herself, her hands steady under Dr. Choi’s watchful eye.

As the gurney was wheeled out, Dr. Choi clapped her on the back, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Well done, Kim. Textbook handling, top to bottom. Now, go grab something to eat before you collapse. Call it lunch or dinner, I don’t care—you’ve earned it.”

“Yes, sir,” Minjeong replied, her voice even though her body was humming with the residue of adrenaline. She didn’t complain—she never did. This was her life, and she would do what was asked of her, no questions asked.

The cafeteria was nearly deserted when she arrived, the faint hum of the overhead lights blending with the distant echo of footsteps in the halls. The metal trays had been picked clean, save for the last scraps of the day: chicken fingers and fries. Minjeong didn’t care. It wasn’t about enjoyment; food was sustenance, something her body demanded only when it began to grumble with emptiness.

Sliding into a chair at the far end of the room, she set her tray down with a muted clatter. She took off her glasses and let out a soft exhale, her shoulders sagging slightly. The exhaustion weighed on her, making her movements slow and deliberate as she picked up a fry and lazily popped it into her mouth. The taste was bland, the grease coating her tongue in a way that didn’t satisfy, but she kept eating, chewing slowly as her mind drifted into a blank haze. This moment—this quiet, disconnected reprieve—was her attempt to recoup what little energy she had left.

Something slid across the table, the sound jolting her out of her daze. Minjeong blinked, her chewing slowing as she looked down at the object—a fruit cup, its plastic lid shining under the fluorescent lights. Her gaze lifted, landing on the person who had placed it there.

Jimin.

Sitting across from her, Jimin had a gentle, inviting smile that seemed to soften the sterile edges of the cafeteria. It was the kind of smile that could coax the last ounce of breath out of someone who had none left to give. For Minjeong, it did just that.

“Fried foods aren’t good for you, Dr. Kim,” Jimin teased lightly, her tone warm and playful.

Minjeong furrowed her brows, her lips quirking into the faintest of smirks as she mumbled, “I’m not a doctor yet.” To punctuate her point, she grabbed another fry and shoved it into her mouth, chewing pointedly to gauge Jimin’s reaction.

“Tough day?” Jimin asked, leaning forward on the table, her arms folding neatly in front of her.

“Nothing to complain about,” Minjeong replied, her tone automatic. Complaints weren’t something she allowed herself. “What about you?”

Jimin’s gaze flickered, her smile faltering ever so slightly. “I was in the NICU today,” she said softly, her voice carrying a weight that made Minjeong pause. “It’s... important work. Monitoring, adjusting, caffeine-loading to help with heart rates—but it feels so helpless sometimes. All we can really do is watch. They’re so tiny... so fragile. I just wanted to do something—something that really mattered today, something memorable. But instead...”

Her words trailed off, her fingers idly toying with the edge of the table. The silence stretched between them, not heavy, but thoughtful. Minjeong’s gaze fell to the fruit cup. Instead of speaking, she reached for the fruit cup, peeling back the lid and stabbing a piece of melon with the plastic fork and popped it into her mouth without a word.

Jimin blinked, her lips parting slightly before breaking into a bright, radiant smile—the kind that could make a room feel warmer. “There you go,” she said softly, her voice lighter. “That’s something.”

Minjeong didn’t respond, instead stabbing another piece of fruit and eating it almost mechanically. The gesture was small, but it carried weight—a quiet acknowledgment of Jimin’s effort to reach her.

She finished the fruit cup quickly, almost as if chasing some unspoken resolve, and Jimin chuckled softly, shaking her head. For a moment, the heaviness of their respective days melted away, leaving a quiet, shared understanding between them.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on Minjeong as she finished the fruit cup, the tension in her shoulders loosening as she watched Minjeong eat with quiet resolve. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the faint buzz of the cafeteria’s overhead lights the only sound between them.

“So,” Jimin began, her voice breaking the stillness. “You’re finished your Saturday shift?”

Minjeong nodded, setting the empty fruit cup aside and reaching for a napkin. “Yeah,” she replied simply. “That’s why I’m here... grabbing whatever’s left of dinner.”

Jimin smiled faintly, nodding in understanding. “And... what about the rest of your weekend? Any plans?”

Minjeong leaned back slightly, resting her elbow on the table as she considered the question. “I’ll probably head back to my sister’s place,” she said, her tone even. “Be in my room, studying or lying flat on the floor.”

At that, Jimin chuckled softly, the sound light and warm. “Lying flat on the floor?” she echoed, amusement flickering in her eyes. “That’s... an interesting way to spend your weekend.”

Minjeong shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “It’s peaceful,” she said simply, though there was a weight to her voice that hinted at something more. “Sometimes, after shifts like this... silence is enough.”

Jimin nodded slowly, her amusement fading into quiet understanding. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the table. “What about your family?” she asked softly, her voice careful. “Do you have any plans with them?”

The question seemed to catch Minjeong off guard. She stilled for a moment, her gaze flickering down as she mulled over her response. “My sister, her husband, and Chaeyoung probably have some family outing planned,” she said eventually, her tone measured. “I don’t want to intrude.”

As she spoke, a thought suddenly struck her. Pulling out her phone, she opened the family chat, scrolling through the messages. Sure enough, there was one from her mother, sent earlier that day: Will you come uptown for dinner tonight? It’s been a while since Dad and I have seen you.

Minjeong stared at the message for a moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. She hadn’t seen her parents in weeks, but the thought of sitting through a family dinner felt... exhausting. Instead, she quickly typed out her go-to excuse: Can’t, finishing up an assignment. Maybe next week. It was an easy lie—there were no assignments due anytime soon.

As she put her phone away, Minjeong caught Jimin watching her. There was something quiet in Jimin’s expression, a subtle mix of curiosity and concern. Minjeong straightened slightly, her face impassive.

Jimin hesitated again, her fingers fidgeting for a moment before she spoke. “If you don’t feel like going back to your sister’s place,” she began, her tone cautious but earnest, “you could stay at mine instead.”

Minjeong blinked, the unexpected offer catching her off guard. Before she could respond, Jimin continued, her voice lighter now, as if trying to mask her nervousness. “I don’t have any plans, and, well... my floor is pretty luxurious to lie on. You should give it a try.”

Minjeong blinked, Jimin’s unexpected offer catching her off guard. She tilted her head slightly, her lips twitching as she raised an eyebrow. “Wow,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “A luxurious floor, huh? What are we talking here—heated tiles? Plush carpet? Marble imported from Italy?”

Jimin laughed softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she shook her head. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself,” she replied smoothly, her tone warm but playful.

Minjeong smirked faintly, popping another fry into her mouth. “Your floor sounds so good, I might get too comfortable and never leave,” she added dryly, her expression neutral but her words light enough to elicit another laugh from Jimin.

“Well, it’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Jimin teased, her voice softer now, though her eyes shone with quiet amusement.

Minjeong stared at her for a moment, her usual stoic demeanor faltering as a slight blush crept up her neck. She cleared her throat, her gaze dropping to the tray in front of her. “I’ll... need to swing by my sister’s place first,” she mumbled, her voice quieter now. “To grab some clothes.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in her expression. “Of course,” she said lightly, her lips twitching into an encouraging smile. “Do you need help carrying things or—?”

“No,” Minjeong cut in quickly, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink. She looked down, fidgeting slightly with the edge of her tray. “It’s just... Yizhuo. She keeps telling me I need to grab a new set of clothes to rotate for the week. Something about variety or whatever.”

Jimin’s laugh came again, gentle and sparkling like sunlight through a window. “Sounds like Yizhuo,” she said fondly. “She’s always got something to say, doesn’t she?”

Minjeong’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though she kept her gaze firmly on her tray. “Yeah,” she muttered, the warmth in Jimin’s laughter softening the edges of her awkwardness.

For a moment, the conversation lulled, the silence between them comfortable now. Jimin leaned back slightly, her eyes studying Minjeong with a quiet fondness. Minjeong, though still red-cheeked, reached for her drink and took a small sip, the gesture a subtle attempt to regain her composure.

The offer had come so naturally to Jimin, it barely felt like a choice—just a quiet insistence that no one should have to brave the late hours and early mornings alone if she could help it. When Minjeong mentioned she needed to head to her sister’s place after their shift, Jimin had immediately offered her a ride. It wasn’t until they were on the road that the conversation revealed something that caught Jimin completely off guard.

“You take the bus?” Jimin had asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yeah,” Minjeong replied simply, glancing out the window, her posture relaxed as though it were the most casual thing in the world. “I take the first one at five.”

“At five?” Jimin repeated, the incredulity slipping into her tone despite herself. “Every morning?”

“There’s always a seat,” Minjeong added matter-of-factly, the corners of her lips twitching ever so slightly into what might have been a faint attempt at a reassuring smile. “It’s not a big deal.”

But Jimin couldn’t shake the unsettling image of Minjeong—a dedicated med student with relentless shifts—waking up in the pitch dark, navigating the early morning streets to catch a bus. Something about the quiet acceptance in Minjeong’s voice, the way she brushed it off so easily, left a knot in Jimin’s chest. Still, she chose not to press the subject further, focusing instead on navigating the dimly lit streets as they neared their destination.

As they entered Minjeong’s neighborhood, Jimin couldn’t help but take it all in. She’d passed through this area before—it wasn’t far from her own place—but this specific stretch of residential homes had always caught her attention. The secluded streets, lined with pristine hedges and sprawling lawns, spoke of wealth and success. Doctors, lawyers, and corporate executives lived here, the kind of families where expectation and achievement were practically woven into the fabric of their homes.

“Nice area,” Jimin commented casually, her gaze sweeping the tree-lined street. “I’ve heard that this area is stacked with lawyers? Doctors? CEOs? Just crazy people.”

Minjeong shifted slightly in her seat, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “Something like that,” she said after a beat, her tone even but distant. “My sister and her husband are both in corporate law.”

Jimin glanced at her briefly, noting the way Minjeong’s shoulders tensed as they approached the house. By the time they pulled up to the house, Minjeong looked as though she wanted to be anywhere else. It was a nice house—beautiful, even—but it didn’t feel like Minjeong. 

“Do you want to come in? I mean... I’ll be fast if you—” Minjeong started, her words trailing off.

“I’ll help,” Jimin interrupted, her smile soft but firm. “Grab your bags, or whatever you need. It’s no trouble.”

Minjeong blinked, as though surprised by the offer, but nodded anyway. Together, they made their way to the door, and Jimin caught the faint sound of a sigh slipping past Minjeong’s lips as she turned the knob.

The moment the door opened, the coziness of the house greeted them—a warm light spilling into the entryway, the faint aroma of something simmering in the kitchen, and the unmistakable chaos of a home where a toddler ruled. Toys were scattered across the living room floor—blocks, a train set, a mismatched doll—and Jimin caught sight of a small hand gripping the edge of the couch just as Minjeong stepped inside.

The little one’s excitement was immediate—a high-pitched babble of incoherent joy as tiny feet pattered across the floor toward Minjeong. She knelt down in one smooth motion, scooping the child into her arms with a practiced ease that spoke volumes. And then there it was—a smile that stretched across Minjeong’s face, warm and unguarded. It was a brightness Jimin hadn’t seen before, something so genuine it seemed to light up the whole room. Her heart fluttered unexpectedly at the sight.

The moment was interrupted by a voice from the hallway. “Minjeong!” Taeyeon’s greeting was bright and welcoming, though her gaze shifted quickly to Jimin, curiosity flickering across her features.

“This is Jimin,” Minjeong said, straightening as she shifted Chaeyoung into a more comfortable position on her hip. Her tone was... different. Not rude, but distant. Polished, almost robotic. “She’s a friend from school. We’re just picking up a few things. I’ll be staying at her place for the weekend.”

Jimin couldn’t help but notice how Minjeong’s voice lacked the emotional touch med school drilled into all of them. She’d seen Minjeong in awkward social moments before, but those med school reflexes always pulled her through, her words smooth and empathetic in a way that felt seamless. Yet here, Minjeong seemed to throw all of that out the window. Her tone was detached, slightly clipped—calculated, even—but not snappy. It was like she was on autopilot, projecting an image of composure that felt wrong.

And then there was her posture. The Minjeong Jimin knew often carried an air of quiet exhaustion—her shoulders slightly drooped, her movements deliberate but unhurried. Despite being tired, that version of Minjeong felt real, genuine. But now, Minjeong stood straighter, her smile polite but hollow. It was a mask, Jimin realized. And for the first time, she saw just how deeply Minjeong could bury herself when she didn’t want to be seen.

Taeyeon, for her part, nodded politely, though her curious gaze lingered on Jimin for a moment longer. Before she could say anything, Baekhyun appeared from the kitchen, his voice bright and cheerful. “Minjeong! Joining us for dinner? We’re having hot pot with the neighbors.”

Minjeong shook her head, her voice polite but firm. “No, I can’t. We’re just grabbing my things and heading out.”

Baekhyun accepted the response with a warm smile before retreating back toward the kitchen. Minjeong motioned for Jimin to follow as they ascended the staircase.

Jimin followed Minjeong silently as they made their way up the stairs. Her eyes wandered to the walls lined with picture frames—family trips, formal portraits, candid moments of laughter. But something was missing. There wasn’t a single photo of Minjeong. Not one.

The realization settled heavily in Jimin’s chest, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she watched Minjeong disappear into her room, the door left slightly ajar.

The room was spacious and neat, with a neatly made bed and a desk stacked with textbooks. It was simple, almost impersonal, as though Minjeong occupied the space without truly living in it.

“It’s a big room,” Jimin remarked, her tone light but curious.

Minjeong froze for a split second, her hand hovering over a drawer. “Yeah, I guess,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. She resumed packing quickly, folding clothes with a quiet efficiency that seemed less about purpose and more about leaving the space behind as soon as possible.

Jimin leaned against the doorway, her gaze softening as she took it all in. There was so much she didn’t understand, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t the Minjeong she knew. And that realization stirred something deep within her.

Jimin unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let Minjeong enter first. The apartment was warm and inviting, a comfortable blend of personality and practicality. It wasn’t overly spacious, but it had everything one could need—a cozy living room with a soft gray couch, a large dining table scattered with textbooks and loose notes, and an open kitchen that was impeccably clean despite the stack of coffee mugs by the sink.

Minjeong stepped inside hesitantly, her gaze sweeping over the room as she took it all in. She set her bags down neatly by the end of the couch, then stood there awkwardly, her hands fidgeting slightly as though she wasn’t sure what to do next. Her eyes flicked to Jimin, who had already busied herself setting her keys on the counter and stacking a few books on the dining table.

Jimin turned back, her lips quirking into a teasing grin when she noticed Minjeong standing in the middle of the room like an unsure guest. “You can sit, you know. This isn’t a museum,” she quipped, grabbing a cup from the cabinet and filling it with water. She walked over and handed it to Minjeong. “Here, hydrate. You look like you’ve had enough of today.”

Minjeong accepted the glass with a small nod, her fingers brushing lightly against Jimin’s for a split second before Jimin turned and disappeared into her bedroom, calling back as she went. “Make yourself comfortable! I’m grabbing something to change into.”

The door to the bedroom remained slightly ajar, and Minjeong could hear the faint rustling of fabric as Jimin continued talking. “By the way, don’t judge me,” Jimin called, her tone laced with playful warning. “I like comfort over style at home. You’ve been warned.”

Before Minjeong could respond, Jimin reappeared, and whatever reply Minjeong had been forming promptly disappeared. Jimin had changed into a baggy T-shirt that hung loosely over her frame, revealing the delicate line of her collarbones, paired with a pair of short cotton shorts dotted with tiny strawberry patterns. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few strands falling softly around her face.

Minjeong blinked, staring for a fraction of a second too long before quickly averting her gaze, taking a sip of water to mask her expression. She set the glass down carefully on the coffee table, trying to seem preoccupied.

Jimin, oblivious—or perhaps just pretending not to notice—walked to the center of the living room and, with a dramatic sigh, plopped herself onto the floor. She stretched out fully, lying on her back with her arms crossed behind her head. Turning her head slightly to look up at Minjeong, she offered her a soft, lazy smile and patted the floor beside her.

“Well? Aren’t you going to join me?” Jimin asked lightly, her voice teasing but her expression inviting. “This is your Saturday-evening dream, isn’t it? Lying flat on the floor?”

Minjeong let out a quiet huff, though her lips curved into the smallest of smiles. Shaking her head, she muttered, “You’re unbelievable,” before lowering herself down beside Jimin. She stretched out on her back, her hands resting lightly over her stomach, and they both stared up at the ceiling.

The silence that followed was oddly comforting, the kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled. Minjeong let herself relax, the tension she’d been carrying all day slowly easing as the stillness settled over them. For once, she didn’t feel the need to be anywhere else or do anything more than just exist.

“What do you want for dinner?” Jimin asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, almost dreamy, as though the question were an afterthought.

Minjeong turned her head slightly to glance at Jimin, who was still staring at the ceiling, her face calm and serene. “I don’t know,” Minjeong admitted after a moment, her voice equally quiet. “Anything’s fine.”

Jimin let out a thoughtful hum, her lips curling into a small smile. “How adventurous of you,” she teased. “Alright, let’s see... I’ve got some pasta, eggs, leftover rice... or we could order something. Anything but fried chicken fingers, though—I think you’ve had enough grease for one day.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t respond. Instead, she pushed herself up from the floor and made her way toward the kitchen. Jimin raised an eyebrow, watching curiously as Minjeong hesitated by the fridge, her hand hovering over the handle.

It was an automatic instinct—back at Yizhuo’s place, Minjeong would have swung open the fridge without a second thought, rummaging through for ingredients to whip something up for her best friend. But as her hand rested on Jimin’s fridge, she suddenly froze, her cheeks heating with the realization of where she was. This wasn’t Yizhuo’s home. This was Jimin’s space, and Minjeong felt the faintest twinge of self-consciousness as the thought settled in.

She turned slightly, her eyes darting toward Jimin, who was now sitting up, her interest piqued. Minjeong’s voice came out a little awkwardly, colored with hesitation. “Is it... okay if I have a look?” she asked, gesturing to the fridge.

Jimin blinked, then broke into a warm smile that lit up her face. Pushing herself up from the floor, she joined Minjeong in the kitchen, hopping up to sit on the counter with an ease that made her movements seem effortless. “Go ahead,” Jimin said with a soft laugh, resting her chin in her hand as she watched Minjeong. “Mi fridge es su fridge.”

The comment earned her a faint huff of amusement from Minjeong, who finally opened the fridge, carefully surveying the contents inside. Her gaze lingered thoughtfully on the shelves, mentally piecing together what she could make with what was available. Eventually, she grabbed a box of pasta, a head of garlic, a small jar of olive oil, and some fresh basil.

Jimin tilted her head, curiosity shining in her eyes. “What’s the plan?”

Minjeong paused, holding the ingredients in her hands as she glanced shyly at Jimin. “Garlic olive oil pasta,” she said quietly, almost as if testing the waters. “If that’s... okay?”

Jimin’s smile widened, her face lighting up with genuine excitement. “More than okay,” she replied, her voice warm and eager. “I’ve been dying to try your cooking.”

Minjeong blinked, surprised by Jimin’s enthusiasm, but a small smile tugged at her lips as she set the ingredients on the counter. She rolled up her sleeves, her movements methodical as she grabbed a pot and filled it with water, setting it to boil on the stove.

Jimin watched her quietly, perched on the counter with her legs swinging slightly. There was something calming about Minjeong’s presence—the way she moved with quiet purpose, her focus entirely on the task at hand. It was a side of Minjeong that Jimin hadn’t seen before, and she found herself leaning forward slightly, captivated by the careful precision of it all.

As the aroma of garlic sizzling in olive oil began to fill the kitchen, Jimin let out a content sigh, her smile softening. “You know,” she said, her voice breaking the comfortable silence, “you look like you’re in your element.”

Minjeong glanced at her briefly, her cheeks tinging pink at the comment. “It’s just pasta,” she muttered, stirring the pan to coat the garlic evenly.

“Maybe,” Jimin said with a grin, “but it smells like heaven.”

As Minjeong moved about the kitchen, Jimin found herself leaning back against the counter, watching in quiet fascination. It was strange, really, how effortlessly Minjeong seemed to navigate the unfamiliar space—opening drawers, pulling out utensils, reaching for pots and pans with almost instinctive precision. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty. Despite being in a place she’d never set foot in before, Minjeong flowed through the kitchen like she’d always belonged there.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Jimin commented, a teasing lilt in her voice. “I didn’t even have to tell you where anything is. What, do you secretly moonlight as a house whisperer or something?”

Minjeong glanced at her briefly, a small smirk tugging at her lips as she shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to it,” she said simply, her voice even but with a faint edge of something quieter. “When you’ve lived in other people’s homes enough, you learn how to adapt.”

The comment hung in the air for a moment, its implications subtle but not lost on Jimin. She tilted her head slightly, her curiosity flickering, but before she could ask anything further, Minjeong turned back to the stove, her focus shifting to the pot of water bubbling softly.

Jimin watched her closely, the teasing remark now forgotten as her thoughts lingered on what Minjeong had said. There was something unspoken there, something layered beneath the casual shrug and matter-of-fact tone. But Jimin chose not to push, instead letting the moment pass as Minjeong continued with her work.

“Anything I can help with?” Jimin asked, leaning casually on the counter, her playful curiosity evident in the tilt of her head.

Minjeong shook her head firmly, not looking up from the stove. “No,” she replied, her tone soft but resolute. “Just stay there.” She glanced at Jimin briefly before adding, almost shyly, “Cooking’s... my way of saying thanks.”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in Minjeong’s words. A small smile tugged at her lips as she watched Minjeong move with quiet efficiency, her hands steady as she stirred the pasta and occasionally checked the heat. It was clear Minjeong was in her element, and Jimin had no intention of interrupting.

After setting the pasta aside to simmer, Minjeong reached for a carton of strawberries and a container of blueberries, placing them on the counter next to Jimin. Pulling out a small cutting board and a knife, she began slicing the strawberries with practiced precision, the quiet rhythm of her work filling the space.

Jimin, unable to resist, plucked a strawberry from the pile and took a bite, the sweet tang dancing on her tongue. “These are good,” she commented, her voice light and casual. Then, without thinking much of it, she held out the half-eaten strawberry toward Minjeong. “Here, try.”

Minjeong stopped mid-slice, her brows knitting into a slight frown as she looked up at Jimin. The displeasure was subtle but clear—she didn’t appreciate being interrupted in the middle of her task. But Jimin, predictably undeterred, grinned mischievously as she reached forward and gently touched Minjeong’s chin, tilting it up slightly.

“Come on,” Jimin teased, her voice soft and playful. “Open up.”

Minjeong’s eyes narrowed, but before she could protest, Jimin popped the strawberry into her mouth with a giggle. “Good girl,” Jimin cooed, clearly amused with herself.

For a moment, Minjeong froze, her expression blank save for the faintest tinge of irritation. She chewed slowly, her eyes fixed on Jimin as if debating how best to respond. But before she could say a word, Jimin’s thumb brushed lightly against the corner of her lips—a quick, almost instinctive gesture as though to wipe away a stray crumb, even though there was nothing there.

The touch lingered just a second too long.

Their eyes met, and the air between them shifted, the playful banter giving way to something heavier. Jimin’s hand hovered midair, her smile faltering as her gaze softened. For a moment, neither of them moved, the silence thick with unspoken tension.

It was Minjeong who broke the moment, lowering her gaze as she turned back to the cutting board. Her movements were slightly stiffer now, though she quickly regained her focus, returning to the fruit medley as if nothing had happened.

Jimin swallowed hard, her hand dropping back to her side as she processed what had just transpired. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks as she recalled the soft curve of Minjeong’s lips, the hazy tiredness in her eyes from the long day, and the way her bangs framed her face, slightly outgrown and brushing against her lashes. Jimin shook her head quickly, willing the thoughts away, though the warmth in her face refused to fade.

“I’ll, uh—set the table,” Jimin mumbled, slipping off the counter and retreating to the dining area. She busied herself arranging the plates and utensils, her movements quick and efficient as if the task could somehow distract her from the lingering flutter in her chest.

Minjeong continued slicing the strawberries, her hands steady despite the faint flutter in her chest. She finished the fruit medley quickly, tossing the berries together in a small bowl and placing them aside as she turned back to the stove, determined to keep her thoughts at bay.

Dinner passed with a comforting ease, the clinking of utensils and the occasional hum of appreciation filling the room. Jimin couldn’t hide her delight at the simple yet flavorful pasta Minjeong had made, her compliments light but sincere. “This is so good,” she murmured between bites, her expression radiating contentment. Minjeong responded with a soft nod, her cheeks faintly pink but her tiredness keeping her from saying much.

The evening passed quicker than Jimin would have liked. As the clock ticked on, she found herself stealing glances at Minjeong, whose eyelids were growing heavier by the minute. By the time the dishes were cleared, Minjeong’s head was nearly nodding, her weariness palpable.

Jimin chuckled softly, placing a hand on her hip as she stood by the counter. “Alright, sleepyhead,” she teased gently, “I think it’s time you called it a night.”

Minjeong blinked blearily, sitting upright on the couch as if to protest, but Jimin was already moving. She disappeared briefly into her bedroom, returning with an armful of blankets and pillows. She spread them out on the couch with care, a faint pout on her lips as she looked at Minjeong.

“You know,” Jimin started, her tone almost conversational, “my bed’s big enough for the both of us. You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Minjeong shook her head almost instantly, her voice quiet but firm. “I’m fine here,” she said simply. “I prefer the couch.”

Jimin huffed in mock frustration, dropping her hands to her sides. “Stubborn,” she muttered under her breath, though there was no real bite to her tone. Still, she knelt down and helped adjust the blankets, making sure everything was tucked and as comfortable as possible.

Once the makeshift bed was ready, Jimin stood back, satisfied with her work. She glanced at Minjeong, who was already lying flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. Despite the stoic look on her face, Jimin couldn’t help but linger for a moment longer, her gaze softening as she watched Minjeong in the dim light of the room.

“Good night,” Jimin whispered finally, her voice barely above a murmur.

Minjeong’s head tilted slightly, her eyes shifting to meet Jimin’s. And then, for the first time that evening, she smiled—small but genuine, her lips curving just enough to light up her tired face. “Good night,” she replied softly.

Jimin hesitated for a heartbeat before retreating to her room. She left the door slightly ajar, casting a sliver of light into the hallway. As she climbed into bed, she found her gaze lingering on the open door, her mind circling back to the subtle moments of the night—the warmth of Minjeong’s smile, the quiet vulnerability that seemed to peek through her usual stoicism.

For a while, Jimin lay awake, her eyes fixed on the door as if waiting for something—or someone. But exhaustion eventually won out, her eyelids growing heavy until she drifted off, the weight of her own long day finally catching up with her.

Sunday mornings were sacred for Jimin. They were her retreat—a haven of solitude where no alarms chimed, no plans loomed, and no one dared to interrupt. It was her one day to prioritize herself and sleep until the afternoon. But her cherished ritual was abruptly cut short when the faint aroma of something cooking teased her senses. Eyes cracking open reluctantly, she groaned and reached for her phone. 9:30 a.m.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Jimin pulled herself upright, a yawn escaping her as she scratched her head. Her sleepy brain struggled to piece together what was happening. Only a few people knew the passcode to her apartment—Aeri and Ryujin—and they both respected her Sundays like a sacred oath. As realization dawned on her, Jimin’s eyes widened slightly, snapping her fully awake. Kim Minjeong.

With a sudden burst of energy, Jimin swung her feet to the floor, quickly adjusting her sleep-rumpled shirt and heading toward the open area. As she emerged into the living room, the scene before her stopped her in her tracks. Her suspicions were immediately confirmed. There, in her kitchen, stood Minjeong, hair pulled back into a ponytail, clad in athletic wear that screamed energy far too early in the day. She moved with fluid precision, flipping pancakes and tending to a sizzling pan of bacon, the smells warm and savory.

Jimin hopped onto the counter beside the stove, narrowing her eyes into what could only be described as a glare. If this was supposed to faze Minjeong, it failed miserably. The med student remained completely unbothered, her focus unwavering as she tended to breakfast.

“You’re up,” Minjeong said matter-of-factly, glancing at Jimin briefly before turning back to the stove. “I’m making pancakes and bacon... was going to heat it up for you later if you wanted more sleep.”

Jimin, still groggy, crossed her arms. “You do realize that bacon wasn’t in my fridge.”

Without missing a beat, Minjeong flipped another pancake, her tone as calm as ever. “I went on a run and did a quick grocery run,” she replied nonchalantly, as if this were the most obvious solution to not having bacon at home. Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to wrap her head around Minjeong’s seamless adaptability. It was barely past 9 a.m., and Minjeong had already managed to go for a run and grab groceries? Jimin blinked, still half-convinced she was dreaming. She gestured toward the counter with a tilt of her chin. “Orange juice or apple juice?”

Jimin blinked, momentarily caught off guard by how seamlessly Minjeong adapted to her space. It was as though she’d lived here for weeks, not hours. “What?” Jimin asked, still trying to keep up.

“Pick a drink,” Minjeong said patiently, nodding toward the neatly lined-up bottles. “Not sure which one you like, and I know Yizhuo’s picky about her morning drinks, so I figured I’d play it safe. Or do you want coffee?”

Sliding off the counter, Jimin grabbed the apple juice and poured herself a glass. Holding up the bottle, she gave Minjeong a questioning look. Minjeong nodded her approval, and Jimin poured a second glass.

“Team apple juice. Good call,” Minjeong said with a faint chuckle. “Yizhuo hates apple juice—says it tastes like sweetened urine. But I love it.”

Jimin grimaced, wrinkling her nose at the thought before bursting into a laugh. “I like apple juice too,” she admitted. “Orange is way too acidic for me in the morning.”

Minjeong hummed in agreement, her focus already back on the stove. She moved with quiet efficiency, plating the pancakes and bacon with precision. Her calm demeanor was so unshakable, so effortless, that Jimin found herself studying her more closely. It was a subtle but striking contrast to her own grogginess. Even in an unfamiliar kitchen, Minjeong moved as though every drawer and cupboard were second nature, her adaptability seamless.

Jimin wiped her mouth, her skeptical gaze fixed on Minjeong, who was already moving about the kitchen with an air of quiet determination. It was all beginning to make sense now—why Yizhuo didn’t seem to mind Minjeong crashing at her place. The girl couldn’t just sit still; she had to do things. She wasn’t confident so much as compelled, almost like it was her way of silently making up for taking space in someone else’s home.

Earlier, Jimin had risen from her chair, fully prepared to gather the dishes and start cleaning. After all, the unspoken rule was clear—if one person cooked, the other cleaned. But apparently, Minjeong didn’t subscribe to that system. The moment Jimin reached for her plate, Minjeong had smacked her hand away with surprising precision.

“I’ll do it,” Minjeong said simply, her tone firm but not harsh.

Jimin frowned, crossing her arms like a petulant child. “No... I’ll do it.”

She started to stand, but Minjeong moved faster, her smaller frame concealing an unexpected strength. Before Jimin could process what was happening, she was firmly pinned back into her chair, staring in wide-eyed disbelief at the hockey player—well, hobbyist—who somehow managed to have the strength of someone who trained professionally.

“I said, I’ll do it,” Minjeong repeated, her glare sharp yet stoically composed.

Jimin huffed loudly, slumping back into her seat with an exaggerated pout. “Fine. But I don’t like this dictatorship.”

Now, she sat on the sidelines, her eyes narrowed as she watched Minjeong efficiently handle the cleanup, her movements deliberate yet quick. If Jimin was being honest with herself, the dynamic was throwing her off entirely. She wasn’t used to someone stepping into her space and seamlessly taking over, let alone someone who didn’t really owe her anything. It was... strange, but not entirely unwelcome.

“What are your plans for the day?” Jimin asked eventually, leaning her cheek on her hand as she broke the silence.

Minjeong hummed thoughtfully, rinsing off the last plate as she replied, “Probably the library. Or just out and about.”

Jimin blinked, her brow furrowing. “The library? On a Sunday?”

Minjeong shrugged, setting the plate on the drying rack. “I don’t want to intrude on your day,” she said matter-of-factly, moving to wipe down the counter. “I’ll pack my stuff and head out.”

Jimin straightened in her seat, her frown deepening. “No,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not leaving.” When Minjeong turned to glance at her, Jimin crossed her arms, her expression unwavering. “Stay here. Treat my place like you would Yizhuo’s. No packing. No library.”

Minjeong paused, the towel in her hand going still as she processed Jimin’s words. Her expression was calm, but her raised eyebrows betrayed a hint of surprise. “Really—”

“Yes, really,” Jimin interrupted, huffing as she slid off her chair. “Now, go take a shower. You stink from your run.”

Minjeong tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “I don’t stink.”

“You do,” Jimin countered with an amused grin, the teasing lilt in her voice softening the jab. “Now go. I have plans for you today.”

Minjeong blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected firmness in Jimin’s voice. There was something about the way she said it—so direct, so authoritative—that Minjeong found herself unable to argue. With a resigned huff, she grabbed a towel from the couch and headed toward the bathroom.

“Yes, ma’am,” Minjeong muttered under her breath, loud enough for Jimin to hear.

Jimin smirked triumphantly, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes as she watched Minjeong disappear down the hall. The sound of running water soon filled the apartment, and Jimin clapped her hands together in giddy anticipation. Bursting into her room, she rummaged through her wardrobe with renewed energy. Sunday was usually her day of rest and solitude, but today? Today, things were going to be different.

Jimin hadn’t planned to leave her apartment, let alone spend her Sunday morning dragging someone to the Han River. Sundays were meant for herself—a sacred day to recharge, catch up on sleep, and maybe binge the latest dramas while wrapped in a blanket cocoon. Yet here she was, standing in the middle of the park, sunlight catching on her hair as she watched the world around her, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“I can’t believe I’m out here,” Jimin murmured, her breath visible in the cold December air. She turned to Minjeong, who was strolling beside her with her hands casually tucked into the pockets of her coat. “You have no idea how rare this is for me.”

Minjeong shrugged, glancing sideways at Jimin. “It doesn’t seem so bad,” she replied, her tone neutral, though her lips twitched as if holding back a smile. She looked outward, taking in the scene—stretching paths, pale winter skies, and the river glinting faintly under the cold sunlight. The park wasn’t much to look at, not in the middle of December when the trees were stripped bare and the earth seemed to be holding its breath until spring. But there was something serene about the scene, a quiet sort of beauty that wasn’t flashy but still managed to feel comforting.

For Jimin, though, the park seemed to come alive. Her eyes lit up as she admired the openness of the space, the gentle lull of the river’s flow, and the crispness of the air that bit softly at her cheeks. Minjeong couldn’t help but notice the difference—how Jimin’s usual composed, almost polished demeanor melted into something lighter and freer out here. It was a side of Jimin that Minjeong hadn’t fully seen before, one that made her pause for just a second too long.

“You’re smiling,” Jimin teased, turning to Minjeong with an amused grin. “What’s that about?”

“Am I?” Minjeong quipped, her expression smoothing into something more neutral as she raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t deny it,” Jimin shot back, the teasing lilt in her voice brightening the air around them. “I saw it.”

Minjeong exhaled softly, her breath fogging up in the cold. “Maybe I’m just admiring the scenery,” she said simply, though her gaze lingered on Jimin a beat too long. The park wasn’t the most beautiful place, not in its winter state with muted colors and skeletal trees. But there was something about the air—a clean, crisp feeling—that made it admirable in its own way. And then there was Jimin, with her sunshine-like presence, practically radiating warmth even in the chilly December weather. That made it better.

Jimin noticed Minjeong watching her and tilted her head curiously. “What?” she asked, her voice softer now, edged with curiosity.

“Nothing,” Minjeong said, a small smile pulling at her lips despite herself. She stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets and glanced away, focusing instead on the distant ripples of the river.

Jimin’s grin widened at the subtle shift in Minjeong’s expression, but she decided not to press further. Instead, she took a deep breath, savoring the moment. “It feels good to be out here,” she admitted, her voice quiet but genuine. “I thought I’d hate it, being outside on a Sunday. But... I don’t know. It’s nice. Better than being holed up in my apartment.”

Minjeong hummed in agreement, her gaze following a family cycling past them, their laughter carrying lightly on the breeze. “I get it,” she said after a moment. “Sometimes it’s good to step away from what you’re used to.”

Minjeong’s gaze lingered on the family cycling down the path, her eyes soft as she watched the youngest child wobble on their bike with enthusiastic determination. The laughter and cheerful voices carried lightly through the crisp air, adding a warmth to the otherwise cold December morning. Jimin, standing beside her, caught the direction of Minjeong’s attention and tilted her head curiously.

“Want to rent some bikes?” Jimin asked suddenly, her tone light and playful.

Minjeong turned to her, blinking in disbelief. “It’s winter.”

Jimin gestured toward the dry pavement and the lack of snow, her lips curving into a cheeky grin. “Barely winter,” she replied, her voice brimming with determination. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Before Minjeong could protest, Jimin was already dragging her toward the nearest rental shop, her fingers wrapped securely around Minjeong’s wrist. Minjeong let out a soft sigh but didn’t resist, secretly amused by Jimin’s stubborn enthusiasm.

Within minutes, they were on their bikes, pedaling down the riverside path. Minjeong cycled faster than she’d intended, letting the cold breeze whip against her face and redden her cheeks. The crisp air stung her nose, but the freedom of the moment made it all worth it. She laughed softly to herself, knowing full well that she’d probably catch a cold later—but at that moment, she didn’t care.

Glancing back, she saw Jimin speeding up to catch her, her hair bouncing lightly as she pedaled with unrestrained energy. Their eyes met for a split second before Jimin burst into laughter, her voice carried by the wind. Minjeong couldn’t help but laugh too, her worries melting away as they raced along the path, weaving through the near-empty lanes.

By the time they stopped an hour later, both of them were slightly breathless, their cheeks pink from the cold and the exercise. They parked their bikes outside a convenience store, the warm light from inside beckoning them. As soon as they stepped in, they gravitated toward the food section, their rumbling stomachs guiding their choices. Minjeong picked up a tray of steaming ramen and tteokbokki, while Jimin grabbed a bottle of banana milk, her remedy for the inevitable spice. Minjeong, on the other hand, opted for a can of beer, figuring it would pair well with the cold air still clinging to her skin.

The store’s small seating area was cozy, and they settled into a corner table near another family. The faint hum of chatter filled the space as they dug into their food. Minjeong paused when the child at the neighboring table accidentally dropped a rice cake into their lap, prompting an eruption of laughter from their family. The scene brought a small smile to Minjeong’s lips—there was something undeniably heartwarming about it.

Jimin followed her gaze, a faint smile tugging at her own lips as she continued to eat. The warmth of the convenience store, paired with the simplicity of the moment, felt oddly perfect.

Breaking the comfortable silence, Minjeong spoke, her voice soft but genuine. “You know, I’m kind of like you on Sundays. I don’t really do much—no events, no plans—unless Yizhuo drags me out.”

Jimin glanced at her, her banana milk paused mid-sip, as Minjeong continued. “But Yizhuo usually has shifts at the hospital on Sundays. So… most of the time, it’s just me.” Minjeong’s lips curved into a faint smile, her gaze dropping to her bowl. “It’s nice to go out for a change.”

When Minjeong looked up again, her eyes met Jimin’s. The sincerity in her smile was unmistakable, and for a moment, Jimin felt something flutter in her chest—a quiet warmth that spread through her.

“Yeah,” Jimin said softly, her own smile mirroring Minjeong’s. “It is.”

The two of them fell back into silence, the noise of the convenience store wrapping around them like a blanket. The family beside them continued to laugh, the warmth of their shared joy filling the small space, but neither Jimin nor Minjeong spoke again. They didn’t need to. The moment had already said enough.

It’s the next day, the dreaded Monday mornings. 

A common argument recently was Minjeong had begun dragging Yizhuo toward the front rows, a change that had prompted endless grumbles and protests from her friend. Yizhuo’s objections ranged from claiming it was too bright up front to insisting she couldn’t handle the proximity to their overly enthusiastic peers. But despite all her whining, Minjeong hadn’t budged—at least, not entirely. With some compromise (and a great deal of Yizhuo’s persistence), they had settled into the middle rows: not too close to the front, which Yizhuo preferred, but not too far for Minjeong, who seemed oddly intent on the change.

Now, as the classroom filled with chatter, Minjeong sat in her compromise seat, her focus shifting to the front where Jimin stood surrounded by classmates. She was lively as ever, her laughter carrying lightly over the hum of voices. Minjeong wasn’t sure why her gaze lingered on Jimin, but when Yizhuo dropped into the seat beside her with exaggerated flair, the moment was quickly interrupted.

“Wow. So this is what betrayal feels like,” Yizhuo said, clutching her chest dramatically. “You’re ditching me for her now?”

Minjeong didn’t even flinch, her gaze flicking briefly to Yizhuo before returning to her notebook. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied flatly, twirling her pen absently. “It’s not permanent. I’m just crashing there for now.”

Yizhuo let out a comically exaggerated gasp, throwing herself against the desk for effect. “You’ve replaced me,” she cried, her tone dripping with mock heartbreak. “How could you? After everything we’ve been through.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, her lips twitching as she fought back a smile. “Stop being dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m dramatic?” Yizhuo retorted, crossing her arms and leaning closer with a raised eyebrow. “Well, who’s going to clean my apartment now, huh? Or cook me dinner? What am I supposed to eat? Air? Dust bunnies? You’re leaving me to starve , Kim Minjeong.”

Minjeong let out a soft scoff, finally meeting Yizhuo’s gaze. “You’ll survive,” she said dryly, though the hint of amusement in her voice was hard to miss. “Maybe you can learn to use your microwave for something other than reheating pizza.”

Yizhuo gasped again, clutching her imaginary pearls. “Rude. I’ll have you know I’ve upgraded to instant noodles. Very gourmet.”

Minjeong chuckled despite herself, shaking her head in mild disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mean,” Yizhuo shot back with a pout, though her glinting eyes betrayed her humor. “Seriously, though—don’t get too cozy over there, alright? I’m expecting you back before my fridge starts crying.”

Minjeong let out a quiet laugh, glancing briefly toward Jimin one last time before turning her attention back to her friend. “Noted,” she replied softly, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Now stop whining. Class is about to start.”

Yizhuo slumped back into her seat with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But if I waste away from hunger this week, I’m haunting you.”

“Good luck with that,” Minjeong muttered, turning her focus back to her notebook as Yizhuo huffed in playful defeat.

Chapter Text

Class had ended for the day, but the weight of the annual charity banquet loomed over the student council like a storm cloud. The event was just a week away, and it was the council’s crown jewel—a tradition that had been upheld for years. The banquet wasn’t just any gathering; it was the culmination of months of planning, the source of significant pride for the school. Yet, thanks to Jeno, the co-events director, a single oversight had threatened to derail the entire thing.

Minjeong leaned against the windowsill of the council room, her eyes on Yizhuo, whose forehead was pressed dramatically against the glass. “I’m going to die here,” Yizhuo muttered, her voice muffled by the pane. “Forget the banquet. Just hold my funeral at this window.”

Minjeong fought back a grin at her best friend’s antics, choosing instead to join her in silently watching the rain streak down the window. It had been a long day already, and this emergency meeting, called as soon as Jeno dropped the bomb about the venue, was turning out to be one for the books. She hadn’t planned on tagging along to the council room, but waiting for Yizhuo and Jimin after class had somehow turned into sitting in on the chaos.

She wasn’t paying much attention to the meeting at first. It wasn’t her business, after all. But then Jimin’s voice cut through the room, sharp and unrelenting, and Minjeong couldn’t help but tune in.

“What do you mean there’s no venue?” Jimin demanded, her words precise and biting as she leveled Jeno with an icy glare. Her usual warm, easy going demeanor was gone, replaced by a cold, commanding presence that instantly silenced the room. The faint drumming of rain outside seemed to underscore her words.

Jeno stood frozen in front of her, shamefaced and fumbling. “I—uh—I missed the email to confirm it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jimin’s eyebrows shot up, her disbelief palpable. “You missed the email?!” she repeated, her tone dripping with incredulity. “The email confirming the venue for the biggest event of the year? The one job you were assigned?”

“I’m sorry—” Jeno began, but Jimin wasn’t done.

“No, you don’t get to just say you’re sorry and move on,” she snapped, her words cutting through the air like a blade. “Do you even understand the amount of work everyone else has put into this? Eunseok, your co-director might I add, has been busting his ass handling the sponsors, planning the decorations, and writing the MC scripts—all so this event can happen. Meanwhile, you had one task. One! To stay in contact with the banquet hall. And you couldn’t even do that?”

Eunseok, who was sitting nearby with his arms crossed, glanced up briefly but didn’t speak. He looked exhausted, clearly having carried more than his share of the workload. Minjeong noticed his tired gaze and couldn’t help but feel for him.

“I…” Jeno trailed off, staring at the floor.

“You what?” Jimin pressed, her voice lowering but no less sharp. “This isn’t just about you dropping the ball, Jeno. This is about the entire council cleaning up after your mistake because you couldn’t follow through. Do you have any idea how unprofessional this makes us look?”

Minjeong’s eyes darted to Jimin, momentarily mesmerized. She was completely in her element—sharp, focused, and uncompromising. The way she handled herself, even in the midst of her frustration, was nothing short of magnetic. It was impossible to look away.

Jimin exhaled sharply, pulling out her phone with quick, precise movements. “Give me the contact information for the banquet hall. Now,” she ordered.

Jeno hesitated, fumbling with his phone before handing it over. Jimin snatched it without hesitation, already dialing the number as the tension in the room reached its peak. She turned her back slightly, pacing as the line connected.

“Hi, this is Jimin, student body president for the Faculty of Medicine at SNU,” she said, her voice instantly shifting to a calm but authoritative tone. “I’m calling about the charity banquet scheduled for next week. I understand there’s been an issue with the venue…”

Minjeong watched in quiet admiration as Jimin negotiated. Her words were confident and measured, her expression unyielding. Whatever the representative on the other end was saying didn’t seem to faze her in the slightest.

“Yes, I understand. So the venue is still available? Perfect. What’s needed to finalize the booking?” Jimin asked, her tone steady. She paused, listening carefully before nodding to herself. “We’ll process the payment today. Thank you for your cooperation.”

She ended the call with a decisive click and turned to the room, her gaze sweeping over the council members. “The venue’s still available,” she announced. “They need the down payment immediately.”

“Already on it,” Yizhuo said, her fingers flying over her tablet. “I’ll have it processed in ten minutes.”

“Good,” Jimin replied, her expression softening slightly as she glanced at Yizhuo. “Thank you.”

Her attention snapped back to Jeno, who seemed to shrink under her gaze. “Consider this your final warning,” she said, her tone dropping to a cold, steely edge. “You’re lucky the hall is still available. If it wasn’t, this entire banquet would have been a disaster, and it would’ve been on you. Next time, either do your job or step down. Am I clear?”

Jeno nodded quickly, his face red with embarrassment. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jimin’s posture relaxed slightly, but her presence remained commanding. She glanced at Eunseok, her voice softening as she addressed him. “Thank you for picking up the slack. I owe you for keeping things together.”

Eunseok gave her a tired nod, and with that, the meeting began to wrap up. Minjeong leaned back against the window, a faint smile pulling at her lips. Seeing Jimin handle the situation with such precision and authority made something in her chest flutter. Internally, she couldn’t help but think, Atta girl.

The rain had stopped by the time the meeting was over, but the tension hadn’t completely lifted. Yizhuo was still buzzing with energy, recounting every moment of Jimin’s verbal takedown like it was her new favorite drama.

“I mean, the way you told Jeno off—” Yizhuo clapped her hands together for effect, her grin wide. “Finally! That guy’s been skating by since September. About time someone put him in his place.”

Jimin, however, didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. Sitting slumped in a chair, she buried her face in her hands, groaning softly. “I lost it,” she mumbled, her voice muffled. “I went too far. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

Minjeong, standing quietly by the door, watched the scene unfold without commenting. She could see the nervous energy radiating off Jimin, the way her fingers curled slightly against her temples as if she were trying to hold herself together.

“Oh, come on,” Yizhuo replied with an exaggerated eye roll. “You were perfect. Someone had to say it, and Eunseok’s too nice to fight back. Honestly, I was proud of you for being scary for once. Jeno deserved every word.”

Minjeong didn’t say anything, but she silently agreed. She knew Jeno and Eunseok from hockey, and the dynamics there mirrored what she had just witnessed in the council room. Sungchan, the team captain, usually dealt with Jeno’s attitude by benching him or ignoring him outright. Jeno could be insufferable and cocky, but he rarely crossed any lines with Minjeong. It might’ve been because he saw her as untouchable—her cold demeanor had that effect on people—or maybe it was because she never tolerated nonsense.

Eunseok, on the other hand, was the opposite of Minjeong. Too nice for his own good, he had a tendency to listen patiently to Jeno’s nonsense, which only emboldened Jeno to take advantage of him. Minjeong had witnessed it all during practices, the way Jeno treated Eunseok like an easy target, and it grated on her. Seeing Jimin stand up for Eunseok earlier had been… satisfying, to say the least.

But now, Jimin sat biting her lip, her face etched with worry. Minjeong recognized the look—Jimin was grappling with the unfamiliar territory of stepping outside her usual bright, easy going demeanor. It wasn’t hard to see that she was second-guessing herself.

Minjeong’s voice broke the quiet with an unexpected bluntness. “I thought you were cool.”

Both Yizhuo and Jimin turned toward her, caught off guard by the comment. Jimin blinked, lowering her hands from her face, her expression shifting into confusion. “What?”

“You handled it well,” Minjeong added, shrugging slightly as if her words carried no weight. But her gaze on Jimin was steady, unwavering. “He deserved it. It needed to be said.”

Yizhuo leaned back in her chair, grinning as she crossed her arms. “See? Even Minjeong agrees.” She gestured toward Minjeong with a knowing smirk. “And you know her—she’s not exactly the type to hand out compliments.”

Jimin let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just… I don’t like being that person,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t want people to think I’m—”

“Cruel?” Minjeong interjected, her tone calm but firm. “You weren’t. You were honest. And sometimes, people need to hear the truth, even if it stings.”

Minjeong shrugged, her expression neutral, but there was a faint glimmer of warmth in her eyes. “And honestly, if anyone thought you were out of line, they would’ve spoken up. But no one did. Everyone agreed with your words. It’s obvious they’ve seen how much Jeno’s been slacking off this entire semester.” she said matter-of-factly, her tone unflinching. 

Minjeong crossed her arms lightly and leaned against the windowsill. “I mean, even I noticed, and I’m not in the student council. If it’s that clear to me, it’s clear to everyone.” Her words hung in the air for a moment before Yizhuo burst in enthusiastically.

“RIGHT!” Yizhuo exclaimed, clapping her hands together as if Minjeong had perfectly articulated her thoughts. “I’ve been saying this! And poor Eunseok is too nice to call him out, so Jimin finally stepping in? About damn time.”

Jimin gave a small, hesitant nod, her fingers fiddling absentmindedly with the hem of her jacket. While she was clearly absorbing their words, Minjeong noticed the slight pinch in her brow, the way her lips pressed together in lingering uncertainty. The nervous energy was hard to miss, and it unsettled Minjeong more than she expected.

Minjeong leaned forward slightly, her voice softening but remaining steady. “Look, being a little different from what everyone expects of you? That’s normal. You don’t have to be the sunshine president twenty-four-seven. Sometimes, people need to see this side of you—the one that takes charge and doesn’t tolerate nonsense. It’s refreshing.”

Jimin’s eyes flickered up to meet hers, something in her gaze shifting ever so slightly. Minjeong held her ground, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Honestly, I like seeing this side of you. Spices up the friendship a little,” she added teasingly. “Though, note to self: definitely not crossing the line with you anytime soon.”

That earned a genuine laugh from Jimin, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as her tension began to melt away. The self-doubt lingering in her features faded just a little, replaced by a shy but growing smile. “You really think so?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” Minjeong replied simply, the directness in her voice leaving no room for argument.

Beside them, Yizhuo groaned playfully. “Ugh, Minjeong, you’re spoiling her now. Next thing you know, Jimin will think she’s untouchable.”

Jimin grinned, her usual confidence flickering back into place as she turned to Yizhuo. “Maybe I am.”

The playful exchange eased the mood in the room, the earlier tension all but forgotten. Minjeong allowed herself a small smile as she watched Jimin laugh with Yizhuo. It wasn’t often she spoke up with her opinions, but seeing how Jimin had so easily accepted her compliment, how it had helped her in some way, left Minjeong feeling… quietly satisfied.

Jimin stared at her for a moment, the weight of Minjeong’s words settling over her. There was no judgment in Minjeong’s voice, no teasing, just quiet reassurance. Jimin’s lips quirked into a small, hesitant smile. “Thanks, Minjeong.”

Minjeong gave a slight nod, her expression unreadable as she turned her gaze back to the windows. Yizhuo, ever the mood lifter, clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough with the heavy stuff. Who’s up for bubble tea? My treat—well, technically, council funds’ treat, but you get the idea.”

Jimin groaned but laughed, and even Minjeong’s lips twitched into a faint smile. The tension eased, if only a little, as the three of them gathered their things and headed out into the crisp, post-rain evening.

With bubble tea in hand, the three of them strolled out into the crisp evening air, the quiet hum of conversation filling the space between them. Jimin glanced at Yizhuo, who was sipping her drink dramatically, and grinned. “So, Minjeong’s not staying at your place tonight. Does that mean you’ll have to fend for yourself for dinner?” she teased, her tone light and playful.

Yizhuo let out a groan, rolling her eyes. “Don’t remind me. Bubble tea is literally my meal for tonight, thanks to someone abandoning me,” she said, throwing a mock pout in Minjeong’s direction.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the dramatics. “I didn’t abandon you,” she replied flatly. “I’m staying with my sister tonight and heading uptown for my mom’s birthday dinner.”

That seemed to catch Yizhuo’s attention, her pout replaced with curiosity. “Oh? Well, make sure to say happy birthday to her for me,” she said, the dramatics slipping away for a moment of genuine warmth.

Minjeong nodded. “I will.”

Before Minjeong could take another sip of her drink, Yizhuo swung her arm lightly over Minjeong’s shoulder, pulling her into a casual side hug. There was something softer in her gesture this time, her usual energy dialed back. “You know my door’s always open,” Yizhuo said gently, her voice just above a murmur. “If you need a place tonight, don’t hesitate.”

Minjeong stiffened for the briefest moment, her shoulders tight under Yizhuo’s arm. Then, with a practiced ease, she relaxed, letting out a soft chuckle. “I know,” she replied simply. Her voice was steady, but Jimin noticed the slight drop of her gaze to the pavement, as if she was trying to brush off the offer before it dug too deeply.

Watching the exchange, Jimin slowed her pace slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. Minjeong was quiet and composed as always, but there was something about the way she responded that tugged at Jimin. She filed the moment away in her mind, making a note to check in with Minjeong later that night.

The three of them continued walking, the weight of the conversation giving way to lighter topics and occasional jokes. The rain had cleared, leaving behind a faint chill in the air, but the warmth of their companionship lingered long after.

Minjeong sat on the edge of her bed, her gaze fixed on the two concert tickets lying on her desk. The band had been a favorite of her mother’s for years, and their reunion tour was something her mother had mentioned wistfully several times. She had talked about wanting tickets but admitted, with a shrug, that it was too much of a hassle to figure out how to get them. Minjeong remembered her mother’s tone, the way it had been tinged with longing, but never outright asking for help. That was how it always was—quiet hints, a suggestion here and there, but never direct.

Minjeong hadn’t been able to get the tickets on the day of the sale, but she hadn’t given up. She spent weeks scouring resell sites, finally finding a pair that were overpriced but still within reach. Two tickets. Maybe her mother would want them for herself and a friend—or maybe, just maybe, Minjeong would go with her. She hadn’t decided yet. The tickets remained tucked away, waiting for the right moment. But as she stared at them now, her chest tightened. What if she doesn’t notice there are two? The uncertainty sat heavy in her mind.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. “Ready?” Taeyeon called softly from the hallway.

Minjeong blinked, breaking her stare, and quickly slid the tickets into her pocket as though hiding them might ease their weight. “Yeah, coming,” she replied, standing and smoothing out her sweater before heading to the door.

Downstairs, Chaeyoung was happily toddling around the living room, her tiny hands clutching a soft toy. She was babbling incoherent strings of words, giggling to herself as she waddled unevenly from corner to corner. Minjeong’s face softened instantly, her earlier tension fading as she knelt to scoop up her niece. “Look at you,” she cooed, twirling the little girl lightly. “You’re so pretty today.”

Chaeyoung gurgled something indecipherable but joyful, her toy now clutched tightly against Minjeong’s cheek as if sharing her excitement. Minjeong chuckled, pressing a light kiss to Chaeyoung’s temple before Baekhyun appeared at the doorway.

“Alright, ladies, the car's ready,” Baekhyun said with a smile, jingling his keys. “Let’s head out.”

Minjeong adjusted Chaeyoung in her arms as they made their way to the car, her niece’s warmth grounding her. Even as they drove through familiar streets, Minjeong held onto Chaeyoung, her grip just a little tighter than necessary. Minjeong found herself clinging to that comfort, drawing strength from the innocence Chaeyoung offered so freely. When they arrived at her childhood home, she hesitated for the briefest moment before stepping out of the car. The door loomed in front of her, and the weight in her chest grew heavier with each step. Still, she held onto Chaeyoung as they approached, using the child’s presence as a shield against the unease bubbling in her gut.

When her mother opened the door, her smile was simple. Minjeong’s chest tightened further. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to reach out, to pull her mother into the kind of embrace that might ease the quiet distance between them. But instead, she relied on the well-practiced mask she’d worn for years—a smile she’d perfected, the one that reassured everyone but herself. It hurt her cheeks, strained her muscles, but it was enough. It had to be enough.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” Minjeong said softly, her tone measured and polite. Her voice steady even as her emotions swirled beneath the surface.

Chaeyoung wriggled eagerly in her arms, ready to be set down. Minjeong gave her niece one last squeeze, clinging to her just a little longer before finally letting go. Chaeyoung ran inside, her joyful babbling filling the room as she darted toward the hallway.

Minjeong’s mother stepped forward, her eyes lingering on Minjeong’s face. She didn’t say much but her gaze was searching. “You look tired,” she said simply, as though commenting on the weather.

Minjeong felt the weight of the words but reacted the only way she knew how. Her practiced smile widened, her eyes curving into the shape that mimicked happiness. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice steady and even. 

Her mother nodded once, as though accepting her response as fact. “Good,” she replied, her tone quiet and clipped, before stepping forward to pull Minjeong into a brief hug. For a moment, Minjeong let herself melt into the embrace, sighing softly against her mother’s shoulder. The warmth was fleeting, but she clung to it anyway.

“Happy birthday, Mom!” Taeyeon’s cheerful voice broke the stillness as she stepped forward, pulling their mother into a tighter, livelier hug.

Minjeong slipped past them, heading into the living room. The beige couch and lavender-scented air greeted her, unchanged from years ago. The family photos lined the walls, but her gaze caught on the frames—the newest picture was of her at 13, all her other moments frozen in time long ago. She barely noticed how her fingers brushed against the tickets in her pocket, weighing her down.

She hesitated to pull them out now, her heart tightening with the memory of how her mother had spoken about her friend’s daughters—the trips they took, the dinners they arranged. Minjeong had bought two tickets, almost hoping her mother might suggest they go together. But the thought of offering them outright felt too bold, too uncertain. She would wait. If her mother noticed, if she addressed the two tickets… maybe then.

Minjeong sat cross-legged on the floor, keeping her gaze trained on Chaeyoung, who was stacking blocks with an intensity only a child could muster. Her niece’s giggles filled the living room, cutting through the stillness of the adults gathered. Baekhyun was out running errands, her father still tied up at work, which left Minjeong with her mother, Taeyeon, and Chaeyoung. The warm, homely scene should have been comforting, but the tension in Minjeong’s chest refused to ease.

“Mom, here,” Taeyeon said, breaking Minjeong’s reverie. She reached behind the couch and pulled out a neatly wrapped package. Their mother’s eyes lit up as she eagerly unwrapped the gift, revealing a leather-bound photobook.

“I thought it’d be nice to print the photos and put them together,” Taeyeon explained, smiling proudly. “You know, to track Chaeyoung’s growth over the years. It felt more personal than just storing them on a phone.”

Minjeong watched as her mother’s face softened, her fingers delicately flipping through the pages, a small, delighted smile forming at the corners of her lips. “This is wonderful,” her mother murmured, her voice warm. “What a beautiful idea, Taeyeon.”

Minjeong leaned over her mother’s shoulder to glance at the photos, bracing herself for what she already knew to expect. The pages were filled with snapshots of Chaeyoung—smiling, pouting, playing with her toys. Other photos captured various family moments: Taeyeon and Baekhyun holding Chaeyoung during a birthday celebration, and her parents—Chaeyoung’s grandparents—posing proudly as a trio with her on the front lawn during the holidays. It was a recurring theme. Chaeyoung with her parents. Chaeyoung with her grandparents. But there were no pictures of Minjeong with Chaeyoung. Not a single one.

The bitter taste of disappointment rose in Minjeong’s throat, though she quickly swallowed it down. This is Chaeyoung’s photobook, she reminded herself firmly. This isn’t about you. But the ache pressed against her all the same, unspoken and stubborn. It wasn’t just the absence—it was the pattern, the unshakable realization that she never seemed to fit into these moments in the way the rest of them did.

Her thoughts drifted, almost against her will, to her own photos—her high school graduation pictures. She had been so proud back then, a teenager brimming with quiet hope. Handing over the photos to her mother had felt monumental, a significant gesture that she thought would matter to her family. Minjeong had even gone out of her way to pick up a frame herself, excitedly making the task easier for her parents, confident that they would want to display her achievement somewhere in the house.

The interaction had been brief, almost perfunctory. Her mother sifted through the photos, choosing a handful with quick comments before setting them aside. The enthusiasm Minjeong had expected—hoped for—never came. Over time, she stopped looking for it.

Years later, during a quiet afternoon visit home, Minjeong had wandered into the office room and noticed the frame she’d bought, tucked away on a dusty shelf. The photograph inside—of her smiling brightly in her cap and gown—stared back at her, untouched and forgotten. It hadn’t been hung up or displayed, just quietly abandoned in a room no one entered except for Minjeong. The weight of that realization had settled over her like a shadow, cold and suffocating.

Now, sitting in the living room with the hum of family conversation in the background, that shadow crept back in, wrapping itself around her heart. Minjeong forced a smile, nodding along as her mother and Taeyeon gushed over the photobook. She pointed out trivial details in the pictures, murmuring soft comments like “cute” and “adorable,” playing the part she knew was expected of her.

But beneath the surface, she wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. Every fiber of her being wanted to demand, Why don’t I belong here? Why don’t you see me? But how dare she even think such things. This was Chaeyoung’s moment, her childhood carefully documented and cherished. Minjeong had no right to feel jealous. She had no right to hurt.

Her hand clenched slightly as another memory surfaced, unbidden. It was that day at the mall—a chance encounter with a high school friend. Minjeong had been with her mother, her exhaustion weighing her down to the point where she barely managed a forced smile when her friend greeted her. The exchange had been brief and awkward, and her friend had left with a polite but confused smile. Later, her mother had told her it was rude. How embarrassed her friend must have felt because of her attitude.

Minjeong had tried to explain. To say she wasn’t trying to be rude, just that she was... tired. Really tired. Exhausted, even. She thought her mother would ask why—would care enough to probe deeper. Instead, her mother had stared blankly at the table for what felt like an eternity before standing up and mumbling something about laundry. No questions. No concern. Just distance.

She smiled and nodded, over and over again, until the motions felt hollow. But the words echoed in her mind like a mantra she couldn’t escape: Just smile. Be happy. She had heard it too many times growing up, the well-meaning advice from her family that felt more like a rejection of her emotions. The words felt like they stripped her of permission to feel. Minjeong hated that phrase, hated how it reduced her to a shell of herself. But she had learned the lesson well enough. Vulnerability was unwelcome here. It was better to keep it buried, unseen.

“Isn’t this one adorable?” Taeyeon’s voice pulled her back to the present. Minjeong blinked and nodded mechanically, her lips curving into a strained smile.

“Yeah, cute,” she said softly, her voice barely audible as she sank further into herself, the weight of her unspoken emotions pressing heavily on her chest.

Her mother closed the photobook gently, her hand lingering on the cover as she glanced at Minjeong. “It’s a nice gift, isn’t it?” she remarked simply, her tone neutral and measured.

Minjeong nodded quickly, her well-practiced smile flashing once more. “It is,” she replied, her voice carrying just enough enthusiasm to sound polite. Inside, though, she felt hollow. The smile strained her cheeks, the kind of strain she had grown used to over the years. It was automatic now, a reflex. A mask.

Chaeyoung let out a gleeful squeal, breaking through Minjeong’s internal storm. The little girl had managed to stack her blocks higher than before, clapping her tiny hands at her own achievement. Minjeong latched onto the sound, grateful for the distraction, and shuffled closer to her niece.

“You’re getting so good at this,” she said warmly, carefully adding another block to the stack. Chaeyoung beamed at her, the kind of unfiltered joy that only a child could give. For a brief moment, Minjeong allowed herself to relax, to focus solely on her niece.

Chaeyoung let out another gleeful squeal as her blocks toppled over, bursting into contagious laughter. Minjeong chuckled softly, crouching to help rebuild the tiny tower. She felt the knot in her chest ease as she focused on her niece’s joyful determination. For a moment, it was just the two of them, an innocent reprieve from the heaviness Minjeong had carried into this house.

But the reprieve was short-lived. Her gaze flickered toward her mother, who had placed the photobook carefully on the coffee table, her hand lingering on the cover. The sight made something twist inside Minjeong. This was the moment, wasn’t it? She couldn’t keep holding onto the tickets forever. They weren’t going to give themselves.

Minjeong straightened, her hands curling slightly at her sides as she stood. She walked toward her mother, her steps hesitant but deliberate. “Mom,” she said, her voice just loud enough to catch her mother’s attention.

Her mother glanced up, a curious expression crossing her face. Minjeong swallowed hard, pulling the tickets from her pocket and holding them out. “I… got you these,” she said quickly, apologizing in the same breath, “I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to wrap them.”

Her mother’s brows knitted briefly before her eyes widened as they landed on the performer’s name. “Oh,” she gasped softly, taking the tickets from Minjeong’s hand. “You got these?”

Minjeong scratched the back of her neck awkwardly, her face flushing slightly under her mother’s gaze. “Yeah. I know you mentioned wanting to go… and I thought it would be nice.” She shifted uneasily, adding quickly, “There’s two, in case you and Dad want to go together.”

Her mother’s lips curved into a small smile, her fingers running over the text on the tickets as if to confirm they were real. “These are wonderful, Minjeong,” she murmured, her voice carrying a rare warmth that softened the usual distance. She paused, her smile turning curious as she glanced up. “Wouldn’t you like to join me?”

For a split second, Minjeong’s heart raced, her chest tightening painfully. She hadn’t anticipated the offer. Her mother’s suggestion felt heavier than it should have, sending her thoughts into a frenzy. Part of her wanted to say yes, wanted to accept and let herself imagine a shared night of music and memories. But reality hit just as quickly. She couldn’t.

Fifteen minutes in this house, surrounded by her family, and her walls were already cracking. The thought of spending an entire evening with her mother, trying to hold it all together while watching her favorite band—it felt suffocating. She didn’t want to ruin her mother’s night with her own inevitable unraveling.

Minjeong shook her head, her practiced smile slipping easily into place. “I thought about it,” she lied smoothly, “but I have an important assessment the day after. I really need to study.”

Her mother nodded understandingly, not questioning the excuse. “Of course,” she replied simply, her tone easy and accepting. Minjeong had always known how effortless it was to pull off these explanations. Being a med student came with an inherent cover, a demanding schedule that no one in her family seemed to fully grasp. She had tried explaining her requirements and general routine many times, but the questions about her plans for the year always repeated themselves. It was a cycle, her answers the same, their interest fleeting. Eventually, Minjeong stopped trying, using the perpetual misunderstanding to her advantage when she needed it.

Her mother’s focus returned to the tickets, the faint smile lingering on her face. “Thank you, Minjeong. This is thoughtful,” she said, her voice calm and genuine.

Minjeong nodded quickly, her smile unwavering. “I’m glad you like them,” she replied lightly, her tone steady despite the chaos swirling inside her. She excused herself quietly, moving back to join Chaeyoung on the floor.

The weight in her pocket was gone, but the heaviness in her chest remained. As she helped her niece rebuild the fallen blocks once more, Minjeong felt the ache inside her harden into something distant, something easier to ignore. This was enough—this polite exchange, this practiced smile. She told herself it had to be.

Dinner was fine. That was how Minjeong chose to sum it up in her mind. Fine, in the way something obligatory and drawn out often was. The minutes felt longer than they should have, and by the time the cake was brought out, her patience was wearing thin. When the pictures began—her mother holding the cake, Taeyeon beside her, Baekhyun snapping shots from different angles—Minjeong simply sucked it up and joined in. At least she managed to get one photo with her mother. That, she told herself, would have to be enough.

On the drive back, the car was dimly lit, the headlights of passing vehicles casting fleeting shadows across the interior. Minjeong sat quietly in the back seat, smiling as Chaeyoung’s tiny hand held onto her finger, her small grip firm and trusting even in sleep. Taeyeon turned around from the passenger seat, her expression soft as she looked at Minjeong.

“The concert tickets were a great gift,” Taeyeon said warmly, breaking the silence.

Minjeong nodded, her smile polite but faint. “Your photobook was too,” she replied, shifting the focus away from herself.

Baekhyun glanced at them through the rearview mirror, a grin tugging at his lips. “Better than mine, for sure,” he quipped. “A sack of oranges that weren’t even sweet. Can’t beat that.”

Taeyeon chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully. “At least you tried,” she teased.

Minjeong smiled faintly, her gaze dropping back to Chaeyoung. The child’s slow, rhythmic breathing was soothing, grounding her in a way she desperately needed. When they arrived back home, Minjeong helped settle Chaeyoung into her crib, carefully tucking her in as Taeyeon watched from the doorway. The room was peaceful, the soft glow of a nightlight casting warm hues across the walls.

Straightening, Minjeong glanced at Taeyeon. “I’m going to head to Yizhuo’s,” she said quietly, gathering her things from the corner of the room.

Taeyeon frowned, her concern evident. “It’s late, Minjeong. Are you sure? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

Minjeong hesitated for a moment before offering an explanation. “She called in a panic about an assignment,” she said smoothly. “She needs help. It won’t take long.”

Taeyeon sighed but nodded reluctantly. “Alright. Just text me when you get there, okay?”

“I will,” Minjeong promised. She grabbed a few more clothes for her bag before slipping out into the cool night air. The subway would’ve been the faster option, but Minjeong chose to walk instead. She needed the time to herself, the silence of the city night broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional sound of footsteps on the pavement.

Above her, the stars were faint but visible, scattered like pinpricks of light against the dark canvas of the sky. The noise of the city, ever-present and relentless, became a strange comfort, a way to drown out the thoughts she wasn’t ready to confront. Her footsteps were steady, each one bringing her closer to the reprieve she sought.

When she finally reached Yizhuo’s door, the fatigue of the evening hit her all at once. She raised her hand to knock, and almost immediately, the door swung open to reveal Yizhuo, her expression warm and knowing. Without a word, Yizhuo opened her arms, and Minjeong stepped into the embrace, melting against her friend as if every ounce of strength she had left dissolved in that moment.

“Was the food at least good?” Yizhuo teased lightly, her chin resting atop Minjeong’s head.

“Delicious,” Minjeong mumbled, her voice muffled against Yizhuo’s shoulder. Her reply was automatic, but there was a softness to her tone that only Yizhuo would catch—the quiet vulnerability she rarely showed anyone else.

Yizhuo pulled back slightly, her hands still resting on Minjeong’s shoulders as she studied her face. “Come on,” she said gently, guiding her inside. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

Minjeong let herself be led to the couch, sinking into the cushions as Yizhuo handed her a cup of warm tea. The warmth seeped through her hands, grounding her. She glanced at her friend, the familiar comfort of Yizhuo’s presence easing some of the weight she’d been carrying all evening.

“Thanks,” Minjeong murmured, her voice soft but sincere.

Yizhuo sat beside her, tucking her legs beneath her as she leaned closer. “You don’t have to say anything,” she said simply, her tone gentle but firm. “Just… be here.”

Minjeong nodded, her gaze dropping to the cup in her hands. For the first time that night, the tightness in her chest began to loosen, the quiet understanding between them filling the silence like a balm. In this space, with Yizhuo, she didn’t have to smile or explain. She could just exist.

The warmth of the tea seeped through Minjeong’s hands, grounding her as she sat back against the plush cushions. She allowed herself to exhale, the kind of deep, soul-relieving breath that unraveled the knots in her chest. In Yizhuo’s quiet, woody-scented living room, surrounded by her friend’s comforting presence, she could finally let her guard down.

The soft buzz of her phone broke the tranquility. Minjeong glanced at the screen resting on the coffee table, the notification lighting up the room for a moment. She hesitated briefly before setting the teacup down and reaching for her phone.

It was Jimin.

Minjeong’s brow furrowed in mild curiosity as she unlocked the screen to read the message. It wasn’t about the dinner, or even an inquiry into how her evening had gone. Instead, it was straightforward: Let’s grab food tomorrow. My treat.

Her lips twitched into the smallest smile, a flicker of warmth breaking through the fatigue in her chest. It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t framed as if she owed Jimin an answer. It felt... simple. Easy.

Minjeong let out a small chuckle, setting the phone back down on the table as she picked up her tea again. “The day didn’t end so badly,” she murmured, her voice soft but sincere.

Yizhuo, seated beside her, didn’t respond. Instead, she tucked her legs beneath her and leaned over gently, resting her head on Minjeong’s shoulder. The weight was light, unobtrusive, but comforting—an unspoken way of saying she understood.

Minjeong felt the tension in her chest loosen just a little more. In this moment, with Yizhuo’s quiet companionship, the warmth of the tea in her hands, and the unexpected message from Jimin, she felt something she hadn’t felt all evening: ease.

Chapter Text

The annual charity banquet—the pinnacle of the student council’s year—had finally arrived. The event was a celebration of months of planning, hard work, and tradition, bringing together students, sponsors, and supporters for an evening filled with elegance and purpose.

Minjeong stepped out of her car, closing the door with a soft click as the crisp evening air brushed against her skin. She adjusted her blazer slightly, the structured black fabric contrasting sharply against her soft white mid-length dress. Practical yet polished—it was a choice that suited her perfectly.

Walking around the car, she extended a hand to her best friend, who stepped out gracefully in a long black dress that cascaded like silk with every movement. “You’re smart for bringing a jacket,” Yizhuo muttered, shivering as the cold seeped into her exposed shoulders. Wasting no time, she looped her arm through Minjeong’s and pressed close to steal whatever warmth she could.

“I have a thin cardigan in the car. Do you want it?” Minjeong asked, her brow knitting slightly in concern.

Yizhuo shook her head stubbornly, tugging Minjeong toward the entrance of the banquet hall. “It’s fine. Let’s head inside quickly and get the night over with.”

Yizhuo’s words, as always, didn’t quite match her actions. She may have complained about the banquet, calling it a chore and lamenting how much more enjoyable it would be to stay home in sweats with pizza and Minjeong’s company, but the moment they stepped inside, her attitude shifted entirely. The air buzzed with activity—helpers arranging tables, sponsors setting up booths, and council members rushing to ensure every detail was perfect.

“Ugh, who set this up?” Yizhuo muttered sharply, her keen eyes scanning the sponsor booths lining the entrance area. Clicking her tongue in frustration, she immediately took control. “Our main donors should be at the center,” she directed firmly, waving a hand at the scattered helpers. “No—no. Just—let me do it.”

The petite finance director wasted no time, grabbing banners and hefting tables with an efficiency that left no room for questions. Minjeong hung back, her lips curving into a faint smile as she watched her best friend in her element.

“Make sure all sponsor names are shown in the PowerPoint throughout dinner,” Yizhuo commanded, her tone sharp but purposeful. “I’ll give a special thanks to them during my speech.”

“Yizhuo,” a familiar voice called out. Jimin emerged from the dining area, her white dress hugging her figure in all the right places, exuding effortless sophistication. Her smile was wide and approving as she approached. “The outcome is amazing! Thanks to your hard work with the sponsors.”

Ryujin followed close behind, dressed sharply in a tailored suit, her hands tucked neatly behind her back. “Quite the banquet, Yizhuo. You’ve really outdone yourself,” she added, her tone warm and genuine.

“No need for compliments,” Yizhuo said with a chuckle, brushing imaginary dust off her dress. “I know I’m good.”

Before more could be said, Aeri and Wonyoung joined the group, the former nearly tripping over her heels in an attempt to catch up. “You guys are here too!” Yizhuo exclaimed, her tone delighted as her gaze flickered between the two.

“Jimin said it’s a big event of the year,” Aeri explained, adjusting the hem of her red dress nervously, her cheeks tinged with the faintest shade of crimson. “And the venue was big enough to extend the invites beyond med students. Plus…” Her voice faltered briefly before continuing, “I remember how much time you spent gathering sponsors… including that bakery dat—hangout.”

Yizhuo’s grin widened mischievously, her eyes glinting as Aeri stumbled over her words. Choosing to spare her friend from further embarrassment, she turned to Wonyoung instead. “And you too—thanks for supporting!”

Wonyoung waved her hand dismissively. “Anything for my friends. Hey, Minjeong,” she said with a smile, her voice softening as her attention shifted.

Minjeong gave a small nod, swaying slightly from side to side in her usual casual manner. Wonyoung chuckled at the gesture and leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Not your scene either?”

“Not at all,” Minjeong admitted with a low chuckle. “But I’m just here to support Yizhuo.”

“Well, you look good while doing it,” Wonyoung teased, her eyes scanning Minjeong appreciatively. “Blazer’s a nice touch—very… you.”

She tugged lightly on the lapel of Minjeong’s blazer, her gaze flickering back to Minjeong’s own. “Must be warm. You think I can borrow this later when it gets chilly?”

Before Minjeong could reply, Jimin’s voice cut through with authority. “Yizhuo, I have one more thing I need to ask you about for the banquet. And Minjeong?” Her voice softened slightly but still carried its commanding edge. “I might need your help as well. Come with me.”

Minjeong glanced at Jimin, her attention now entirely focused on the student body president, who stood poised with an unyielding air of purpose. Whatever was happening, it didn’t seem like something Minjeong could avoid. She gave Wonyoung a polite smile before following Jimin, her steps quick and steady.

As they headed into the dining hall together, Minjeong couldn’t help but wonder what exactly the night had in store.

Yizhuo sighed, letting her gaze sweep across the bustling hall. The turnout, objectively speaking, was solid. Numbers-wise, it was even better than the previous years. The tables were filled, the bidding was lively, and the auction was on track to exceed expectations. By all accounts, the annual charity banquet and auction were a resounding success.

But to Yizhuo? It was boring. Mind-numbingly boring.

The annual student council auction was in full swing, raising funds for charity—a cause Yizhuo fully supported, of course. She was the Junior Financial Director of the student council, after all (and yes, she capitalized her title whenever possible because, as she liked to remind people, she earned it). In fact, her meticulous planning had already ensured they exceeded the funding goal for the event. She was making bank, and she was proud of it.

This year’s banquet was a combined effort, merging the annual charity auction with the medical school’s marquee social event to save costs and maximize turnout. But despite the practicality of the decision—and her own stellar work in securing sponsors—Yizhuo couldn’t shake the sense of monotony. She had worked tirelessly, collecting high-value items like premium stethoscopes, custom white coat fittings, sportswear, and even coffee chats with esteemed professors. Some companies had practically begged to sponsor the event just to be associated with SNU’s prestigious medical school. It had been almost too easy for her to line everything up, shaking hands with corporate reps and charming professors eager to bask in their own glory.

And yet, the energy in the room wasn’t hitting for her. Yizhuo twirled her fork idly, mumbling under her breath. “We need to spice things up.”

Minjeong, seated beside her, caught the muttering and decided to join in. “I still don’t know why I have to be here,” she deadpanned. “You also find this boring, but at least you’re supposed to be here for council stuff. I’m just a sack of flesh with no interest in this banquet.”

“It’s for charity, dumbass,” Yizhuo retorted, flicking Minjeong’s forehead hard enough to earn a glare. “If you don’t come, we lose seventy dollars to charity. Your ticket helps kids in need.”

“Right, right,” Minjeong grumbled, rubbing her forehead. “Next time, I’ll just give you the seventy dollars and skip the banquet.”

Yizhuo rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to argue further, but her gaze caught a few lingering stares. Correction: those stares weren’t for her. They were for Minjeong. The quiet, brooding med student, whose aloofness seemed to only amplify her mystique, was apparently the subject of interest for more than a few attendees tonight.

Yizhuo’s lips curved into a devious smile. An idea was forming, and it was deliciously chaotic. “You want me to change things up?” she asked, her tone laced with mischief.

Minjeong, oblivious to the danger, shrugged nonchalantly. “Do whatever you want. Enlighten me. Give the middle finger to the professors drowning in wine and see if that wakes me up. But I’m still going to be bored and probably fall asleep.” She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes as if to prove her point.

Yizhuo’s grin deepened. “This will wake you up, Kim Minjeong,” she said, standing from her seat with a determined glint in her eyes.

“What are you—” Minjeong started, but Yizhuo had already strode toward the stage.

Yeji, the vice president, was mid-announcement for the next auctionable item when she spotted the wild look in Yizhuo’s eyes. The microphone was relinquished without protest. Yeji knew better than to get in Yizhuo’s way when inspiration struck.

“Hi, hello everyone!” Yizhuo’s voice rang out as she grabbed the mic, tapping it for emphasis. The murmurs in the room quieted as the crowd turned their attention to her. “I have an exciting new auction item that just came in—a one-of-a-kind experience, never done before.”

Intrigued whispers rippled through the hall, bodies leaning forward in their seats. Yizhuo paced the stage with theatrical flair, relishing the attention. “Imagine this: a whole day with the most mysterious med student you’ve all been curious about since day one. The calm, quiet smartass who could tutor you; the athlete who could sweep you off your feet with skating dates; the amazing cook who can whip up anything your heart desires. You name it—one day, all yours.”

The crowd was hooked. Yizhuo could feel it in the air, the way the audience hung on her every word. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she continued, her voice dipping for dramatic effect, “I present to you… Kim Minjeong!” She smirked as she spotted her best friend’s reaction—Minjeong’s right eye twitched, and her jaw clenched so tightly Yizhuo swore she could hear the grind of teeth.

Minjeong’s death glare promised retribution. Yizhuo mentally noted to avoid being alone in a room with Minjeong for the rest of the night—or perhaps the rest of her life.

“Don’t be shy, Kim Minjeong,” Yizhuo teased, gesturing toward the frozen med student. “Come on up and say hi to the audience!”

The hall erupted into cheers and applause, students chanting Minjeong’s name like an anthem. Minjeong, meanwhile, sat rooted in her chair, her entire being radiating disbelief. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she stood, the weight of countless eyes pressing down on her as she walked to the stage.

When she reached Yizhuo, her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “You’re dead to me.”

Yizhuo grinned wider, entirely unapologetic. “I love you too.”

As the crowd cheered wildly, Yizhuo turned her attention back to them, hyping up the energy. “Alright, let’s start the bidding! Who’s ready to make their dreams come true?” Yizhuo’s voice rang out confidently, her smirk practically glinting under the stage lights. She tapped the mic once more for emphasis, ignoring Minjeong’s twitching eye as she stood stiffly beside her. “Let’s start the bidding at twenty dollars!”

Minjeong whipped her head toward her best friend, utterly baffled. Twenty dollars? I’m only worth twenty dollars?! She opened her mouth to protest, but Yizhuo preemptively leaned toward her and whispered through a too-wide grin, “Relax. Just watch.”

“Twenty!” A student shot their hand up.

“Fifty!” Another followed quickly.

“Seventy-five!” The bids escalated rapidly, causing Yizhuo to chuckle in satisfaction.

“Hundred!” Wonyoung raised her hand high, her shining smile visible even in the dim banquet lighting. Minjeong exhaled softly, relief washing over her. At least it was a familiar face. She wouldn’t mind if her friends carried this bid war—it was infinitely better than ending up “purchased” by some random student.

“Hundred twenty-five!” A confident voice rang out, a woman standing with a slight smirk aimed in Wonyoung’s direction. 

Minjeong, already overwhelmed by the attention, turned to Wonyoung with pleading eyes. The law student met her gaze and gave her a reassuring wink before upping the ante. “One seventy-five!” she announced, her tone confident.

The room hummed with murmurs, but before they could die down, a voice cut through the noise with calm authority. “Two fifty.”

The words cut through the murmurs like a sharp blade. Minjeong’s gaze snapped toward Jimin, whose calm yet commanding voice carried across the hall with ease. Jimin’s raised hand stood straight and firm, almost exaggeratedly so, reminiscent of the way she used to shoot her hand up in class, over-eager and persistent as she answered every question with precision. The memory hit Minjeong abruptly—Jimin had always carried that undeniable, almost nerdy charm, and tonight was no different. The boldness of her raised hand caught Minjeong’s attention, just as it had all those months ago in class. Relief flickers briefly in Minjeong’s chest, thankful for the student body president’s intervention. But Jimin’s expression made her pause—it was composed, almost stoic, with an intensity that sent Minjeong’s nerves on edge. It wasn’t a comforting smile Jimin wore; it was something far sharper.

“Two fifty?” Yizhuo chimed in, her grin broadening as her audience leaned closer, captivated by the unfolding spectacle. “Now that’s an offer! Anyone willing to go higher?”

“Two seventy-five,” Wonyoung said smoothly, her chin lifting in defiance. The room shifted again, students murmuring as they realized the stakes had turned into something far more personal. Students gave up on bidding themselves, drawn instead to the brewing rivalry between two campus icons—the charming law student and the untouchable president of medicine.

“Three hundred.” Jimin’s voice was polite and it sent chills down spines. It wasn’t a grin born of warmth or charm; it was one of precision, the kind that served as a subtle warning to back down.

But Wonyoung, ever the stubborn and brave, simply crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “Three fifty,” she declared coolly, her tone laced with both determination and amusement. Her words carried weight, a challenge as much as an offer.

Aeri shot Yizhuo a frantic look from the table, her lips moving silently as she mouthed, Stop this now. The law student quickly typed out a panicked message on her phone, which Yizhuo’s smartwatch vibrated to reveal moments later.

Yizhuo’s eyes widened as she glanced briefly at the screen, then hastily raised the mic. “Okay, okay—three fifty! Going once, going twice—sold!” She announced the final word so quickly it practically echoed across the room, ensuring no one else could interfere with Wonyoung’s victory.

Cheers erupted, and Yizhuo grabbed Minjeong’s arm, raised it high like she was auctioning off her prized cow. Minjeong’s jaw clenched, and her glare promised retribution as Yizhuo basked in the chaos.

As they walked offstage, Minjeong muttered venomously, “You’re insufferable.”

Yizhuo only grinned. “And you love me for it.”

As they approached Aeri’s table, Minjeong hesitated, suddenly feeling out of place. Yizhuo, of course, had no such qualms, grabbing a chair to sit beside Aeri while leaving Minjeong awkwardly standing in front of the group. The table’s occupants—Jimin, Ryujin, Sakura, Mina, and a few others—looked up with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement.

Wonyoung scooted her chair to make space, patting the spot beside her. “Here, we can share,” she offered, her voice warm.

“Three fifty is a lot… I feel bad,” Minjeong muttered, her hands fidgeting nervously as she perched on the edge of the seat.

“When we hang out, it’ll be my treat,” Minjeong added.

Wonyoung’s eyes gleamed with playful intent. “It’s a date then.”

The words were simple but struck a chord. Minjeong’s cheeks flushed, and she instinctively leaned back in her chair to regain composure. It was then she felt a burning gaze. Her eyes met Jimin’s across the table. The president’s expression was unreadable, but her intense stare made Minjeong’s breath hitch. Minjeong forced a soft smile toward her, but Jimin responded with a tight-lipped one before her gaze shifted. Ryujin leaned over to whisper something into Jimin’s ear, and Minjeong hesitated, deciding it wasn’t the right moment to approach.

The night trudged along as expected, slow and uneventful for Minjeong. Yizhuo, however, was basking in her triumph, her sour mood from earlier completely erased.

“You know it was all for fun, Jeong,” Yizhuo said with an exaggerated pout, swinging Minjeong’s arm like a child seeking forgiveness. “And besides, Wonyoung won the bid! So it’s all good.”

Minjeong remained stoic, giving her best friend the cold shoulder for a little longer. The pair ended up seated at Aeri’s table, where the leftover desserts quickly found their way into their hands. Aeri and Wonyoung both passed theirs on to the hungry med students, while Jimin quietly slid her untouched plate toward Minjeong after the amber-haired student complimented the confectionery.

“Thanks, by the way, for being so flexible with the funding, Wonyoung—OH, and you too, Jimin!” Minjeong’s words carried a hint of sugar-fueled confidence, her cheeks slightly flushed.

Jimin stiffened slightly, her cheeks flushing as she adjusted her posture. 

“It doesn’t make sense that you two needed to fight and increase the bidding that much,” Yizhuo teased, her tone carrying subtle amusement. “You guys just wanted to save Minjeong from the other students’ bids, right?” Yizhuo added, her tone laced with amusement that not everyone caught onto.

“Right…” Jimin said tightly, her grip on her glass tightening as she spoke through gritted teeth. She quickly masked her emotions, smoothing her features into a charming smile that seemed to dazzle the rest of the table. “Just wanting to increase the donations for charity.”

“Jimin’s been pretty competitive—wanting to beat past records for the amount raised,” Ryujin chimed in, her tone light. “She’s been telling me all about it.”

“Well, you definitely got me, Jimin,” Wonyoung said with a teasing glint in her eyes. “Your bidding scared me for a second, but now I know it was just a clever tactic to get me to donate more.”

“Business over friendship. Respect to you, Jimin. That’s why you’re the president.” Yizhuo pointed her spoon at Jimin, grinning mischievously.

Minjeong, paying little attention to the banter, grabbed Jimin’s dessert and finished it with quiet satisfaction.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Jimin said warmly, pulling Wonyoung and Aeri into a quick hug as they prepared to leave. The event had finally wrapped up, and the remaining council members were staying behind to clean up. “You too, Ryujin,” Jimin added, turning to her best friend with a grateful smile.

Ryujin hesitated, her brows furrowing slightly. “I can just give them the keys to my car and stay with you,” she offered, her voice low with concern. “I don’t want you going home alone this late.”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Yizhuo’s voice cut in before Jimin could respond, her arm slinging around the president’s shoulders with her usual flair. “She’s not alone. We have Minjeong! She’ll drive us home.”

Ryujin’s gaze shifted to the corner of the room, where Minjeong sat slumped in a chair, her head tilted back as she stared at the ceiling with a look of pure exhaustion. “I—uh—I mean, Minjeong could drive Wonyoung and Aeri home instead. She looks tired too—”

“Ryujin,” Jimin interrupted gently, placing a hand on her friend’s chest. Her smile was tight but firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “Just send them home. I’ll text you once I’m back, if that helps.”

Ryujin opened her mouth to protest but quickly closed it, recognizing the finality in Jimin’s tone. She nodded in defeat, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Alright. Text me,” she said, her voice softening.

Jimin gave her a reassuring pat before stepping back. “I will. Drive safe.”

As Ryujin walked off with the law students, Yizhuo waved them off enthusiastically before turning back to the banquet hall with a dramatic sigh. “Let’s hurry the fuck up and head home.”

Jimin chuckled, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Agreed.”

“Kim Minjeong!” Yizhuo’s voice rang out as she marched toward her best friend, her hands on her hips. “We need muscle—GO!”

Minjeong groaned audibly, muttering something incoherent as she reluctantly pushed herself out of the chair. She trudged toward the stack of boxes, her movements slow and deliberate, as if to emphasize her unwillingness.

Thirty minutes later, Jimin found herself watching Minjeong from across the room. The amber-haired med student was hauling yet another box, her expression a mix of irritation and resignation. Jimin couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Minjeong had been roped into this entirely against her will, and at this rate, she might as well be an honorary council member with how much Yizhuo worked her.

“Take a break,” Jimin said softly, approaching Minjeong and placing a hand on her shoulder. The hockey player turned, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “Seriously,” Jimin added, her tone firm but kind. “We’re almost finished. Just head out.”

Before Minjeong could protest, Jimin gently pushed her toward the door. The cool night air greeted them as they stepped outside, and Jimin shivered slightly at the sudden breeze. Without hesitation, Minjeong shrugged off her blazer and draped it over Jimin’s frame, her movements smooth and instinctive. 

Jimin opened her mouth to protest, her hands instinctively gripping the edges of the blazer. “You’re the one going to be outside,” she argued, her voice tinged with concern. “I’ll be fine—”

But her body betrayed her words. She pulled the blazer tighter around herself, letting the lingering warmth seep into her skin. The faint scent of Minjeong’s perfume surrounded her, comforting in a way she hadn’t expected. Jimin hesitated, her fingers brushing against the fabric as she realized she didn’t want to give it back—not yet.

Minjeong chuckled softly, her teasing tone breaking through Jimin’s internal conflict. “I’m sweating from all that physical labor,” she said, her lips curving into a smirk. “I’ll go warm up the car for you guys.”

Before Minjeong could step fully outside, Jimin reached out and tugged her hand, her grip gentle but firm. “Are you sleeping over at Ning’s place?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“Yeah, I am,” Minjeong replied, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.

“Stay at my place,” Jimin said suddenly, the words coming out more like a command than a suggestion. Her confidence faltered almost immediately, and she quickly added, “I-I mean, I’m sure you need a break from Ning after today.” She laughed nervously, trying to play it off as a joke.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “If you want to hang out with me, you could just say it,” she quipped. “I could tell… I’m only worth three hundred dollars to you.”

“You’re priceless,” Jimin shot back, rolling her eyes. “It was for charity.”

“Mhmm,” Minjeong hummed, her smirk widening.

Jimin’s hand twitched as if she were about to swat at her, but Minjeong dodged with practiced ease, laughing as she darted toward the car. Jimin couldn’t help but laugh along, shaking her head as she called after her, “Loser.”

“Finally,” Yizhuo sighed dramatically as she sank into the warm leather passenger seat, letting her body relax as if she’d just run a marathon. “Hit the brakes, Jeong.”

“Would it kill you to say please for once?” Minjeong quipped, her tone playful but laced with mock exasperation. Despite her words, she didn’t hesitate to pull out of the parking lot, the car humming softly as it glided onto the road.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Yizhuo mumbled, her voice heavy with drowsiness but her eyes still lazily tracking the road. “Jimin’s place is on the other side.”

“I’m dropping you off first. I’m staying at Jimin’s place,” Minjeong replied casually, her tone so relaxed it almost masked the slight shift in her grip on the steering wheel.

That woke Yizhuo up. She turned in her seat, her smirk growing as she twisted her body to glance at the backseat. Jimin, who had been quietly gazing out the window, suddenly seemed very interested in the passing streetlights.

“Oh yeah?” Yizhuo’s smirk deepened, her eyes glinting with mischief as she zeroed in on Jimin’s attempt to avoid her gaze.

“Yeah,” Minjeong replied, oblivious to the silent teasing happening behind her. “I need a break from you.”

Yizhuo chuckled, leaning back in her seat with a satisfied grin. “Well, don’t have too much fun,” she said, her voice dripping with faux innocence. Then, without missing a beat, she added, “Wear protection.”

“W-WHAT?!” Minjeong and Jimin exclaimed in unison, their voices overlapping in a mix of shock and mortification.

“We’re not—” Minjeong started, her voice rising in protest.

“Jesus, Ning, what are you even—” Jimin cut in, her face flushing a deep crimson.

“No need to get all defensive,” Yizhuo said, raising her hands in mock surrender, though her grin betrayed her lack of remorse. “It was just a joke—just a joke.”

“Funny,” Minjeong muttered through gritted teeth, her irritation barely contained. “I’m just sleeping over. I sleep on the couch.”

She didn’t know why she felt the need to clarify, but the words tumbled out anyway. Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Jimin, who was uncharacteristically quiet. The president’s gaze was fixed on her lap, her fingers fidgeting slightly with the edge of Minjeong’s blazer, which she still hadn’t taken off.

“I mean, you never know,” Yizhuo said, her tone sing-song as she turned her attention back to Jimin. “Jimin is hot.”

“Oh my god,” Jimin groaned, burying her face in her hands. The warmth in her cheeks spread to the tips of her ears, and she could feel Yizhuo’s teasing gaze boring into her.

“Stop it,” Minjeong snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, resisting the urge to pull over and strangle her best friend. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m just saying~” Yizhuo sang, her grin widening. “I wouldn’t be shocked.”

Minjeong let out a long, exasperated sigh, her eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. “You’re lucky I haven’t kicked you out of the car yet.”

“Love you too, Jeong,” Yizhuo replied sweetly, leaning back in her seat with a satisfied smirk.

The rest of the drive passed in relative silence, save for the occasional hum of the engine and the faint sound of Jimin clearing her throat. When they finally pulled up to Yizhuo’s place, Minjeong barely waited for her best friend to unbuckle her seatbelt before speaking.

“Out,” she said flatly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Yizhuo chuckled as she stepped out of the car, leaning down to peer through the open window. “Have fun, you two,” she said with a wink before disappearing into the building.

Minjeong groaned, running a hand through her hair as she pulled away from the curb. “I’m going to kill her one day,” she muttered under her breath.

Jimin laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension that had settled between them. “She’s… something,” she said, her voice light but still tinged with embarrassment.

“That’s one way to put it,” Minjeong replied, her lips twitching into a small smile despite herself.

Once Yizhuo had been dropped off, Jimin moved to the front seat beside Minjeong. The drive to Jimin’s place was only supposed to take fifteen minutes, but the awkward tension left behind by the devil spawn’s antics made it feel much longer. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—like the air was waiting for someone to break it.

The late-night radio station played softly in the background, filling the quiet with nostalgic throwback tunes. Minjeong tapped her fingers lightly against the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. Jimin, meanwhile, stared out the window, her fingers still clutching the edges of Minjeong’s blazer, which she hadn’t taken off since stepping outside.

When they finally arrived, Minjeong parked in her usual visitor spot, cutting the engine with a soft sigh. They stepped out of the car and headed toward the elevators, the sound of their footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet parking garage.

“Yizhuo needs a love life,” Minjeong blurted out suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. She glanced at Jimin, her lips curving into a small, amused smile. “She’s just projecting her fantasies onto whoever’s in her radar.”

Jimin broke into a laugh, the sound light and genuine as she nodded in agreement. “You’re not wrong,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of warmth. “She’s relentless.”

Minjeong chuckled softly, her confidence growing as she continued. “S-She’s just… chaotic. I mean, she’s probably already planning her next victim.”

Jimin turned to look at Minjeong, her expression shifting into a playful pout as she leaned her head against the elevator wall. “Sounds like a hard no with how defensive you are.”

“What do you mean?” Minjeong asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Like sleeping together is such a bad thing,” Jimin replied with a casual shrug, her tone teasing but lighthearted.

Minjeong’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she opened her mouth to respond, but the elevator dinged, signaling their arrival at Jimin’s floor. The doors slid open, and Jimin stepped out first, her movements graceful despite the lingering awkwardness.

As they walked down the hallway, Minjeong cleared her throat, her voice quieter now. “You know, I didn’t mean to sound defensive. It’s just… Yizhuo’s jokes are always so over the top.”

Jimin glanced at her, her lips curving into a soft smile. “I know,” she said simply. “She’s harmless, though. Mostly.”

Minjeong chuckled, shaking her head as they reached Jimin’s apartment door. Jimin unlocked it quickly, stepping inside and flicking on the lights. The space was warm and inviting, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jimin said, gesturing toward the couch. “I’ll grab some blankets.”

Minjeong nodded, her gaze wandering around the room as she settled onto the couch. The tension from earlier had eased, replaced by a quiet sense of comfort. When Jimin returned with a stack of blankets, she handed one to Minjeong before sitting down beside her.

“Thanks,” Minjeong said softly, her voice steady but warm.

Minjeong’s phone pinged just as she was tucking the blanket around herself. She glanced at the screen, her brow furrowing slightly as she read the notification. It was a message from Yizhuo, laying out the rules for the auction. Apparently, auctions for coffee chats with professors, doctors, or—unfortunately in this case—Minjeong, had to be completed within the week. Yizhuo had already messaged Wonyoung to notify her and reminded Minjeong that she needed to organize the day with Wonyoung soon. Typical of Yizhuo, the process was lenient because, as the finance director admitted, the auction’s spontaneity had been entirely her doing—and it had been done, unsurprisingly, to piss Minjeong off.

Minjeong let out a small sigh, her fingers tapping lightly against her phone as she absorbed the information. She wasn’t particularly bothered by the situation, but she’d rather get things scheduled sooner rather than later. Before she could say anything, Jimin leaned closer, her chin resting lightly against Minjeong’s shoulder to glance at the screen. Her warmth was barely noticeable, but it was enough to make Minjeong freeze for half a second before continuing to read the texts.

“Already?” Jimin asked, her tone tinged with a hint of irritation as her frown deepened.

“Yeah,” Minjeong replied lightly, shrugging. “It’s no big deal, though. It’s Wonyoung—it’ll be fun.”

Minjeong’s fingers tapped at her phone as she initiated the conversation with Wonyoung. “Hey, just checking in—when’s a good time for us to meet up?” she typed, her words casual but friendly.

Wonyoung’s reply came quickly. “So eager, Minjeong,” she teased, followed by a winking emoji. Minjeong chuckled softly at the playful tone, clearly missing any subtext. Jimin, however, held back an eye roll, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Minjeong responded easily, “Not eager—just trying to figure out when works best for you.” She paused for a moment before adding, “What’s your schedule looking like?”

“Tomorrow works,” Wonyoung replied. “Sundays are great for a full day, don’t you think?”

Minjeong nodded slightly to herself as she read the message aloud. “Sunday sounds perfect,” she said, glancing at Jimin briefly. “It’s a full day—more time to actually enjoy and make it worthwhile.”

Jimin’s frown deepened, her tone carrying a hint of tension as she spoke. “It doesn’t have to be a full day, though,” she pointed out, keeping her voice calm but unmistakably direct.

Minjeong blinked at her, tilting her head slightly in confusion. “I mean… Wonyoung paid a lot. I feel bad cutting it short. Might as well make it a nice day, you know? Have some fun with it.”

Jimin stared at her for a moment, her expression neutral but with something unreadable simmering beneath. “Right,” she murmured softly, leaning back into the couch. The blazer she wore shifted slightly with the movement, and her fingers curled around the edges almost absentmindedly.

Minjeong sent one final text to Wonyoung, her fingers moving quickly across the screen. “Wear something comfortable—it’ll be chilly tomorrow,” she typed, her tone casual but thoughtful. “Don’t worry about planning—I’ll take care of it.” Without waiting for a response, she set her phone aside and stretched, her arms reaching above her head as she announced, “I’m going to change out of this dress.”

Jimin nodded, her gaze lingering on Minjeong for a moment before she stood as well. “Same,” she said simply, disappearing into her room to change.

Minjeong took her time, enjoying the quiet as she swapped her dress for a loose hoodie and sweatpants. By the time she returned to the living room, she froze mid-step, her lips twitching into a grin at the sight before her. Jimin was already sprawled out on the makeshift bed couch, her legs stretched comfortably—and, to Minjeong’s amusement, she was wearing Minjeong’s boxer shorts.

Minjeong knelt down beside her, leaning close enough to tap Jimin’s nose lightly. “So,” she teased, her voice low and playful, “someone wanted to be me for the night, huh? Stealing my bed and my shorts?”

Jimin kept her eyes closed, her lips curving into a lazy smile as she mumbled, “Whatever’s in my house is mine. That includes your boxers.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. “Oh, does it now?” she asked, her tone dripping with mock disbelief.

Jimin finally opened her eyes, turning her head to face Minjeong. Her smile deepened, her gaze warm but mischievous. “Especially the boxers,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “They’re comfortable.”

Minjeong chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned back slightly. “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, though her tone carried no real annoyance—just amusement.

Jimin shrugged, her expression unapologetic as she adjusted the blanket around her. “You’re the one who left them lying around,” she said lightly. “What did you expect?”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, standing up and grabbing an extra blanket from the nearby chair. “Fine, keep them for tonight.” 

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue,” the hockey player said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “But don’t get used to it. I’m reclaiming my stuff tomorrow.”

Jimin grinned, her fingers brushing against the edge of the blanket as she adjusted it around herself. “We’ll see,” she said simply, her tone teasing but warm.

Minjeong settled onto the leather solo recliner in the corner of the living room, her legs tucked beneath her as she leaned back against cold worn down leather. The quiet hum of the apartment surrounded them, the faint sound of the city outside filtering through the windows. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching comfortably between them.

“You know,” Jimin began softly, her gaze flickering toward Minjeong, “you didn’t have to take care of everything for tomorrow. Wonyoung could’ve planned something too.”

Minjeong shrugged, her lips curving into a small smile. “It’s no big deal,” she replied. “I figured it’d be easier this way. Besides, it’s just one day—it’ll be fun.”

Jimin nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful as she watched Minjeong. “You’re always like this,” she said quietly, her tone carrying a hint of admiration. “Taking care of everything, making sure everyone is comfortable.”

Minjeong blinked, her brow furrowing slightly as she tilted her head. “Is that a bad thing?” she asked, her voice light but curious.

“No,” Jimin replied quickly, her smile softening. “It’s a good thing. It’s just… you deserve to be taken care of too, you know?”

Minjeong’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked away, her fingers brushing against the edge of the blanket. “I don’t really think about it like that,” she admitted, her voice quieter now.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before she leaned back against the couch, her smile faint but genuine. “Well, maybe you should,” she said softly.

The silence returned, but it was warm, the kind that wrapped around them like a blanket. Minjeong glanced at Jimin briefly, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile before she closed her eyes, letting the quiet comfort of the room lull her into relaxation.

The quiet hum of the apartment was interrupted by the persistent buzz of Jimin’s phone vibrating against the coffee table. The sound broke through the comfortable silence, drawing both their attention. Jimin grimaced, her hand darting out to grab the phone. The screen lit up with Ryujin’s name, the video call icon flashing insistently.

Jimin’s eyes widened slightly as realization dawned. “Oh no,” she muttered under her breath, her cheeks flushing. “I forgot to text Ryujin… again.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a small smirk. “You’re really on a roll, huh?” she teased, her tone light.

Jimin shot her a half-hearted glare before answering the video call. The moment Ryujin’s face appeared on the screen, her tense expression softened into relief. “Finally,” Ryujin said, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and concern. “Do you know how worried I was? You said you’d text me when you got home.”

Jimin’s face turned a deeper shade of red as she stammered out an apology. “I’m so sorry, Ryujin. I didn’t mean to make you worry—I just got caught up and forgot.”

It’s fine,” she said, though her tone still carried a hint of annoyance. Ryujin sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly—but only for a moment. Her expression quickly hardened again, her brows knitting together as her eyes narrowed at the camera. “You know,” she began, her tone sharp with frustration, “I should’ve stayed tonight. I should’ve been the one to take you home, not Minjeong.”

Jimin froze, her eyes widening slightly as the words landed heavy in the air. She opened her mouth to respond, but Ryujin pressed on, her voice firm and tinged with irritation. “I mean she was clearly too tired tonight. How can she take care of you when she can’t even take care of herself?”

Jimin’s eyes widened in alarm, and she quickly glanced at Minjeong, who was now lounging upside down on the recliner, her legs dangling over the backrest. Minjeong didn’t seem fazed by the comment, her expression calm as she let the blood rush to her head. The hockey player stretched her arms above her head, letting the blood continue to rush toward her brain, and  even hummed softly to herself.

“Ryujin,” Jimin said quickly, her voice tinged with both panic and guilt as she tried to smooth things over. “That’s not fair. Minjeong’s doing fine.”

“Is she?” Ryujin shot back, her gaze piercing through the screen. “I mean, let’s be real here. She had a long day, didn’t she? And I don’t doubt she’s a mess after the banquet. But you? You shouldn’t have to put up with that. She’s too tired to care for anyone else, and it’s obvious-”

As the tension hung in the air, Minjeong shifted again in the recliner, perhaps a bit too suddenly. Her head dipped lower, her balance faltering just enough for gravity to take over. 

Before Ryujin could finish, a loud thump echoed through the room. The conversation was stopped as Jimin’s eyes darted towards the sound and Ryujin furrowed her eyebrows at the interruption. Minjeong, who had been precariously balanced on the recliner, now lay sprawled on the hardwood floor, her head making contact first.

“Ugh,” Minjeong groaned, her hand flying to her head as she winced in pain.

Jimin’s initial shock quickly gave way to uncontrollable laughter. She doubled over, her shoulders shaking as she tried—and failed—to stifle the sound. Ryujin, still on the video call, looked thoroughly confused. “What was that? Is someone there?”

Jimin, still laughing, turned the camera toward Minjeong, who was now sitting up and rubbing her head with a pained expression. “It’s Minjeong,” Jimin said between giggles, her voice breathless. “She… she fell.”

“Wait,” Ryujin said, her tone shifting to one of curiosity. “You’re saying Minjeong is staying over at your place?”

Jimin visibly tensed at the question, her blush deepening as she fidgeted with the edge of her blanket. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice casual but slightly hesitant. “It’s too tiring to go all the way home, and I offered—it’s no big deal.”

“So she’s staying there until tomorrow?” Ryujin pressed, her words directed firmly at Jimin now. Her expression shifted, a faint frown tugging at the edges of her lips. “But tomorrow’s Sunday. You always tell me you don’t make plans on Sundays.”

Jimin glanced at Minjeong briefly before turning her attention back to the screen. “She had a long night, Ryujin,” she said firmly, her tone calm but resolute. “You saw what Ning put her through at the banquet—she deserves to rest somewhere nearby instead of driving all the way home.”

Ryujin hesitated, her gaze flickering back and forth as she mulled over Jimin’s explanation. “I guess,” she said finally, though her voice carried traces of doubt. “Still… I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

Jimin opened her mouth, but no words came. She wasn’t sure what else to say, the silence stretching between her and Ryujin as they simply stared at each other through the screen. The air felt heavy with unspoken tension, an awkward lull that neither seemed eager to address.

“So… what’s Minjeong doing?” Ryujin asked suddenly, her tone edged with something else—a need to understand why Jimin’s sacred Sunday had made an exception for someone else. “She sounds pretty comfortable for someone in your recharge sanctuary.”

Jimin’s cheeks flushed slightly, her hand instinctively tugging at the edge of the blanket wrapped around her lap. Her gaze flickered briefly toward Minjeong, who had adjusted her position on the recliner, her legs now propped up on the armrest, toes pointed toward the ceiling.

Before Jimin could respond, Minjeong broke the silence, her voice calm but carrying her signature dry humor. “I was minding my own business until gravity decided to betray me.”

Ryujin’s eyebrows shot upward, her lips parting as confusion flickered across her features as she couldn’t really hear Minjeong’s response properly. “What?” she asked, her voice sharp with surprise. “What did she say?”

Jimin chuckled lightly, her attempt to defuse the tension evident as she glanced at Minjeong. “She just said that she was being stupid and reckless,” Jimin reworded it in her own perspective, earning a playful glare from Minjeong.

Meanwhile, Ryujin didn’t share in the humor; her frown only deepened, her discomfort now plain as day. Her piercing gaze landed squarely on Jimin, and the air between them thickened. It wasn’t just about Minjeong’s antics anymore—Ryujin’s disapproval ran deeper than that, like an invisible thread pulling taut between them.

Jimin bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the edge of the blanket in her lap as she started tugging at it absentmindedly. Her thoughts raced, searching for something—anything—that could change the mood, lighten the weight of Ryujin’s glare, and perhaps bring back some semblance of a smile to her friend’s face. The guilt swirled inside her, growing louder as she considered all the ways she’d let Ryujin down tonight: forgetting to text her, brushing off her concern, letting the evening spiral into awkwardness.

Her eyes flicked back to Ryujin for a fleeting moment, and her heart sank at the still-lingering disappointment etched on her friend’s face. Jimin’s brain latched onto a possibility, the words forming in her mind before she could stop them.

“Why don’t we hang out tomorrow?” she blurted out suddenly, her voice breaking through the uneasy silence. The suggestion wasn’t calculated—it was an instinctive attempt to erase the tension, to reassure Ryujin that she cared.

Ryujin’s brow lifted sharply, her surprise evident as her eyes widened. “Tomorrow?” she echoed, the disbelief in her tone unmistakable. “O-On Sunday?”

Jimin nodded quickly, forcing a faint smile. “Yeah,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s been a while since we spent time together—just the two of us.”

Ryujin stared at her for a moment longer, her lips pressing into a thin line as the surprise in her eyes softened into something quieter—something more conflicted. Growing up, she had spent countless Sundays wishing Jimin would let her be the exception to her recharge day. Every attempt had felt like grasping at straws, an unreachable privilege she’d always wanted but never gained. And now, out of nowhere, Jimin was offering it freely.

A small part of Ryujin couldn’t help but wonder if pity had motivated the offer—some guilt-driven gesture to smooth over her frustration about Minjeong. But even so, she would take it. She’d always been willing to take it.

“Sure,” Ryujin said softly, her voice quiet but deliberate. “I’ll plan the day for us, then. You just get some rest tonight, okay?”

Jimin nodded, her smile faint but genuine as she replied. “Okay. Thank you.”

The call ended shortly after, Ryujin’s face disappearing from the screen. Jimin sat still for a moment, staring down at the phone in her lap as she mulled over the conversation. Something in her chest felt unsettled—not the usual guilt she felt when forgetting Ryujin, but something different.

Minjeong shifted in the recliner, finally drawing Jimin’s gaze. The faint frown on Minjeong’s lips caught her attention, pulling her back into the moment.

“What?” Jimin asked, her voice breaking the silence as her eyes met Minjeong’s.

Minjeong tilted her head slightly, her voice calm but carrying a perceptiveness that cut through the air. “You didn’t have to make up for Ryujin on a day you prefer to stay home,” she said simply.

Jimin stared at her, her lips parting slightly but no words coming out. For a moment, she considered brushing the comment off, but something about the way Minjeong looked at her—like she could see right through her—made Jimin pause. She sighed softly, leaning back into the couch as her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket.

“It just felt like the right thing to do,” Jimin said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper.

Minjeong shifted in the recliner, her gaze steady on Jimin as the silence stretched between them. Then, without a word, she slid off the recliner and crawled toward the couch where Jimin sat. Her movements were slow, deliberate, until she was kneeling between Jimin’s legs, her arms wrapping gently around the student body president’s waist.

Jimin stiffened slightly at the closeness, her hands instinctively gripping the blanket draped over her lap. Minjeong’s determined gaze locked onto hers, unwavering and intense. “It may feel right,” Minjeong began, her voice calm but firm, “but you’re still hesitating. And now Ryujin is planning this day for you. Just remember to be honest with your comfort level.”

Jimin scoffed, her cheeks flushing as she crossed her arms defensively. “Why are you giving me such advice when you’re doing the same yourself?” she shot back, her tone carrying a hint of frustration.

Minjeong blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Jimin’s little burst. The reaction was slightly cute, but she bit back a smile, keeping her composure. “I’m comfortable with Wonyoung,” Minjeong replied evenly, her voice steady. “It’s just… it doesn’t seem like that’s a reflection of you and Ryujin.”

Jimin huffed, her lips pressing into a pout as she turned her head away from Minjeong dramatically. Her cheek pressed against the couch cushion, her voice muffled as she muttered, “You’re letting Wonyoung do whatever with you despite you planning. I bet she’s ecstatic to hang with you.”

Minjeong’s lips curved into a smirk, her amusement breaking through as she leaned closer. “Sounds like someone’s jealous,” she teased, her tone light but playful.

Jimin’s huff grew louder, her shoulders tensing slightly as she refused to look at Minjeong. The hockey player chuckled softly, her hand reaching out to gently cup Jimin’s chin. She turned Jimin’s face toward her, her touch light but firm, her smile loopy and warm.

“I promise I won’t have too much fun,” Minjeong said softly, her voice carrying a teasing edge. “And I won’t let Wonyoung walk all over me.”

Jimin’s gaze lingered on Minjeong for a moment, her pout softening as her lips twitched into the faintest smile. “You better not,” she muttered, her tone quieter now.

Minjeong grinned, her thumb brushing lightly against Jimin’s chin before she let go. “Deal,” she said simply, leaning back slightly but keeping her gaze steady on Jimin.

Jimin’s arms tightened around herself, her eyes dropping to the edge of the blanket in her lap as she sighed softly. “I don’t even know why I’m saying all of this to you,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers fidgeted with the fabric, the words bubbling up before she could stop them. “I just… all my life, I’ve known Ryujin’s been there for me. And I’ve always wanted to be the best version of myself for her.”

Minjeong’s gaze remained steady, her arms still loosely wrapped around Jimin’s waist as she listened intently. She didn’t interrupt, letting Jimin work through her thoughts at her own pace.

“I think that’s why I’m hesitating,” Jimin admitted, her brow furrowing slightly as she glanced away. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the version of myself that Ryujin wants me to be. And maybe… maybe that’s the problem.”

Minjeong’s lips curved into a soft smile, one that carried warmth and understanding. “Thank you,” she said simply, her tone gentle as she met Jimin’s gaze. “For sharing that with me.” She paused for a moment before continuing, her voice steady but soothing. “It’s okay to take the time to figure yourself out. If Ryujin really does care about you, she’ll accept you for whoever you are—any version of you.”

Jimin blinked at her, her lips parting slightly as though she wanted to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she reached out, her fingers hesitantly brushing against Minjeong’s hand before clasping it tightly. Her touch was firm, almost as if she were anchoring herself to the moment.

“I’ve wanted to ask you this for the longest time,” Jimin began, her voice trembling slightly but filled with sincerity. “And maybe… maybe it’s why I’m so drawn to you.”, she said mentally to herself.

Minjeong tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing in curiosity as she waited for Jimin to continue.

Jimin inhaled deeply, her grip on Minjeong’s hand tightening just slightly. “Are you happy? With who you are now?”

Minjeong’s smile faltered, the warmth in her expression dimming as a flicker of vulnerability passed across her face. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze dropping to where their hands were clasped. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but unwavering. “I’m not,” she admitted, the words heavy with truth. “Not yet.”

Her fingers twitched slightly in Jimin’s grasp, her thumb brushing absently against Jimin’s knuckles. Mentally, she added a thought she didn’t voice aloud: And I’m not sure if the people around me are happy with who I am either.

Jimin’s chest tightened at the honesty in Minjeong’s words, her free hand coming up to rest lightly over their joined hands. She didn’t press for more; instead, she gave Minjeong’s hand a reassuring squeeze, her silence speaking volumes

Chapter Text

The conversation between Minjeong and Jimin ended naturally, both of them satisfied with the pace at which they were opening up. There was no need to rush—just the quiet understanding that they were moving forward, step by step.

Jimin remained sprawled on the couch, her blanket tucked around her as she stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Minjeong, still seated on the floor, watched her with a raised eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk. “You’re really not moving, huh?” she teased, her tone light but laced with playful annoyance.

Jimin glanced at her, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “It’s comfortable here,” she replied simply, her voice carrying a hint of defiance.

Minjeong rolled her eyes dramatically before standing up, stretching her arms above her head. “Alright, that’s it,” she declared, her tone firm but teasing. Without warning, she bent down and scooped Jimin up in a bridal style carry, her arms steady around the student body president’s back and legs.

Jimin let out a surprised laugh, her arms instinctively wrapping around Minjeong’s neck. “Minjeong!” she exclaimed, her voice breathless with amusement. “Put me down!”

“Nope,” Minjeong replied, her smirk widening as she carried Jimin toward her room. “You’re going to bed, whether you like it or not.”

Jimin tightened her grip around Minjeong’s neck, her laughter spilling into the quiet hallway. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, though her tone was warm and affectionate.

Minjeong chuckled softly, her steps steady as she reached Jimin’s room. She nudged the door open with her foot, carefully setting Jimin down on the bed. “There,” she said, her voice carrying a note of triumph. “Now stay.”

Jimin grinned, her arms still loosely wrapped around Minjeong’s neck as she refused to let go. “Not until you tuck me in,” she teased, her tone playful.

Minjeong sighed dramatically, though the smile on her face betrayed her amusement. She grabbed the blanket and draped it over Jimin, tucking the edges around her with exaggerated care. “Happy now?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jimin nodded, her grin widening as she finally released Minjeong’s neck. “Very.”

Minjeong shook her head, her smirk lingering as she turned to leave the room. “Goodnight, Jimin,” she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of warmth.

“Goodnight, Minjeong,” Jimin replied, her tone equally soft.

Both headed to sleep, the quiet comfort of the night wrapping around them like a blanket.

The morning light filtered through the kitchen window, soft and golden. Jimin shuffled onto the barstool behind the island counter, her movements sluggish but her gaze fixed on Minjeong. The hockey player stood at the stove, one hand on her hip and the other expertly wielding a spatula as she flipped scrambled eggs. Her hair was slightly mussed from sleep, yet her focused expression gave her an oddly collected charm.

“Morning,” Jimin mumbled, her voice still heavy with sleep as she sank onto the stool, propping her chin on her hand.

“Morning,” Minjeong replied smoothly, barely sparing her a glance as she continued cooking. Then, without missing a beat, Jimin added, “When are you leaving?”

Minjeong turned her head slightly, a teasing glint sparking in her eyes. “Want me gone so soon? Didn’t seem like you wanted me to go yesterday,” she quipped, a smirk playing at her lips as she reached for the coffee pot. She poured a cup and handed it to Jimin, the light teasing softened by the thoughtful gesture.

Jimin accepted the cup, blinking at the pale beige liquid with amusement. “You really do know my coffee is just oat milk with a hint of caffeine, huh?”

“Obviously,” Minjeong replied, returning to the stove to plate the eggs. “I was going to leave at ten, but Wonyoung said that’s too early. She claims she needs time to get ready, so maybe in two hours?”

Jimin rolled her eyes at the familiar sentiment. “Typical Wonyoungie,” she muttered, a small laugh escaping her lips.

“What about you?” Minjeong asked, glancing over her shoulder as she set the plates on the counter.

“Ryujin said she’s picking me up in thirty minutes,” Jimin answered, her eyes flickering to her phone for confirmation. She sighed, half-heartedly twisting the coffee mug in her hands. “Honestly, I could’ve had more time to get ready, but I just wanted to sleep more.”

“Thirty minutes is plenty of time,” Minjeong replied matter-of-factly, sliding the eggs toward her on a plate. Her tone softened just slightly, her lips curling into a faint smile. “You don’t really need to do much—you look fine—”

The compliment was cut short by the sharp chime of the doorbell. Minjeong grinned, raising an eyebrow at Jimin’s startled expression. “Looks like you have less than thirty minutes now.”

Jimin groaned, rubbing her temples as she pushed herself off the stool. “So much for relaxing,” she muttered, her steps heavy as she trudged toward the door.

Minjeong watched her leave, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she picked up the spatula again. The sound of footsteps and the faint creak of the front door echoed from down the hall, followed by muffled voices.

When she swung it open, the sight before her rendered her speechless. Ryujin stood there, a bright smile lighting up her face as she held out a cup of coffee in one hand and a bouquet of vibrant flowers in the other. Her energy contrasted starkly with Jimin’s groggy state.

“Morning,” Ryujin greeted cheerfully, her tone warm and inviting.

Jimin blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I-I thought you were coming in thirty minutes,” she stammered, her voice caught between surprise and confusion.

Ryujin shrugged her shoulders lightly, stepping inside with ease as she handed the coffee to Jimin. “We can still leave in thirty minutes,” she replied with a grin. “Just thought I’d come early to give you a boost for the day—knowing how you’re stepping out of your precious resting time to hang and all.”

Jimin stared at the coffee and flowers in her hands, her cheeks flushing slightly as she struggled to formulate a response. Before she could, Ryujin moved further into the apartment, her sharp eyes immediately catching sight of Minjeong standing at the kitchen island.

Minjeong was mid-bite of scrambled eggs, her posture relaxed as she leaned against the counter. She raised an eyebrow at Ryujin’s sudden appearance, her chewing slowing slightly as she processed the situation.

“Hey,” Ryujin said curtly, her tone clipped and neutral as she acknowledged Minjeong’s presence.

Minjeong swallowed her bite of eggs before replying, her voice calm and measured. “Hey,” she returned, her gaze steady but not unkind.

The apartment seemed to hold its breath for a moment, the subtle tension between Ryujin and Minjeong hanging in the air like a thread pulled taut. Jimin, still standing near the door with her coffee and flowers, let out an awkward laugh as she closed the door behind her.

“Ryujin, you didn’t have to bring me coffee and flowers,” Jimin said, her voice lighter now as she tried to shift the focus.

Ryujin’s smile softened slightly, her gaze flickering back to Jimin. “Of course I did,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of fondness. “Anything to make sure your day starts off right.”

Minjeong smirked faintly at the exchange, though she kept her thoughts to herself as she quietly finished her scrambled eggs.

Jimin offered a small smile in return, brushing past her toward the kitchen. Ryujin followed shortly after, settling into one of the barstools on one end of the island. Across from her, Minjeong stood near the counter, squirting a generous amount of ketchup onto her plate of eggs without a care in the world. Jimin slid into the middle seat between them, her hand idly wrapped around the coffee Ryujin had brought her.

It was Ryujin who broke the silence first, her tone pointed yet casual. “So, what are you doing, Minjeong? Or are you planning to stay in Jimin’s apartment all day?”

Minjeong’s chewing slowed, her posture stiffening ever so slightly at the question. The remark felt invasive, like she was being reminded she was in someone else’s space—and not for the first time. Though Minjeong had seemingly brushed off Ryujin’s comments from the video call last night, she was well aware that Ryujin still had a somewhat negative image of her. Their agreement to move past the hockey game incident had felt painfully formal, and there still wasn’t much warmth between them now.

Before Minjeong could respond, Jimin stepped in, lightly taking the fork from Minjeong’s plate and stabbing a piece of scrambled egg. She popped it into her mouth casually, her tone light as she answered for Minjeong. “She’s hanging out with Wonyoung today,” she explained. “Because of the auction.”

Ryujin nodded slowly, her gaze shifting between Jimin and Minjeong as she watched them share the eggs without hesitation. The sight was almost domestic, which tugged faintly at her thoughts. Minjeong caught the look and quickly moved back, clearing her throat as she set down the bottle of ketchup.

“Speaking of Wonyoung,” Minjeong said, her voice steady but measured, “I think I should get ready.”

She carried her plate and coffee mug to the sink, rinsing them out quickly before placing them in the drying rack. The awkward atmosphere lingered, and Minjeong couldn’t help but feel it pressing down on her. Without another word, she disappeared down the hall, leaving Jimin and Ryujin alone.

“So,” Jimin began after a beat, her lips curling into an easy smile. “What do you have planned for today?”

Ryujin’s face brightened at the question, her posture straightening slightly as she leaned forward. “I was thinking we’d take a ferry to one of the small islands,” she said enthusiastically. “I booked a last-minute glamping site so we can enjoy the scenery and have a BBQ together. And since it’s almost the holidays, the lights are already up—they’re starting the light shows this weekend, so we can watch them too.”

Jimin’s expression softened as she listened, nodding in quiet approval. It was exactly the kind of extravagant plan she’d come to expect from Ryujin—perfectly organized, beautifully tailored, and filled with thoughtful details. Her smile stayed in place, but a flicker of doubt stirred in her chest. It was perfect, almost too perfect. Jimin couldn’t help but question if she fit into that kind of perfect life.

Her gaze flickered to the flowers and untouched coffee Ryujin had brought her, sitting beside the half-empty mug Minjeong had made earlier. She felt a twinge of guilt as her fingers brushed against Ryujin’s cup. It was a gesture she couldn’t ignore—a sign of care she knew she had to acknowledge. Bringing it to her lips, Jimin took a sip, letting the taste settle on her tongue. Unsurprisingly, the coffee was flawless—the oat milk ratio was perfect, the flavors still rich and robust, unlike Minjeong’s watered-down oat milk coffee from earlier.

Jimin placed the cup back down slowly, her smile steady but her thoughts wandering. “It sounds perfect,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that didn’t entirely reach her eyes.

Ryujin beamed, clearly pleased with her reaction, while Jimin tucked away her uncertainty. For now, she’d go with the flow, even if part of her wondered where that flow would lead her.

Minjeong popped her head out of the hallway, her cheeks faintly red. “Jimin, do you know where my navy knit sweater is?” she asked, her tone carrying the slightest hint of urgency.

Jimin immediately pushed herself off the barstool, a silent wave of gratitude washing over her for Minjeong’s interruption. She had a mental list of conversations and topics prepared for Ryujin, but she wasn’t ready to use them all up while stuck in the apartment. “I’ll help you,” Jimin said quickly, motioning toward her room. “I think I put your clothes in a different section of the closet.”

With Minjeong trailing closely behind, Jimin walked into her room. Over the last few months, Minjeong’s frequent visits had resulted in a corner of Jimin’s closet slowly being overtaken by the hockey player’s belongings (to Yizhuo’s ever-growing disappointment). Sweaters, jackets, pants—it was a collection that kept growing but wasn’t something Jimin complained about. Minjeong’s clothes, particularly her sweaters, were ridiculously comfortable and perfect for lounging around.

Minjeong sank onto Jimin’s bed, her hands resting on the edge of the mattress as she watched Jimin rummage through the closet. Her lips curled into a teasing smirk. “Don’t tell me you wore it,” she said, her voice playful. “It’s my fancy sweater.”

Jimin turned her head and shot her a mischievous grin. “What did I say? Whatever you leave in this house is also mine. Fair game.”

With a triumphant sound, Jimin held up the navy sweater, her smile widening as she handed it over. Minjeong, dressed in a simple white t-shirt and brown baggy corduroy pants, pulled the sweater over her head. Her amber hair popped through the top, slightly mussed in the process. Jimin stepped closer instinctively, brushing her fingers through the frizzled strands and smoothing out the fabric at Minjeong’s shoulders.

With a final, playful bop on Minjeong’s nose, Jimin quipped, “Cute as a button.”

Minjeong scowled, though her reaction was more amused than annoyed. “You better get ready,” she retorted, folding her arms. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got… what? Fifteen minutes left?”

Jimin hummed in agreement and turned back to the closet, pulling out a white off-shoulder top and black dress pants. It was something classy yet comfortable enough for glamping. Minjeong frowned slightly at the outfit, but stayed silent as she walked past her, searching for something in the closet. Jimin didn’t pay her much attention as she hurried to the washroom to change.

By the time Jimin emerged, fully dressed and lightly touched-up, Minjeong was waiting by the door with a cardigan in her hand. With practiced ease, Minjeong already thrown a black cardigan over Jimin’s shoulders and was adjusting the sleeves to tie around the president’s shoulders to keep it on. As Jimin stepped closer, Minjeong looked at her briefly and tugged the cardigan tighter. “Don’t get sick,” Minjeong said simply, her voice light but warm.

Jimin opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of footsteps caught her attention. Ryujin had appeared at the entrance of Jimin’s bedroom, leaning against the door frame. Her gaze lifted to Jimin, and for a moment, there was nothing but awe in her expression. Her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but she stopped herself.

“Ready to go?” Ryujin finally asked, her voice soft.

Jimin nodded, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She glanced back at Minjeong, who had already moved to the doorway with Jimin’s bag ready at the door. “You sure you’ll be okay waiting for Wonyoung?” Jimin asked, a hint of concern in her tone.

Minjeong smiled faintly and waved her off. “I’ll be fine,” she assured her. “Go have fun.”

With that, Minjeong opened the door, holding it for Jimin and Ryujin to step through. The cool morning air greeted them as Minjeong leaned lightly against the doorframe, watching them with a relaxed expression. “Have fun guys,” she added, her voice carrying a touch of familiarity.

Jimin gave her a quick nod, her smile soft as she followed Ryujin down the steps. The sound of their footsteps faded, leaving Minjeong standing in the doorway. She exhaled lightly and headed back inside, already making a mental list of things for her day with Wonyoung.

Minjeong picked up Wonyoung in her car, the drive quiet but relaxed as they headed to brunch. Minjeong had chosen a spot slightly out of the way, closer to the edge of the city where a long stretch of beach provided picturesque views. The hockey player wasn’t particularly picky about food, but she knew Wonyoung would enjoy the Asian-Western fusion brunch restaurant she’d selected.

The law student’s excitement was evident as they settled into their seats. Minjeong let Wonyoung take charge of the ordering without hesitation—after all, why have an opinion when Wonyoung had spent so much money at the auction just for the chance to hang out with her?

Wonyoung scanned the menu, her lips twitching into a satisfied smile as she made her selections. She started with a fresh smoked salmon and arugula salad, then added sweet-savory Japanese-style pancakes inspired by okonomiyaki, and rounded off the order with bulgogi croissant eggs benedict.

When the food arrived, Minjeong didn’t hesitate to start cutting portions and placing them neatly onto Wonyoung’s plate, ensuring everything was ready for her to enjoy. Wonyoung blushed faintly at the act of service, lifting her orange juice mocktail with a smirk. “You’re great at taking care of me,” she remarked, her tone teasing but slightly affectionate. “Is this because I paid you for your service, or have you always been this nice?”

Minjeong paused, her fork hovering mid-air as the question caught her off guard. She looked up at Wonyoung briefly before setting the utensil down, her expression polite but thoughtful. “I guess it’s just how I am,” she answered honestly, her tone steady. “If I’m spending time with someone, I want them to enjoy themselves. It just feels right.”

Internally, Minjeong reflected on how true that statement was for her. Over the years, she’d noticed that her family appreciated her most when she was quiet, listened to what needed to be done, and took care of everything without complaint. It wasn’t something that sat right with her as a child; there had been moments when she longed to be on the receiving end of affection. But whenever she expressed those feelings—even subtly—they were met with disapproval or brushed off entirely. As she grew older, the idea of prioritizing someone else’s happiness became ingrained. It felt natural now, even if the longing to be cared for still lingered deep down.

Wonyoung tilted her head, her smirk softening into a small smile. “You make it sound so simple,” she mused, her voice quieter now. “But not everyone goes out of their way to care for others like this.”

Minjeong shrugged lightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Well, brunch is supposed to be relaxing, isn’t it?” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m just glad you’re enjoying it.”

Wonyoung chuckled softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass as she leaned forward. “You’re pretty good at making it relaxing,” she said, her tone carrying a teasing edge that Minjeong seemed oblivious to.

The hockey player tilted her head curiously, still missing the underlying flirtation. “That’s the point, right?” she replied earnestly, her words straightforward.

Wonyoung laughed again, shaking her head in amusement. She picked at the salad Minjeong had thoughtfully portioned for her, stealing occasional glances at the hockey player. “You really don’t realize, do you?” she murmured, more to herself than to Minjeong.

Minjeong blinked at her, puzzled. “Realize what?” she asked, her tone devoid of pretense but genuinely curious.

“Nothing,” Wonyoung said lightly, lifting her mocktail with an unreadable smile. The slight blush on her cheeks hadn’t disappeared, and Minjeong resumed her quiet attention to the food, unfazed.

Rather than elaborate, Wonyoung smiled lightly, masking the blush creeping onto her cheeks as she lifted her mocktail for another sip. Minjeong glanced down and resumed eating without further thought, her focus shifting back to her plate. She didn’t dwell on Wonyoung’s remark or the look in her eyes—it felt distant, something unrelated to her own world. The subtle disconnect stood in contrast to the way Wonyoung’s feelings bubbled quietly under the surface, unspoken but ever-present.

For Minjeong, the food was a welcome distraction. It was just brunch—a chance to enjoy the moment. That was all.

Brunch ended much later than either of them anticipated. Wonyoung had enthusiastically ordered far more than they could handle, but Minjeong, ever the trooper, made a valiant effort to finish everything. Wonyoung leaned back in her seat, sipping her orange juice mocktail with a knowing smirk. “You’re like a growing teenage boy,” she teased, her tone playful. “Insatiable when it comes to food.”

Minjeong chuckled softly, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “What can I say? Someone’s got to make sure nothing goes to waste.”

Leaving the restaurant, they made their way to the nearby beach. The breeze was cool but refreshing, rustling through Minjeong’s hair as Wonyoung wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. Noticing her discomfort, Minjeong quietly slipped off her navy knit sweater, handing it over without hesitation.

“Here,” Minjeong said simply.

Wonyoung blinked, her cheeks tinting slightly pink as she accepted the sweater. “Won’t you get cold?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Minjeong shrugged, tucking her hands into her pockets. “I don’t mind,” she replied. “Besides, you’re the one walking through the sand barefoot—I think you’re more committed to the beach experience than I am.”

True to Minjeong’s observation, Wonyoung had kicked off her shoes almost immediately when they started their walk and was happily letting her toes sink into the soft sand. Minjeong, ever the considerate companion, carried Wonyoung’s shoes in one hand. The other hand took hold of the phone Wonyoung handed over with a playful grin.

“Pictures, please,” Wonyoung instructed, her eyes sparkling.

Minjeong nodded, positioning herself to capture Wonyoung in the best light as she posed by the shoreline. Click after click, Minjeong’s expression remained patient and focused, indulging Wonyoung’s requests without complaint. Her attention flickered briefly toward the waves, their steady rhythm filling the space between them. For Minjeong, the sound of the ocean was always calming—a rare, peaceful moment in the midst of her often chaotic life.

Eventually, Wonyoung slowed her pace, allowing Minjeong to catch up. She tilted her head, her expression bright with curiosity. “So, what’s next?” she asked, the excitement in her voice unmistakable.

Minjeong thought for a moment before speaking. “Well, you did say you wanted me to cook for you,” she began, glancing at Wonyoung. “I was planning on doing just that. I can cook at my place—I just need to let my sister know I’ll be bringing you along.”

Her tone was casual, matter-of-fact, but Wonyoung’s eyebrows shot up, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Bringing me home already? Introducing me to your family so soon?” she teased, her voice lilting with amusement.

Minjeong’s eyes widened, and she immediately waved her hands in front of her in a frantic gesture. “That’s not what I meant!” she blurted, her ears turning red. “It’s just—logistics! I have to let her know because she’s at home, and it’d be rude not to—”

Wonyoung laughed, brushing off Minjeong’s flustered response with a shake of her head. “Relax, Minjeong,” she said, her smile warm. “I was just joking. But actually, how about we cook at my place? It’s just me there, so you won’t have to worry about anyone else.”

Minjeong hesitated, then nodded. “If that’s okay with you,” she said, her voice calmer now. “I just need to stop by the grocery store first. Do you want to come along, or should I drop you off at your place?”

Wonyoung beamed, the anticipation clear in her expression. “Oh, I’m tagging along,” she replied easily. “I want to see you in your element—planning a dish, picking ingredients. It’ll be fun.”

At the grocery store, the atmosphere was almost domestic. Minjeong pushed the cart with practiced ease while Wonyoung flitted from shelf to shelf, humming softly to herself as she touched each piece of produce like it was a rare treasure. She was thoroughly amused by Minjeong’s focused demeanor, watching as the hockey player meticulously selected what they needed.

“So, what’s on the menu?” Wonyoung asked, her curiosity piqued.

Minjeong placed a package of fresh oysters in the cart before answering. “Steak with chimichurri sauce,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “And olio e olio with oysters.”

Wonyoung nodded approvingly, her eyes sparkling. “Sounds fancy,” she teased lightly. “But I trust you’ll make it amazing.”

Minjeong offered a small smile, her focus still on the task at hand. “Let’s hope so.”

As they continued shopping, Wonyoung couldn’t help but admire how natural Minjeong looked in this setting, seamlessly planning and preparing like it was second nature. For a moment, she let herself imagine what it might be like to share more moments like this with Minjeong—domestic, easy, and filled with quiet connection.

Seafood with white wine and steak with red—Minjeong decided to buy both wines to maximize the flavors of the dishes. Once they arrived at Wonyoung’s apartment, Minjeong set to work with preparations in the kitchen. The first thing she did was pop open the bottle of red wine. With practiced ease, she poured a glass for Wonyoung, filling it just enough to leave room for swirling.

Wonyoung, now wrapped in a cozy blanket she’d grabbed from the couch, wandered into the kitchen with an impressed look. “You found my glasses,” she remarked, her tone bright and slightly playful.

Minjeong smirked faintly, her eyes flicking to the wine glass in her hand. “Not hard to find,” she teased lightly. “They were on the open shelf—looked like they’re used quite often.”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes before playfully swatting at Minjeong’s arm. “You’re such a smart aleck,” she muttered with a grin. Pulling out a chair, she sat down and watched Minjeong work her magic in the kitchen.

Dinner was ready soon after, and Wonyoung nearly drooled at the sight before her. The perfectly seared steak glistened with the vibrant chimichurri sauce beside the delicate olio e olio of oysters. Everything looked straight out of a fine-dining restaurant. Minjeong grabbed a towel and wiped her hands, stepping back to let Wonyoung have the first view of the finished table.

“Good?” Minjeong asked casually, her voice soft.

Wonyoung couldn’t contain her smile, her fingers brushing against the rim of her glass as she admired the spread. “Perfect,” she replied, her voice carrying just the right mix of awe and contentment.

Minjeong nodded, her lips curling into the faintest smile before she stepped away to the kitchen to grab her own glass of white wine. Wonyoung waited, watching as Minjeong moved with fluid precision, every step calculated but unpretentious. She took a small sip of her wine, the flavors rich and smooth on her tongue.

When Minjeong returned and slid into her seat across from Wonyoung, the law student tilted her head, her gaze lingering on Minjeong’s expression. “You’re quite something,” she remarked suddenly, her voice tinged with amusement. “Cooking, serving, pouring wine—makes me wonder what else you’re good at.”

Minjeong blinked at her, slightly taken aback by the unexpected compliment. She let out a soft chuckle, her fingers tracing the stem of her wine glass. “I guess I’m just efficient,” she said simply, a modest shrug accompanying her words.

Wonyoung smirked, leaning back slightly as she savored her next sip of wine. “Efficient doesn’t usually come with charm, though,” she pointed out, her teasing tone laced with genuine admiration.

Minjeong shifted slightly in her seat, unsure how to respond. She chose instead to steer the focus back to the meal, gesturing toward the plates. “You should eat before it gets cold,” she suggested gently.

Wonyoung didn’t argue, picking up her fork and knife as she cut into the steak. The flavors burst in her mouth, the tenderness of the meat balanced perfectly by the tangy chimichurri. She couldn’t help but let out a satisfied sigh, glancing up at Minjeong as she chewed.

“This is amazing,” Wonyoung said after swallowing, her tone carrying an edge of awe. “Seriously—You could run a restaurant.”

Minjeong chuckled softly, shaking her head as she dug into her own meal. “I think I’ll stick to cooking for friends,” she replied, her tone casual but warm. “Less pressure.”

Their conversation flowed naturally as the meal continued, punctuated by occasional laughter and clinking glasses. Wonyoung, wrapped in the cozy blanket from her couch, alternated between playful teasing and genuine curiosity about Minjeong’s approach to cooking. Minjeong, still dense to the undertone of Wonyoung’s compliments, responded with her usual straightforward charm.

When the plates were emptied and the wine nearly finished, Wonyoung leaned back in her chair, letting out a content sigh. “I’m impressed, Minjeong,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Minjeong smiled, standing up to collect the plates. “Glad you liked it,” she replied. “It’s nice to share a good meal.”

As Minjeong moved toward the kitchen, Wonyoung found herself watching her every step, the small gestures and quiet care Minjeong exuded leaving an unexpected warmth in her chest. She bit her lip, hiding her smile as she swirled the remaining wine in her glass.

Wonyoung sat curled up on the couch, the soft jazz filling the air with its gentle rhythm. The apartment was bathed in warm, dim light, setting the perfect backdrop for the intimate moment unfolding. She sipped the last of her wine, her eyes wandering toward the kitchen. The sound of running water faded as Minjeong turned off the faucet, signaling that she’d finished cleaning up.

“Join me,” Wonyoung called out, her voice carrying an inviting warmth. She reached for the bottle to refill both glasses as Minjeong stepped into view, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Without hesitation, Minjeong made her way to the couch and sank into the seat beside Wonyoung, her movements calm and unhurried.

The silence between them was comfortable at first, accompanied by the lingering notes of the music, but Wonyoung’s gaze lingered on Minjeong’s composed expression. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure of how to bridge the gap between her thoughts and the quiet presence beside her. Finally, she took a breath and spoke.

“Ever since the night of the party,” Wonyoung began, her voice soft but steady, “I’ve wanted to know more about you. There’s something about the way you carry yourself—calm, so composed—but I can’t help wanting to break through that front.” She paused, her lips curving into a small smile. “So I’m really glad I won the auction.”

Minjeong listened quietly, her gaze steady on Wonyoung as she took in the words. After a moment, she nodded slightly. “I’m happy it was you who won,” she replied, her voice low but sincere. “It would’ve felt strange spending the day with someone random.”

Encouraged by Minjeong’s response, Wonyoung placed her now-empty glass on the table, leaning closer. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the way the evening had unfolded, but she felt more confident than usual. Her gaze softened, a flicker of vulnerability peeking through as she asked, “Are you… intrigued by me too?”

Her movements were slow, deliberate. Her fingers brushed lightly against Minjeong’s neck, trailing upward until they rested on her jaw. The touch was delicate, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down Minjeong’s spine. For a fleeting moment, Minjeong felt as though her voice had caught in her throat. The way Wonyoung was looking at her, the closeness between them—it all felt overwhelming.

Minjeong opened her mouth, trying to muster a coherent response, but Wonyoung didn’t give her the chance. Almost impatiently, as though the silence was unbearable, Wonyoung leaned in and pressed her lips to Minjeong’s. The kiss was soft but firm, carrying both confidence and a hint of longing.

For a moment, Minjeong froze, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t even considered the possibility, but the warmth of Wonyoung’s lips and the way she seemed so sure of herself made Minjeong hesitate to pull away. It was Wonyoung’s day, after all.

Wonyoung broke the kiss with a grin, her fingers lightly tugging at Minjeong’s hand as she guided her off the couch and toward the bedroom. Minjeong followed without hesitation, her steps automatic, her mind gradually swirling with fragmented thoughts. As Wonyoung led the way, Minjeong’s gaze drifted down to their intertwined hands. Trust wasn’t the issue here—she trusted Wonyoung, even as a friend—but there was a quiet absence of clarity about what this would mean for her after tonight. It was the second time, and the weight of that fact lingered at the edges of her consciousness.

Minjeong tried to focus on the moment, on Wonyoung’s presence and the way her confidence filled the air between them. Wonyoung could make the decisions; Minjeong didn’t need to question or guide. It was easier this way—to follow rather than to lead. She had no objections, but that didn’t mean she was entirely at ease either. This sense of detachment—of simply going along—had become familiar to Minjeong. It mirrored the months past, the thread of why bother weaving through her actions and choices. Letting things happen felt like the natural rhythm of her life now.

It was the reason behind her impulsive plan on February 14, the reason she’d been drifting through her days like a passenger in her own life. She’d been living—no, surviving—in this shell of a body, letting circumstances dictate her choices, her actions, her very existence. Minjeong wasn’t making decisions; she was surviving them. This thought echoed in her mind as Wonyoung’s grip tightened slightly, pulling her closer to the bedroom door. Minjeong wanted to quiet the questions—those whispers about whether she should feel something more, something decisive, or even something less—and let herself sink into the night’s haze.

But then came Jimin. The memory of her words from last night resurfaced unexpectedly, tugging at the edges of Minjeong’s thoughts. The talk about comfort—the subtle warmth that had accompanied the exchange. Minjeong wasn’t sure why it mattered now, why it even occurred to her at this moment. Why was she thinking back to Jimin? Why was that conversation bothering her so much? It wasn’t just the words they’d exchanged—it was the feeling that had accompanied them, the quiet understanding that had settled between them. And now, in this moment with Wonyoung, Minjeong couldn’t shake the sense that she was feeling something, but it wasn’t the most settling feeling. It wasn’t the kind of comfort she’d talked about with Jimin.

Wonyoung opened the bedroom door, her expression bright and inviting, but Minjeong barely registered it. Her gaze drifted inward, searching through the questions that had taken root in her mind. What was she feeling? And why, in this moment, was she thinking about Jimin? Minjeong swallowed, her chest tightening as she tried to brush away the thought. Too much thinking, she told herself again. Her head pounded lightly—whether from the wine or the emotional whirlwind she’d unintentionally caught herself in, she didn’t know.

The bedroom door closed softly, and Wonyoung pushed her gently to the edge of the bed. Minjeong sat down, her movements automatic, her hands resting on her knees. Jimin had someone else, someone who was steady and deliberate, someone who desired to be the very best version of themselves for her. Minjeong thought about her own place in that equation. What was she supposed to do then? What was the role for someone who lived without decisions, without direction? Her thoughts spun quietly as Wonyoung straddled her, pulling her focus back into the moment. She couldn’t push away now, couldn’t stop the momentum of the night. Wonyoung was here, and Minjeong had promised herself she’d let this day be hers.

Jimin leaned onto the ledge, her arms resting lightly against the cool metal as she watched the dock slowly disappear into the distance. The ferry glided smoothly over the water, rippling the mirror-like surface of the bay. The crisp breeze brushed against her cheeks, carrying with it the faint scent of salt. It was peaceful. The scenery—a gradient of sky meeting the water—was something she could genuinely appreciate. A quiet moment like this was rare, and she allowed herself to enjoy it.

Ryujin joined her, stepping up beside her with a relaxed smile. “It’s a nice day to go out,” she remarked, her voice carrying easily over the soft hum of the ferry’s engine. “Not too cold since winter isn’t at its peak yet.”

Jimin nodded, returning Ryujin’s smile. “Yeah, it’s good,” she agreed softly, her gaze flicking back to the horizon. The words felt light, unobtrusive—simple enough for the moment.

Ryujin chuckled, the sound low and familiar. She leaned her side against the railing and gave Jimin a teasing look. “So, how does it feel to be part of society on a Sunday? Actually out here interacting with the world?”

Jimin rolled her eyes, a laugh spilling from her lips. “It’s good,” she admitted with a small shrug. “Nice change of pace, I guess.”

But even as she said it, her thoughts drifted elsewhere—back to the first weekend she’d spent with Minjeong. The memory unfolded vividly in her mind: the sound of bicycle wheels spinning as they rode along the Han River, the warmth of the sun against her skin, and the lighthearted laughter they’d shared. Sundays had taken on a new meaning since then, often accompanied by the amber-haired med student in one way or another.

It didn’t always have to be an outing. Sometimes it was just Minjeong lounging on the couch with her, both of them caught up in a show Jimin had resisted watching during her school days. Other times it was the sound of music filling the apartment as Minjeong prepared brunch or dinner, the simple domesticity of it feeling inexplicably comforting. These moments had become so routine, so effortless, that thinking about them now left a hollow ache in Jimin’s chest. But she couldn’t tell Ryujin any of that.

Jimin forced herself back to the present, glancing at Ryujin, who seemed content as she gazed out at the water. There was an expectation between them—unspoken but heavy—one that had been lingering ever since Ryujin had confessed her feelings a couple of years ago. Jimin had been walking on eggshells ever since, unsure of how to navigate the space between their friendship and something more.

The past year had made it harder. Ryujin, usually so patient and laid-back, had started to grow more persistent—more insistent on their connection. If you could even call it a relationship, Jimin thought. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for Ryujin; she just didn’t know if she was ready for what Ryujin wanted. And after a long conversation with Aeri, who had urged her to be honest, Jimin knew she needed to tell Ryujin the truth. She wasn’t ready.

But then Minjeong had come along.

Jimin felt her grip on the railing tighten as her thoughts spiraled. Ryujin wasn’t possessive by nature, but what was there to be possessive over when Jimin hadn’t been interested in anyone else before? But Minjeong had changed everything. Ryujin’s calls had become more frequent, her questions more pointed—where are you, what are you doing? When they went to parties, Ryujin’s hand always found its way to Jimin’s waist, her presence unmistakable. Jimin didn’t mind at first, but the incident with the engineer at a recent gathering almost tipped Ryujin over the edge. It was as if Minjeong’s very existence had disrupted the fragile balance between them.

Jimin exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm of her thoughts. These were all things she needed to unpack, but not now. She was here with Ryujin, and she owed it to her to be present—to respect their time together.

She turned to Ryujin with a small smile, shifting her posture slightly to lean more comfortably against the railing. “You’re right,” Jimin said, her tone softening. “It’s nice to get out, to take a break.”

Ryujin returned her smile, her eyes lighting up. “Told you,” she said with a playful nudge to Jimin’s shoulder. “You might even start to enjoy these Sunday outings more.”

Jimin let herself laugh at that, though a quiet pang of doubt lingered beneath the surface. She didn’t respond, letting the sound of the waves and Ryujin’s soft laughter fill the space between them instead.

Once they arrived at the small island just off the coast of Seoul, Jimin and Ryujin strolled along the winding paths, taking in the scenery. The island was serene, almost untouched, with wild animals occasionally darting across the brush. Festive lights and decorations glimmered as they passed through small clearings, adding an enchanting glow to the early evening. Jimin took countless pictures, her excitement bubbling over as she thought about sharing them later with Aeri, Yizhuo, and even Minjeong.

The walk was peaceful, and as the sky began to deepen into a soft twilight, they found their way to the campsite Ryujin had chosen. Jimin took to washing the ingredients as Ryujin started the fire, the gentle crackling growing louder as the flames warmed the cooling air around them.

“This campsite’s nice,” Ryujin commented, fanning the fire to keep it going. “Modern, too. We’ve got all the comforts we need.”

Jimin hummed in agreement, keeping her focus on the task at hand. She finished rinsing the vegetables, arranging them neatly in a bowl, and settled beside Ryujin, who was now carefully laying out slices of pork belly over the flames. The aroma of sizzling fat wafted into the air, rich and savory, as Ryujin opened a can of beer. She handed one to Jimin before grabbing another for herself.

They clinked cans lightly, each taking a sip before letting out matching groans of satisfaction. The drink was crisp, cutting through the subtle smokiness in the air. For a brief moment, Jimin let herself fully enjoy it—the simplicity, the nostalgia. It reminded her of their childhood, of camping trips with Aeri and their families, back when things felt effortless and uncomplicated.

Jimin leaned back on her hands, the can of beer cool against her fingers. She took another sip, the foam tickling her lips before she let out a soft, satisfied sigh. The moment felt easy, natural—like a glimpse into their childhood. For a brief second, it felt like nothing between her and Ryujin had changed.

“This reminds me of when we went camping as kids,” Ryujin said suddenly, a smile playing on her lips. “Remember? That time we stole beers from our dads’ cooler and snuck a few sips in the tent.”

Jimin laughed, the memory flooding back. “Oh, how could I forget? We were so proud of ourselves—until we actually tasted it. Then we spent the rest of the night pretending to like it just to save face.”

Ryujin chuckled, turning the pork belly over with the tongs. “I was so surprised. You—Jimin Yoo, the perfect student, the responsible one—had that mischievous streak in you.” She shook her head in mock disbelief, though her smile betrayed how fondly she recalled the memory.

A teasing smirk curved Jimin’s lips. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

Ryujin nodded thoughtfully, watching the flames flicker and dance as if they held the answers to her thoughts. “That’s true,” she admitted after a beat, her tone softening. “But no matter how unpredictable you can be, I’ve always seen you as... well, perfect.”

Jimin blinked, her smirk fading slightly as Ryujin’s words settled over them.

“The perfect student,” Ryujin continued, her tone thoughtful. “The perfect daughter. And one day, you’ll be the perfect doctor too. You’ve got this way of making everything seem so... put-together.” She paused, the flicker of the firelight reflecting in her eyes. “I’ve always thought about what life could look like, you know? You and me. A white picket fence dream. Building something steady and beautiful together.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Jimin’s polite smile returned, masking the subtle discomfort that crept into her chest. She lifted her beer to her lips, letting the cold liquid serve as a distraction. “That sounds... nice,” she replied carefully, her tone quiet but noncommittal.

Ryujin didn’t seem to notice the subtle shift in Jimin’s demeanor—or maybe she chose to ignore it. She smiled softly, her gaze fixed on the sizzling meat as though she’d already convinced herself of the image she had painted. “It’s more than nice,” Ryujin murmured, turning the meat again. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

As Ryujin’s words lingered in the air, Jimin couldn’t help but feel the weight of the title Ryujin had always assigned her— perfect. It wasn’t a new idea; it had followed her through her life, sticking to her like an unshakable label. Jimin had grown used to hearing it from people—the perfect student, the perfect future doctor, the perfect everything. It was a title she didn’t fight but one she had never truly embraced either. Because while others saw perfection, Jimin saw herself as something far simpler: someone who worked hard, chased her passions, and tried to do her best.

Her family understood that. To them, she wasn’t the unattainable image others had crafted in their minds. She was their silly goose, the daughter who made bad puns at the dinner table and loved spending lazy weekends rewatching old sitcoms with them. And then there was Aeri, who lovingly teased her as a nerdy homebody, always more comfortable in sweats with a book than at parties or social gatherings. Those were the people who saw her fully—not as “perfect,” but as Jimin.

But Ryujin? She’d always been like the others. From the moment Ryujin had confessed her feelings, the word perfect had seemed to take on even greater weight. It wasn’t just an admiration for who Jimin was—it felt like an expectation. A pedestal Jimin hadn’t asked to stand on. And as much as she cared about Ryujin, as much as their years of friendship mattered to her, Jimin wished Ryujin could see something else—something more human, more flawed.

Maybe then... maybe then this relationship Ryujin so clearly wanted might have a chance. But right now, all Jimin could see was the ever-widening gap between Ryujin’s vision of her and the reality she lived with every day.

“Jimin?” Ryujin’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Hm?” Jimin blinked, turning her gaze back to Ryujin.

Ryujin smiled, passing her a freshly grilled piece of pork belly wrapped in lettuce. “Here. Fresh off the grill.”

“Thanks,” Jimin said, her voice soft as she accepted the offering. She took a bite, savoring the rich, smoky flavor and letting it fill the momentary silence. The fire crackled gently, the sound grounding her as she focused on the food in front of her.

Ryujin spoke again after a beat, her tone casual this time. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Just the two of us, no distractions, no interruptions.”

Jimin nodded slowly, her lips curving into another polite smile. “Yeah. It’s nice.”

But in her heart, Jimin knew she was holding something back—something Ryujin wasn’t ready to hear, and Jimin wasn’t ready to say.

The day was finally winding down. Ryujin stood outside the tent, meticulously cleaning the tools they’d used for grilling. Her movements were deliberate, methodical, as though she was trying to stretch out the final moments of the trip. Once everything was rinsed and dried, she patted her hands on her jeans and turned toward the tent, where Jimin was sprawled on the bed, her expression distant, resting but not quite at ease.

“You know, we could stay the night if you’re too tired,” Ryujin offered, her tone casual but tinged with hope.

Jimin shook her head immediately, sitting up slightly. “Thanks, but I think it’s better if we head back. Tomorrow’s class is important, and I really shouldn’t miss that early morning,” she said, her voice even but firm. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. She didn’t want to stay—not because of school but because the pull to be back home, in her own space, was stronger than the thought of lingering here.

Ryujin nodded, accepting her answer without pressing further. Soon after, they were back at Jimin’s front door. The elevator ride and short walk had been quiet, neither of them filling the silence with small talk.

Ryujin stood at the doorstep now, hands shoved into her coat pockets, her feet rocking back and forth. “I really had an amazing day,” she said, her smile soft but genuine as she looked at Jimin.

Jimin inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling with the weight of her thoughts. She stepped forward and hugged Ryujin, the gesture warm but subdued. The exhaustion she’d been suppressing all day seeped through in that moment—she wasn’t sure if it was from the physical demands of the trip or from the emotional toll of the day. Either way, she couldn’t find the energy to say much. Instead, she broke the hug with a small, tired smile and leaned in to whisper, “Goodnight,” her voice low and faint.

Ryujin’s cheeks flushed red at the closeness, and she quickly turned, retreating toward the elevator. She gave a quick wave as the doors closed, leaving Jimin alone in the hallway.

Jimin closed the door softly behind her, leaning her back against it as she let her head fall back with a soft thud . For a moment, she stood there, eyes closed, listening to the muffled sounds of the building around her. When she finally opened her eyes, she was greeted by the familiar emptiness of her apartment. The stillness hit her harder than usual, the absence of life in the space amplifying her sense of weariness.

Pulling out her phone, Jimin unlocked the screen, her thumb swiping instinctively to her notifications. No messages from Minjeong—just a couple from Aeri asking to meet up during the week to talk about her day with Ryujin. Jimin frowned slightly, locking the phone again as she let herself collapse onto the couch.

She stared at the blank TV screen, her mind quietly unraveling. She didn’t know how much time passed—thirty minutes? An hour? Maybe more. She couldn’t bring herself to care, letting the silence of the apartment and the hum of her thoughts consume her. The day had been long, but now, with nothing to distract her, the emotions she had been keeping at bay began to surface, leaving her in a quiet, lingering haze.

Jimin’s quiet solitude was abruptly disrupted by faint sounds at her door. The exhaustion that had weighed her down moments ago vanished as adrenaline surged through her veins. She grabbed the nearest object—a remote control—and cautiously peered through the pinhole. Her confusion deepened as she spotted Minjeong pacing back and forth, her hands tangled in her hair, ruffling it in frustration.

Jimin opened the door, her brows furrowed. Minjeong froze mid-step, her wide eyes locking onto Jimin’s. “I-I—”

“What are you doing out here looking like a mad woman?” Jimin asked, her tone sharp but tinged with concern.

Minjeong’s gaze flicked to the remote in Jimin’s hand, and despite her distress, a teasing smile tugged at her lips. “What are you doing with a remote control as your weapon of choice?”

Jimin rolled her eyes but stepped aside, letting Minjeong walk in. Minjeong exhaled deeply, her words spilling out in a ramble. She explained how she’d somehow ended up walking to Jimin’s place, unsure of what else to do. She hadn’t wanted to text or call, especially given how late it was, and she didn’t know if Jimin’s night with Ryujin would stretch longer.

Jimin listened quietly, sinking back onto the couch and resuming the same position she’d been in before Minjeong arrived. Minjeong closed the door behind her, her rambling fading as she noticed Jimin’s stillness. Without another word, she walked over and sat beside Jimin, the silence between them settling like a blanket.

A couple minutes later, Jimin shifted slightly, her head tilting as she considered leaning onto Minjeong’s shoulder. But then her nose scrunched, catching the unmistakable scent of Wonyoung’s strong perfume lingering on Minjeong. She pulled back abruptly, her expression twisting in mild annoyance. “You smell like Wonyoung,” she muttered.

Minjeong jolted out of her seat, her cheeks flushing as she stood. “I’ll take a shower,” she said quickly, retreating toward the bathroom.

Jimin nodded, her lips twitching into a faint smile as she stood to do the same. The quiet routine of washing away the day felt grounding, a moment to reset.

As usual, Minjeong took longer to get ready for bed. When she finally emerged, she headed into Jimin’s room to fetch some clothes for pajamas. Her movements were quiet, careful not to disturb Jimin, but she paused when she saw her friend sleeping soundly on the bed. Jimin’s face was relaxed, her breathing steady, and Minjeong couldn’t help but linger for a moment.

She grabbed her clothes quickly, but as she turned to leave, Jimin shuffled slightly, her hand reaching out instinctively. Minjeong hesitated, then stepped closer, gently tucking the blanket around Jimin. As she adjusted the edges, Jimin’s hand found hers, holding onto it lightly. Her voice was soft, barely audible, as she mumbled, “Did Wonyoung walk all over you?”

Minjeong froze, her throat tightening at the unexpected question. She swallowed hard, her mind racing, but she managed to reply in a playful tone, masking the weight of her emotions. “I’m weak,” she whispered, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I guess I let her, huh? But hey, I survived, didn’t I?” She chuckled softly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper.

Jimin’s grip on her hand loosened as she drifted back into deeper sleep, her breathing evening out once more. Minjeong stood there for a moment longer, her gaze lingering on Jimin’s peaceful expression. Then, with a quiet sigh, she pulled away and settled into the chair by the bed, her thoughts swirling as the night stretched on.

Chapter Text

The faint hum of city lights seeped through the massive glass windows of Aeri’s penthouse, casting a soft glow across the room. Jimin took a moment to let the space sink in, much like she always did when she visited. The penthouse felt like a world of its own, a sprawling open layout with sleek, modern furnishings and an unbroken view of Seoul’s skyline. Everything about it was quintessentially Aeri—extravagant, unapologetic, and utterly magnetic. It embodied the confidence and flair that had defined her ever since they were kids.

Aeri had an unmatched talent for hosting, her space exuding both warmth and luxury. Whether it was grand parties filled with laughter and music, or quiet nights like tonight, the atmosphere she created was effortless. But this evening wasn’t about lavish displays or entertaining crowds. It was simply Jimin and Aeri, sharing one of their sacred girls’ nights—an unspoken tradition that always left Jimin feeling lighter.

Ever since they were kids, Ryujin, Jimin, and Aeri had been a trio—the inseparable best friends everyone envied. But within that trio, Jimin and Aeri shared a distinct connection. It was an unspoken understanding, an ease that came from years of knowing each other deeply. With Aeri, Jimin could strip away all pretense. She could laugh without reservation, cry without fear, and be herself without judgment. That connection had always made Aeri her anchor. That had always been their dynamic.

Ryujin, on the other hand, had carved out her own identity among them. Her childhood had revolved around hockey, while Jimin and Aeri had embraced the more social side of high school as cheerleaders—a stereotype, perhaps, but an undeniable part of their story. The dynamic between them was different, though not less valuable. Ryujin’s sharp focus and unwavering drive made her a reliable friend, someone you could count on no matter the situation. Yet, there was always a part of Jimin that stayed guarded around Ryujin, as if she were holding back something fragile. Perhaps it was Ryujin’s tendency to hold her in such high regard, to see her as the “perfect” Yu Jimin. That idealized image often felt like a weight, pushing Jimin toward Aeri whenever she needed to be vulnerable.

Aeri never called her perfect. She teased her mercilessly, labeling her the “nerdy homebody” and making cracks about her penchant for sweats and books, but she never put her on a pedestal. Aeri let Jimin stumble. She let her cry over things that didn’t make sense and laugh at jokes that weren’t funny. With Aeri, Jimin wasn’t the perfect anything—she was just Jimin. And tonight, that’s exactly what Jimin needed: the freedom to exhale, let her walls down, and find comfort in the sanctuary of Aeri’s presence.

Aeri stretched out on the couch beside Jimin, swirling her glass of wine as a familiar smirk crept onto her lips. “Alright, spill,” she said, her voice carrying its usual playful lilt. “How did the date go with Ryujin?”

Jimin rolled her eyes at the word “date,” sinking further into the plush couch. “It wasn’t a date. You always say that,” she corrected, her tone exasperated but playful. “What do you expect? Some grand romantic confession? It’s not like that.”

“Oh, come on,” Aeri teased, her smirk widening as she handed Jimin her glass. “Isn’t it? Ryujin seemed pretty invested when she called me.”

Jimin paused, her hand tightening slightly around the cool stem of her glass. It wasn’t the first time Aeri had dropped subtle hints about what Ryujin shared with her. Still, Jimin didn’t press. Over the years, she had grown to respect the delicate unspoken rule within their trio—that what one of them confided to another stayed private. Even if the curiosity prickled at her, she’d learned to hold herself back. Aeri had always honored Ryujin’s trust in the big picture, even if she couldn’t resist letting a few crumbs slip through for Jimin to piece together.

It wasn’t favoritism. Aeri just had a tendency to be more open with Jimin, to let her in on those side conversations that would otherwise remain sealed. That transparency between them had always existed naturally, fostering the quiet understanding that made their bond unique. And while Ryujin often kept things close to the chest, Jimin found Aeri’s openness disarming. It wasn’t that Ryujin was excluded—but Aeri made sharing with Jimin feel as effortless as breathing.

Jimin gave Aeri a small, knowing smile and leaned back into the plush cushions. “The day was fine,” she said finally, keeping her voice light. “Pork belly was good, the view was nice. Ryujin did a great job grilling.”

Aeri raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Fine? Just fine?” she pressed, her tone full of mock disbelief. “Pork belly and a view? Come on, Jimin, throw me a bone.”

Jimin laughed softly, shaking her head. “You always expect me to spill every little detail.”

“I mean, yeah,” Aeri replied with a grin. “Because I know there’s more to it.”

Jimin snorted softly, shaking her head. “Hold on,” she said, reaching for her phone. Unlocking it, she tapped through her gallery before holding up the screen to Aeri. “Look at these,” she said, her tone brightening. “The campsite was beautiful. The lights they hung around the trees? So pretty. Oh, and the view of the water—wait, here, look at this one.”

Aeri leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she inspected each image carefully. “Okay, wow,” she said with a small smile, nodding in approval. “Ryujin really nailed it with this spot. I’ll give her that.”

“She did,” Jimin agreed, her grin widening. “I couldn’t stop taking pictures. Even Yizhuo and Minjeong thought it looked peaceful when I showed them earlier. Yizhuo was already talking about visiting during the winter break.”

Aeri froze for a moment at the mention of Yizhuo, her expression softening as she reached for her wine glass. She hummed thoughtfully, her gaze flicking back to the images on Jimin’s phone as a small, almost hidden smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Yizhuo saw these too?” she asked, her tone casual but warm.

Jimin raised an eyebrow at her friend, catching the subtle change. “Yeah,” she said, laughing softly. “Yizhuo is already talking about wanting to go there during the winter break.”

Aeri hummed, her expression unreadable as she took another sip of wine. “I see,” she said lightly, though her voice carried a note of something Jimin couldn’t quite place.

Jimin tilted her head, her curiosity piqued by Aeri’s subtle reaction. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly.

Aeri waved a hand dismissively, though her cheeks flushed faintly. “Nothing, really. Just that Yizhuo isn’t leaving Seoul to visit her family until a week after winter break starts,” she said casually. “I was thinking of ways to keep up the holiday vibes for her, you know, so she doesn’t feel left out.”

Jimin grinned at her, sensing an opportunity. “Holiday vibes, huh?” she teased, leaning forward with a sly smile. “How thoughtful of you. Tell me, Aeri, just how thoughtful are we talking?”

Aeri rolled her eyes, a blush creeping into her cheeks as she tried to maintain her composure. “Don’t start, Jimin,” she warned, though the corner of her mouth twitched with amusement.

“Oh, I’ve already started,” Jimin teased, her laughter filling the penthouse. “Yizhuo is going to love this, I just know it.”

Aeri groaned, but the playful grin on her face betrayed her enjoyment of the banter. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table and tossing one piece at Jimin.

Jimin dodged it easily, her laughter still bubbling as she leaned back into the couch. 

Jimin laughed, her voice light as she waved off Aeri’s teasing. “Your secret’s safe with me,” she assured, her grin widening before tilting her head slightly. “But seriously—when did this start? You and Yizhuo?” Her tone was casual, though there was a glint of curiosity in her eyes, perhaps hoping to glean some insight for her own muddled thoughts about relationships.

Aeri swirled her wine glass thoughtfully, her smirk fading into something softer, more reflective. “It was at a party,” she began, her voice quieter than usual. “One you weren’t at, actually.”

Jimin’s brow furrowed slightly, intrigued by the shift in tone. “What happened?”

Aeri sighed, her lips curling in a wry smile tinged with regret. “It was... messy. Yizhuo was trying to talk to me, just being her polite, composed self, you know? And then Jaewon—he just couldn’t leave things alone. He embarrassed Yizhuo, called her a freak for thinking she had a chance with me. It was so cruel, so unnecessary.” Aeri shook her head, her gaze dropping briefly to her glass. “Yizhuo didn’t react. She left before I could say anything—quietly, calmly, but... I could tell. She was embarrassed.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened slightly, her voice low. “That sounds awful.”

“It was,” Aeri agreed, her voice softening further. “And honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterward. For the longest time, I wanted to talk to her, to apologize properly. But every time I saw her after that, I hesitated. I wasn’t sure how to start—how to make it right.”

She paused, her smirk flickering back briefly as her tone lightened. “And after that, she just kept... popping up. Little moments here and there, bits of her showing up in my life unexpectedly. Through mutuals, at events—it wasn’t like we were seeking each other out, but she was always there, you know? And over time, I started looking forward to seeing her. She became this constant presence I didn’t realize I needed.”

Aeri leaned back into the cushions, her expression soft and distant. “The last time I drove her home, I finally got the chance to apologize properly. I told her how sorry I was for everything that happened at the party, how much I regretted letting my ex ruin that moment.” She smiled faintly, the memory clearly stirring something in her. “We talked, set things straight, and decided to start fresh. Yizhuo was... understanding. She’s good like that despite being the devil spawn at times,” Aeri said, her tone warm but vague, as though the details were hers to keep close. “Since then, things have been good. Simple, really. Nice.”

Jimin returned the smile, warmth spreading across her features. “She seems special,” she said softly.

“She is,” Aeri replied, the usual glint of mischief returning to her eyes as she leaned forward. “But, you know, now that I think about it, you and Minjeong might’ve had a hand in all of this.”

Jimin blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. “Us?” she asked, confused but curious. “How?”

Aeri chuckled, waving her hand as if it should’ve been obvious. “Your whole newfound friendship with Minjeong—it sort of set things in motion. If you hadn’t been hanging out with her so much, Yizhuo and I wouldn’t have ended up crossing paths as often as we did. Minjeong would drag Yizhuo along, you’d show up, and there I was. It’s like you two were nudging us together without even realizing.”

Jimin tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smile as she considered Aeri’s words. “So, you’re saying we brought you two closer?”

“Exactly!” Aeri said, grinning triumphantly. “I mean, between the hockey rink drama, the party nonsense, and all the other bits in between, you two basically handed Yizhuo to me on a silver platter.”

Jimin let out a laugh, shaking her head. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“And the only way, obviously,” Aeri quipped, raising her wine glass with a smug grin. “So, thank you for that. Truly.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Jimin muttered, though her laughter betrayed her amusement.

Aeri smirked, settling back into the couch. “Dramatic or not, I’m serious. You and Minjeong might’ve been focused on building whatever connection you’ve got going, but you ended up helping me out too. Funny how that works, huh?”

Jimin nodded slowly, her gaze softening as she absorbed Aeri’s words. “Sounds like fate,” she said softly, her voice laced with genuine warmth. But as Aeri’s words lingered in her mind, she felt the weight of a familiar realization pressing on her chest. The simplicity of Aeri and Yizhuo’s beginning—a chance encounter that led to something unexpectedly meaningful—reminded her of her own first moments with Minjeong.

She sank deeper into the couch, her fingers brushing against the edge of her wine glass. “Life does work in mysterious ways,” she murmured, her voice distant as her thoughts drifted.

Aeri tilted her head, noticing Jimin’s sudden quietness. “You’re thinking hard about something,” she said, her tone turning softer but still curious. “What’s on your mind?”

Jimin hesitated, fidgeting slightly before letting out a small laugh. “It’s just... complicated,” she admitted, avoiding Aeri’s gaze.

“Complicated as in Ryujin?” Aeri prodded, raising an eyebrow knowingly. 

Jimin groaned, letting her head fall back against the couch dramatically. “Maybe,” she muttered, her voice muffled. “I don’t know. It’s not like she’s done anything wrong. It’s just... messy.”

Aeri let out a soft sigh, setting her glass down on the table. Her gaze softened as she turned to Jimin, her tone grounding. “Jimin, you know I’ll always support you, no matter what. But you owe it to Ryujin to tell her the truth. She deserves that much.”

Jimin sat up slightly, her fingers gripping the edge of the cushion as she nodded reluctantly. She knew Aeri was right, but the thought of confronting Ryujin—a conversation that could potentially alter their friendship forever—filled her with dread. The knot twisting in her stomach only grew tighter as she imagined the fallout.

Aeri caught the hesitation in Jimin’s face and reached out, taking her hand in hers with a reassuring squeeze. “Listen,” she said gently, her voice firm but kind. “We don’t need to figure everything out tonight. Focus on finals first, okay? Once exams are over, we’ll sit down together and think about how to handle it.”

Jimin pouted, letting her head rest against the back of the couch. “Great. So the family holiday festivities are just going to be awkward,” she muttered.

Aeri rolled her eyes, a teasing grin flickering across her face. Without missing a beat, she leaned over and swatted the back of Jimin’s head lightly. “Don’t even think about using that as an excuse to drag this out longer,” she said with a laugh. But there was an edge to her tone—a playful warning that she wouldn’t let Jimin avoid the issue indefinitely.

Jimin groaned, rubbing the back of her head where Aeri had smacked her. “You’re no fun,” she grumbled, though there was a faint smile on her lips. 

Jimin sighed but didn’t argue, her mind already drifting to the looming winter break. The holiday season was always a time for traditions—their families gathering for dinners and celebrations, the trio inevitably spending long evenings together. Jimin couldn’t help but picture the discomfort that would overshadow everything if she confronted Ryujin during that time. The thought was unbearable, but Aeri’s teasing reminder echoed in her mind: No more excuses.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aeri teased, leaning back against the couch with a smug expression. “You’ll thank me later. Trust me.”

But as the laughter faded and the air grew quieter, that knowing look returned to Aeri’s face—the one Jimin had seen many times before, the one that meant she wasn’t about to let Jimin off the hook so easily.

Aeri tilted her head, watching Jimin with an amused glint in her eyes as the silence stretched between them. She let out a dramatic sigh, setting her wine glass down and crossing her arms. “You know,” she began, her tone casual but probing, “we’ve talked about everyone else tonight—Ryujin, Yizhuo, me—but you’ve been pretty quiet about one person.”

Jimin blinked, startled out of her thoughts. “Who?” she asked, her voice carrying a note of hesitation.

Aeri’s smirk widened, her foot tapping impatiently against the floor as she leaned closer. “Oh, come on, Jimin. You know exactly who,” she teased, her tone shifting into something more pointed. “Minjeong. Spill—how do you really feel about her?”

The words hit Jimin like a wave, freezing her in place for a moment as her mind blanked completely. Panic surged through her, her cheeks flushing bright red as she scrambled for an answer. “What? I—” she stammered, her voice cracking slightly. Then, suddenly, she let out an embarrassed scream, grabbing the nearest couch pillow and burying her face in it as if that could shield her from Aeri’s piercing gaze.

Aeri leaned back, unimpressed but amused as she raised an eyebrow and tapped her fingers against her arm. “I’ve got time,” she said with a smirk. “Take your moment.”

Jimin peeked out from behind the pillow, her eyes narrowing slightly as she gripped it tighter to her chest. She let out a deep sigh, her voice muffled against the fabric. “Minjeong is...” she started hesitantly. But under Aeri’s unwavering stare, Jimin sighed again and finally sat up straight, her gaze dropping to the floor. “She’s... refreshing,” she admitted quietly, the words tumbling out reluctantly.

Aeri’s grin widened as she leaned forward, her eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and delight. “Refreshing, huh?” she teased, her tone light but urging. “Don’t stop now—what else?”

Jimin groaned, clutching the pillow tighter against her chest as if it could shield her from the weight of her own words. But there was no escaping the inevitable. “She’s not... overwhelming,” Jimin admitted, her voice coming out faster, as if rushing through the confession would lessen its impact. “She’s not always in my way, not always in my face. It’s like—she knows how to keep a distance that feels... right. A distance that makes you want to close it.”

Her cheeks flushed deeper, the heat rising as the words escaped her mouth, unchecked. “It’s just... easy with her. Everything feels smooth. Natural.” Her gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers curling into the fabric of the couch as her voice softened further. “Even when I think about how I feel, it’s not like the usual chaos or pressure—it’s just there, fitting in, like it belongs.”

Aeri didn’t say anything for a moment, studying Jimin with an expression that was equal parts amusement and curiosity. Jimin fidgeted under the silent stare, her thoughts spiraling. Finally, she exhaled deeply, her voice trembling slightly as she continued. “She doesn’t demand anything from me. Not my time, not my attention. Somehow, though, she’s always... present. Like her being there isn’t a distraction—it’s grounding.” Her lips twitched into a faint smile, betraying the warmth she felt despite her nerves. “I don’t know. It’s like we’ve always known how to work together, even without words. She fits so effortlessly into everything—into my life—and it scares me.”

Aeri tilted her head, sensing the hesitation underlying Jimin’s words. “Scares you?” she echoed gently, though her tone carried a teasing edge.

Jimin groaned again, burying her face back into the pillow. “Yes,” she muttered, her voice muffled. “Because... this wasn’t the plan.”

Aeri tilted her head, picking up on the shift in Jimin’s tone. “The plan?” she echoed knowingly.

Jimin hesitated, swallowing hard. “The day Ryujin confessed,” she began, her voice softening as the memory resurfaced. “I told her about my priorities—about med school, residency, and everything else that comes first. I said a relationship would have to wait until I was ready. She understood, and she waited.”

Her shoulders slumped as her hands tightened around the pillow. “At the time, I felt relieved. Ryujin was supposed to be the plan,” she confessed, her voice tinged with frustration. “That’s how I pictured it. A relationship that waited for me while I reached my goals. It felt perfect, you know? Career and relationship lined up, everything neat and predictable. Like everything could fall into place without any distractions. But now—” Jimin stopped herself, the knot in her chest tightening.

Aeri’s gaze softened, her smirk fading into something gentler as she let Jimin continue.

“Ryujin’s patience—it was comforting at first. I admired how persistent and steady she was, but now... now, it feels heavy. Like the waiting isn’t just patience—it’s pressure. Pressure to be the person she sees me as, the one who has everything perfectly planned and figured out since we were kids.” Jimin’s voice wavered as she shook her head. “But is that perfect? Is that really what I want anymore?”

She exhaled shakily, her expression growing distant. “With Minjeong, it’s different. She doesn’t push, doesn’t wait—she’s just... there. She doesn’t hold me to some standard or expect something I don’t even know how to give yet. But none of this was supposed to happen. What happens to Ryujin when the plan doesn’t feel right anymore?””

Aeri leaned forward, her teasing edge returning slightly as she tapped Jimin’s knee. “Well, looks like your plan’s a little less perfect now, huh?”

Jimin laughed weakly, shaking her head. “It’s just... messy. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. What happens to Ryujin if the plan isn’t right anymore? What happens to everything I’ve worked so hard to map out?”

Aeri didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached out, squeezing Jimin’s hand gently. “Sounds like you’ve got some decisions to make,” she said softly. “But you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got me—and Minjeong too, for that matter.”

Jimin looked up, her expression wavering. Aeri grinned, the playful spark in her eyes returning. “And for the record,” she added, her smirk growing, “I think Minjeong would tell you to ditch the plan and figure it out as you go.”

Jimin screams into her pillow with embarrassment but Aeri just patted her head in understanding. 

Aeri’s gaze lingered on Jimin, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful after hearing her friend’s vulnerable admission. “You know,” she said gently, her tone grounded, “it sounds like you’ve got a lot to sort through. But you’ve also got people who care about you, Jimin. You’re not doing this alone.”

Jimin offered a faint smile, the weight on her chest easing ever so slightly. She let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch as the conversation settled. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice quiet but sincere.

“You know,” she began mischievously, swirling her wine glass, “when I said we needed girl talk, I wasn’t kidding. This isn’t just for you to spill your pent-up emotions—I’ve got information for you too.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a small smile despite herself. “Oh, great,” she muttered sarcastically. “The gossip queen strikes again.”

Aeri grinned, clearly unfazed by the jab. “It’s not gossip if it’s useful,” she quipped. Then, after a brief pause, her tone shifted to something more cautious. “Speaking of Minjeong... I heard about the date she went on with Wonyoung.”

Jimin stiffened at the name, her fingers tightening slightly around the glass in her hand. She forced a smile onto her face, trying to play it off. “Date?” she echoed lightly, her voice calm on the surface but betraying none of the unease bubbling beneath.

Aeri tilted her head, studying Jimin’s reaction carefully. “And let’s just say, dear bestie,” she added with deliberate slowness, “you might have some competition.”

The words landed heavily, though Jimin didn’t let her mask slip. She swallowed hard, forcing a laugh as she brushed it off. “Competition? Seriously, Aeri, you’re reading too much into things.”

Aeri narrowed her eyes, leaning in slightly as her voice softened. “Did Minjeong tell you anything about it?” she asked, probing gently.

Jimin shook her head, her gaze dropping to the rim of her glass. “Not really,” she admitted, her tone clipped.

Aeri bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before she reached out, taking Jimin’s hands in hers. Her touch was reassuring, her voice gentle but firm as she said, “I know it’s terrible to share these kinds of things. But I feel like you should know now, so it doesn’t... catch you off guard when Wonyoung brings it up herself. You know how she is.”

Jimin nodded slowly, her throat tightening as she braced herself for whatever Aeri was about to say.

“They slept together that day,” Aeri revealed carefully, her words landing heavily in the quiet space between them.

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed at the statement, confusion flashing across her face. It wasn’t the reaction Aeri had expected, and she leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. “Did Minjeong tell you that?” Aeri asked cautiously.

“No,” Jimin said quietly, her voice thoughtful. “Minjeong stayed at my place later that night.”

Aeri’s eyes widened slightly at the revelation, her mind racing as she pieced it together. “So she didn’t stay at Wonyoung’s,” she murmured, more to herself than Jimin. “Huh. Wonyoung told me the day was a dream to her—but if Minjeong left after that... seems like there’s more to the story.”

Jimin didn’t respond immediately, her thoughts swirling as the weight of Aeri’s words mingled with the memory of Minjeong pacing outside her door that night. Her hair had been ruffled, her expression distressed—a stark contrast to the dreamlike day Wonyoung had described. Something didn’t add up, and Jimin couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story than either of them knew.

Minjeong leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Yizhuo waved the oversized dragon plushie in front of Chaeyoung, eliciting giggles from the little girl. The sight was both endearing and comical, though Minjeong couldn’t shake the embarrassment of earlier, when her friend had lugged the gigantic stuffed toy onto the subway. It had turned more than a few heads, and Minjeong had spent the ride pretending not to know her.

“You’ve truly outdone yourself this time,” Minjeong muttered, shaking her head as she grabbed a glass of water, her eyes flicking to Chaeyoung’s wide grin.

Yizhuo grinned, unfazed. “Come on, admit it—the dragon’s adorable.”

Before Minjeong could respond, Yizhuo’s attention shifted. “So,” she began casually, though her tone carried the familiar edge of teasing, “How was the date with Ms. Charming Lawyer?”

Minjeong scoffed lightly, her shoulders relaxing as she let out a small laugh. “It wasn’t a date,” she replied, though her gaze momentarily wandered. “More like a thank-you dinner slash day and also to fulfill that auction thing. You know, your devilish plan to auction me off to strangers.”

Yizhuo raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter as Chaeyoung toddled past with the oversized dragon plushie. “You know,” she began with a grin, “Wonyoung bid quite a bit to win that auction. Not exactly the actions of a stranger.”

Minjeong scoffed lightly, shaking her head. “It wasn’t a big deal,” she replied. “She just wanted to help out—she’s generous like that.”

“Generous, huh?” Yizhuo teased, crossing her arms as her grin widened. “Well, she didn’t seem too shy about taking the chance to spend the day with you. I mean, come on—people would line up for a chance to hang out with Jang Wonyoung. Smart, funny, gorgeous... seriously, Minjeong, do you even notice how much attention she gets?”

Minjeong’s expression soured at the comment, a flat disapproval shadowing her face. “Then why don’t you go out with her?” she shot back, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

Yizhuo burst into laughter, shaking her head as her amusement bubbled over. “Me? Nah, I’ve got my eye on another law student,” she said with a mischievous wink.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in amusement despite herself. “Aeri, right?” she teased knowingly.

“Nice try, but tonight’s your night,” Yizhuo countered smoothly, refusing to take the bait. She turned her attention back to Chaeyoung, her tone softening as she watched the little girl hug the dragon plush tightly. “So... Wonyoung. She’s not someone you’re really interested in, huh?”

Minjeong’s small smile faltered at the question, her gaze dropping to the rim of her glass. Her fingers began tracing the edge in quiet distraction, her thoughts already pulling her inward. After a long pause, she finally spoke, her tone measured but distant. “Wonyoung is... well, she’s Wonyoung. She knows what she wants, and she doesn’t waste any time going after it. She’s always leading, always making decisions. It’s easy to just... follow her.”

Yizhuo tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharpening as she studied Minjeong. She didn’t press, allowing the quiet to stretch and Minjeong to find her words.

“She makes it look so simple,” Minjeong continued softly, almost as if reasoning it out for herself. “Everything feels so... straightforward when I’m with her. She’s decisive, confident. Spending the day with her was fine—it was fine. I planned everything, drove her, picked the restaurants, even cooked for her. But somehow, in the small moments—choosing what to eat, telling me to take pictures—I wasn’t steering anymore. She was.”

Minjeong’s voice wavered, her fingers tightening around her glass. “And that’s just how it’s always been for me, Yizhuo,” she admitted quietly. “Going along, taking orders, existing. Letting someone else lead because it’s easier that way. That’s how I’ve lived my whole life. With Wonyoung, it was no different.”

Yizhuo frowned slightly, sensing the weight behind Minjeong’s words. She didn’t speak immediately, her expression unreadable as she processed everything. But even without Minjeong explicitly saying it, Yizhuo could sense the deeper troubles stirring beneath the surface. Minjeong’s growing habit of staying at her place hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Yizhuo had pieced together that it wasn’t just convenience keeping her there—it was avoidance. She suspected Minjeong was steering clear of her family, and knowing how tightly intertwined family dynamics could be with relationships, it made sense that this was affecting Minjeong’s view of what she wanted—or didn’t want—with Wonyoung.

“So you’re saying it doesn’t feel... right? Being with her?” Yizhuo asked gently, her voice careful but probing.

Minjeong hesitated, her brows furrowing deeply as her thoughts tangled further. She exhaled slowly, the words coming out quieter, almost tentative. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “It felt... ordinary. Routine, like every other day of my life. And maybe that’s all I deserve. Maybe that’s all I know how to want.” Her voice dropped lower, tinged with something close to resignation. “But is that what a relationship is? Just... following? Letting someone else decide everything while I stay in the background?”

The weight of her question lingered in the air, but Yizhuo didn’t let it press too heavily. She shifted closer, her gaze softening as she placed a steadying hand on Minjeong’s shoulder. “You know you don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she said gently, her tone warm but firm. “But don’t ignore what you’re feeling, okay? Even if it doesn’t make sense yet.”

Minjeong didn’t respond immediately, her thoughts swirling as she stared down at her glass. The quiet lingered, broken only by Chaeyoung’s giggles as she cuddled by with the oversized dragon plush. Yizhuo didn’t push her, her gaze steady but gentle as she gave her friend the space to sort through whatever was on her mind.

Minjeong fidgeted with the glass in her hand, her fingers tracing the rim absently as if the motion could steady her nerves. Her jaw tensed for a moment, then relaxed as she let out a shallow sigh. She glanced toward Yizhuo briefly, opening her mouth as if to speak, before closing it again and looking away. Something was weighing on her, that much was clear—but the words seemed stuck.

Yizhuo tilted her head slightly, watching the subtle shifts in Minjeong’s expression. She didn’t say anything, allowing the quiet to stretch just long enough for Minjeong to decide whether she wanted to say something.

Finally, Minjeong exhaled deeply, her voice soft and hesitant. “There’s something else... bothering me,” she admitted, her gaze fixed firmly on the glass in her hand. “It’s been on my mind for days, but I didn’t know if I should bring it up.”

Yizhuo raised an eyebrow, leaning her elbows onto the counter. “Well, whatever it is, it’s clearly eating at you,” she said gently. “You can tell me, you know. No judgment.”

Minjeong let out a small, nervous laugh, her shoulders tightening as she ran a hand through her hair. “It’s just... complicated,” she murmured. “And maybe stupid. I don’t know.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you,” Yizhuo replied, her voice calm and grounding.

Minjeong hesitated again, her fingers tightening around the glass. Finally, she took a deep breath, her next words tumbling out in a low, almost rushed whisper. “I slept with Wonyoung… on that day”

Yizhuo blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the confession. “Wait—hold on,” she said, her voice quiet but laced with surprise. She leaned in slightly, her expression carefully neutral as she tried to gauge Minjeong’s mood. “You slept with Wonyoung... on the day you went out together?”

Minjeong groaned softly, burying her face in her hands as her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “It just... happened,” she muttered, her voice muffled against her palms. “She led, I followed. I didn’t think—I didn’t question it. I just... let it happen.”

Yizhuo paused for a moment, processing the admission. Then, her lips curled into a mischievous grin, and she quipped, “Well, you know, people have needs.”

Minjeong groaned louder, sliding her hands down her face to glare at Yizhuo. “Don’t make fun of me,” she muttered, though her tone lacked any real heat.

“I’m not making fun of you!” Yizhuo said with exaggerated innocence, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying—it’s not a crime. But clearly, it’s been bothering you, so... why?” She softened her tone, her curiosity edging into concern.

Minjeong hesitated, her fingers curling tightly around her glass as she avoided Yizhuo’s gaze. “It’s not that I regret it,” she said finally, her voice quiet but strained. “It’s just... I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s what I wanted.”

Yizhuo frowned slightly, her expression thoughtful as she leaned in closer. “You didn’t want it?” she asked gently. “Or you’re not sure?”

Minjeong sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping as her thoughts tangled further. “I don’t know,” she admitted again, her voice faltering. “It felt... off somehow. Not uncomfortable—it wasn’t that. I’ve always been comfortable with Wonyoung. But this time, it felt different. Like I shouldn’t have gone along with it.”

Yizhuo tilted her head, her curiosity sharpening as she leaned in slightly. “Okay, so what were you thinking about? Like, in that moment?” she asked gently, her tone probing but not pushy. “There’s gotta be something that made you feel like you shouldn’t have gone along with it.”

Minjeong hesitated, her fingers tightening around her glass as she avoided Yizhuo’s gaze. Her jaw tensed briefly before she let out a shallow sigh. “I was... thinking about Jimin,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yizhuo’s eyebrows shot up, her lips twitching as she tried—and failed—to suppress a smirk. “Jimin, huh?” she teased, leaning back slightly. “Well, well, Minjeong. Thinking about someone else while you’re with Wonyoung? That’s very jock-like of you. Boyish charm at its finest.”

Minjeong groaned, her cheeks flushing as she shot Yizhuo a glare. “Don’t even start,” she muttered, her tone laced with annoyance. “I swear, if you make one more joke, I’m hitting you.”

Yizhuo raised her hands in mock surrender, though the mischievous glint in her eyes didn’t fade. “Alright, alright,” she said, her grin widening. “But you can’t blame me for being curious. What was it about Jimin that made you so distracted?”

Minjeong sighed again, her shoulders slumping as she ran a hand through her hair. “It wasn’t exactly a distraction,” she started carefully, her voice quieter now. “It was more... replaying something Jimin said the night before. We were talking, and she told me I should stand my ground more—not let Wonyoung walk all over me when I go out with her. I told her I wasn’t uncomfortable with Wonyoung, and I meant it. ”

She paused, the knot in her chest tightening as she exhaled slowly. “But I… just couldn’t stop thinking about Jimin’s words that night,” she continued, her voice softer now.

Yizhuo tilted her head, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. “So you’re saying Jimin got in your head?” she asked, though her tone remained light, with just the faintest trace of teasing.

Minjeong shot her a glare, the faint flush on her cheeks deepening. “She didn’t get in my head,” she snapped, though the defensiveness in her voice betrayed her. “It’s not like that. I just... I don’t know. I kept hearing her voice, and after everything, I ended up at her door.”

Yizhuo’s lips twitched, her smirk threatening to return, but she managed to hold it back. “So you went to Jimin’s?” she asked instead, her tone turning more curious.

Minjeong groaned softly. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I was freaking out—standing there, not even sure why I was there. But then she opened the door, and... I stayed. I don’t know why. It just felt like... the only place I could go.”

Yizhuo nodded silently, the teasing grin on her face softening into something more thoughtful. She wasn’t the type to push Minjeong—that never worked, and she knew it wouldn’t now. Minjeong had always been someone who took commands without question, slipping into the role of follower without hesitation. But Yizhuo didn’t want that for her, not now, not with this. She wanted Minjeong to figure it out—to want something for herself, something she could genuinely choose, not something she was told to pursue.

It was slow, painfully so, but Yizhuo felt confident that Minjeong was starting to head in the right direction. Even if she didn’t know what “right” meant yet, even if it was tentative and full of doubt, Yizhuo could see the steps beginning to take shape. For now, that was enough.

Still, one thing Yizhuo felt confident about was Jimin. She wasn’t some kind of fortune teller or future seeker, but she didn’t need to be to see what was right in front of her. Minjeong was down bad for Ms. Class President—it was undeniable. And whether Minjeong wanted to admit it or not, Jimin seemed to have a way of grounding her, of making her think beyond her usual patterns of just following and existing.

Chapter Text

The music was loud enough to rattle the walls, spilling out onto the street where clusters of students loitered with drinks in hand, their laughter cutting through the chill of the evening. The energy was palpable, chaotic in the best way, as students from every corner of the university—law, medicine, dentistry, engineering, even the masters and PhDs who rarely ventured out of their academic caves—came together for one last hurrah before the winter finals season consumed them whole. It was tradition at this point: Sungchan hosting with Mark as his co-pilot, the dynamic duo who seemed to know everyone and their cousins, despite Mark inexplicably not being a student.

Minjeong stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the crowd as she slipped off her jacket. Inside, the place was packed shoulder-to-shoulder, laughter and conversation cutting through the music like sparks from a fire. 

The fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling cast a hazy glow over the room, bouncing off the cups and bottles scattered like forgotten relics on every available surface. People were going all out tonight—a night to forget the suffocating weight of academic hell waiting just around the corner. Costumes and ridiculous outfits dotted the crowd—someone was wearing a full panda suit, and Minjeong swore she saw a guy with a light-up cowboy hat. The table in the corner had become an impromptu mixology station, bottles and cans scattered amidst a growing collection of questionable concoctions, while the living room had transformed into a dance floor, packed with bodies moving to the beat like it was their last chance to live.

Minjeong watched as Sungchan was bouncing between rooms like a human ping-pong ball, a blur of energy as he refilled drinks and shouted over the music. And then there was Mark, right in the center of it all, throwing his head back in laughter as he clapped an engineering student on the shoulder, a dentistry student on his right, and a law student on his left—all of them looking at him like he’d been their best friend for years.

She glanced at Yizhuo, whose grin hadn’t faded since they walked through the door. Yizhuo, ever the social butterfly, was already eyeing the drink table like it was an untapped treasure trove. “Don’t overthink tonight, Minjeong,” she teased, nudging her friend with a hip. “Mark’s here somewhere. I’m sure he’ll have you doing tequila shots in five minutes flat.”

Minjeong snorted softly but didn’t respond. Instead, she reached for the nearest cup, its neon-green contents looking radioactive but promising enough. It wasn’t about the taste; it was about the distraction. This wasn’t unfamiliar territory—Minjeong enjoyed these parties, even if she didn’t throw herself into the chaos the way Sungchan did, bouncing around and rallying everyone like a lunatic. For her, it was simpler: free booze, loud music, and a chance to get completely wasted. That was her thing—a way to clear her head, much like stepping onto the ice against an opponent who didn’t hold back. Physical chaos or alcohol-induced chaos—they both helped her silence whatever storm had been brewing inside.

Lately, though, the storm seemed harder to ignore. Staying at Yizhuo’s place had helped create some distance, a separation from the whirlwind of thoughts that had overwhelmed her after that conversation with Yizhuo the other day. Minjeong had blurted out everything—her confusion about Wonyoung, the lingering presence of Jimin—and since then, she’d been trying to sort through it all. Avoiding the library hangouts and finding refuge at Yizhuo’s place were attempts to distance herself from the factors that had been wreaking havoc on her mind. Yizhuo didn’t ask questions or pry too much, but Minjeong could tell that Yizhuo knew about her dilemma and her terrible way of avoiding it. But even there, she couldn’t quite quiet the noise.

That was why she was here tonight. Chaos over chaos. If she couldn’t silence the storm, maybe she could drown it out instead—join the madness a little more than usual, loosen up, and let the music and booze consume her, rather than the other way around.

The whistles cut through the music, rising above the buzz of conversation, causing heads to turn en masse. Minjeong, her third drink still settling warm in her stomach, tilted her head toward the commotion with mild curiosity, her gaze landing on the door. It didn’t take long to understand the reaction—it was them.

Wonyoung, Aeri, Jimin, and Ryujin stepped into the townhouse like they owned the place, commanding attention without even trying. The energy of the room shifted instantly, the noise tapering into a different kind of chaos—one filled with awestruck murmurs, stolen glances, and the sound of people straightening themselves out. It was the type of entrance that made you hyper-aware of your surroundings, where you stood, and what you were wearing.

Wonyoung led the group with effortless charm, her radiant smile causing hearts to stutter across the room. There was something about the way she moved—graceful yet approachable—that had people instantly gravitating toward her. The guys couldn’t stop staring, and the girls that swung that way were just as helpless. Others glanced at their reflections in the nearest surface, subtly fixing their hair or touching up their makeup in hopes of somehow matching her undeniable glow.

Beside her, Aeri strode with the kind of confidence that made knees buckle. Her aura was magnetic, sharp yet captivating, and she carried herself with a power that sent ripples through the crowd. People watched her as though she were untouchable, yet deeply compelling, their gazes filled with admiration and just a hint of intimidation.

Then there was Jimin, the girl next door who always seemed to outshine even the brightest lights in the room. At first, everyone admired her for her beauty—there was no denying she was stunning. But it was her warmth, her effortless charm, her ability to make everyone feel seen that left people falling for her even harder. She smiled softly at someone she recognized across the room, and you could almost hear the sound of hearts collectively melting.

And finally, Ryujin—the cool, untouchable charm that effortlessly balanced the group’s dynamic. She exuded that careless swagger that made people wish they could be her, or at least stand close enough to catch some of it. The guys hated her because they envied her ease around the three most stunning women in the room, and the girls couldn’t help but fan over her as much as they did the others. Ryujin smirked at something Wonyoung said, her eyes scanning the crowd like she owned the night.

The room’s energy shifted as their presence settled, pockets of conversation reigniting with fresh fervor as people speculated about them. Minjeong leaned against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and detachment. She wasn’t surprised by the reaction—they always had this effect on people, as if the air itself bent around them.

Her gaze lingered briefly on Jimin before she quickly looked away, her fingers tightening around her cup. The storm in her head roared back to life for a moment, the alcohol doing little to drown it out. She exhaled sharply and downed the rest of her drink in one go, letting the burn distract her.

Chaos over chaos. It was easier that way.

The whistles and cheers hadn’t died down as the four newcomers stepped further into the townhouse, their presence commanding the room like a scene straight out of a teen drama. Aeri leaned toward Jimin, her lips quirking into a sly grin as she whispered something that made Jimin roll her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. “This feels like a stereotypical high school entrance,” Aeri murmured, her voice low but teasing. “All that’s missing is a slow-motion montage.”

Jimin brushed it off with a soft laugh, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. “They’re all basically drunk,” she said lightly, though there was a hint of thoughtfulness beneath her tone. “We’re just kids in grown-up bodies, really. Everything they’re doing—gawking, acting like we walked out of a movie—it’s just their lowered inhibitions talking. Alcohol does that, doesn’t it?”

The group moved further into the chaos, and it didn’t take long for Mark Lee to appear, his grin as wide as ever. He threw his arms around Wonyoung and Aeri, pulling them into a loose embrace as if they’d been best friends for years. “Welcome to the party!” he exclaimed, his voice cutting through the music with ease. “You’re late, but I’ll forgive you—only because you’re making me look good by association.”

Wonyoung laughed, her charm as effortless as ever, while Aeri smirked, shaking her head at Mark’s antics. Ryujin, however, narrowed her eyes slightly at the closeness, her gaze flicking to Mark’s arm around Aeri before she stepped closer to Jimin. Without a word, she gently wrapped an arm around Jimin’s waist, her touch casual but deliberate. Jimin glanced at her briefly, her expression unreadable, before returning her attention to the room.

Before anyone could comment, Sungchan burst onto the scene, his energy as chaotic as the party itself. “Drinks!” he shouted, shoving cups into their hands with the enthusiasm of someone who’d already had one too many. “No excuses, no refusals—this is a pre-finals tradition, people!”

Yizhuo wasn’t far behind Sungchan, her drink already in hand as she darted through the crowd with the determination of someone who simply wanted more. “You owe me a shot, you coward!” she called out, her voice rising above the music as she closed the distance between them, her grin wide and entirely too amused. She wasn’t really mad, of course—it was all part of the game. Sungchan was easy to bother, and Yizhuo was excellent at it.

Before Sungchan could dodge her again, Aeri caught sight of Yizhuo weaving through the crowd, her face lighting up in a rare display of warmth. “Yizhuo!” she exclaimed, stepping toward her with open arms. The happiness in her voice drew a few glances, but Aeri didn’t care—she hadn’t seen Yizhuo in what felt like ages, not since Yizhuo and Minjeong both started skipping out on their library sessions. It was hard not to notice their absence.

Yizhuo paused her pursuit, laughing as Aeri pulled her into a quick hug, her drink sloshing slightly from the force. “Well, hello to you too,” she said, her voice playful but genuine as she returned the hug. “Miss me?”

“Of course,” Aeri replied smoothly, her lips quirking into a grin. “It’s been way too quiet at the library without your chaos. I thought I might actually start concentrating—scary stuff.”

Yizhuo snorted, pulling back to raise an eyebrow. “Concentrating? You mean staring at your laptop screen while secretly shopping for another pair of sneakers you absolutely don’t need?”

Aeri gasped in mock offense, her hand flying to her chest as though Yizhuo had just mortally wounded her. “That’s rich coming from someone who brings snacks to the library loud enough to cause a scene every single time.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta keep the place lively,” Yizhuo quipped, grinning as she lifted her drink. 

Aeri rolled her eyes but smiled, crossing her arms. “I’ll admit, the entertainment value is unmatched. But seriously, what’s with the disappearing act? Did you and Minjeong form some kind of anti-library pact or something?”

Yizhuo hesitated for only a split second before she leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice just enough to make it sound like a secret worth keeping. “Just locking in earlier than everyone else, you know how finals season is. The two of us have been stuck at my place—stinking up the apartment while drowning in notes and textbooks. It’s not glamorous, but hey, someone’s gotta start early.”, she said smoothly. 

Aeri tilted her head slightly, as if weighing Yizhuo’s words, before her lips curled into a faint smile. “That’s so you two,” she remarked, her tone teasing but warm. “Always planning ahead while the rest of us try to cram it all in the night before.”

Yizhuo grinned, lifting her glass in a mock toast. “Efficiency,” she quipped, though she felt a small pang of relief that her excuse seemed to stick. She wasn’t about to let Aeri know the full story—not yet, at least. Minjeong deserved the space she was trying to carve out, and Yizhuo wasn’t about to risk intruding on that.

Still, Aeri couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. She had noticed something off about Jimin recently—an unusual quietness that wasn’t like her at all. When Aeri had asked, Jimin admitted that Minjeong hadn’t stayed over at her place in a while since that surprise midnight visit. With that revelation and the missing duo during their library sessions, it was starting to come together. Aeri wasn’t one to pry, but she couldn’t help but feel that Yizhuo’s absence was tied to Minjeong’s in a way she hadn’t quite figured out yet. If anyone would stick by Minjeong during whatever she was dealing with, it was Yizhuo.

It was just what Yizhuo did: an unwavering loyalty that sometimes made you want to strangle her, but mostly made you grateful to know her.

Aeri’s gaze shifted across the room, catching Jimin as she subtly scanned the crowd. It was obvious who she was looking for—the hockey player whose absence had been leaving Jimin slightly out of sorts, though she wouldn’t admit it outright. There was a kind of restlessness in the way Jimin’s eyes lingered, her usually composed demeanor cracking just enough for Aeri to notice.

Ryujin leaned in close, her hand lightly brushing Jimin’s arm as she whispered something to her. Jimin turned her attention briefly, her lips curving into a small smile at whatever Ryujin had said. Aeri couldn’t hear the words, but the promise in Ryujin’s actions was clear enough: she was heading toward the drinks table, likely to grab something for both of them.

Aeri followed Ryujin’s movements for a moment before her attention shifted to Wonyoung. Of all of them, Wonyoung was the boldest, her charm a weapon she wielded without hesitation. She was already moving confidently through the crowd, stopping here and there to ask around with a smile that lit up her features. Aeri didn’t have to guess who she was asking about—Mark’s easy grin confirmed it as he leaned toward Wonyoung, his expression as bright as ever. Whatever response Mark gave had Wonyoung’s brows lifting slightly, her eyes narrowing with determination as she continued her search.

Aeri felt herself smiling faintly, amused by the ripple effect Minjeong’s absence had created among them. They wouldn’t say it outright, but her presence—or lack thereof—had left its mark. Whether it was Wonyoung’s bold inquiries, Jimin’s restless glances, or Ryujin’s quiet attentiveness, Minjeong had managed to pull their focus even while staying out of their immediate orbit.

The world around Minjeong was starting to blur, her vision swimming as the edges of the room seemed to pulse in time with the heavy bass of the music. She stumbled slightly, bumping into a dense crowd huddled around a table in the corner. “Sorry,” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the chaos. She blinked a few times, trying to steady herself, but what caught her eye instead were the neat, glistening lines of powder laid out across the tabletop.

It took her a moment to process, her hazy mind catching up to the scene in front of her. Among the faces was one she recognized easily—Jaehyun, one of the law students who always seemed to orbit Sungchan and Mark. His sharp features curved into a mischievous smirk as he caught her eye, leaning back lazily in his chair. “Want a line?” he offered smoothly, his tone casual but laced with a teasing edge.

Minjeong hesitated, her gaze flicking to the powder. It was tempting—she couldn’t deny that—but she wasn’t that far gone yet. “Pass,” she muttered, shaking her head as firmly as her haziness allowed. Jaehyun chuckled softly, his smirk growing wider as though he expected nothing less. She didn’t wait for him to press further, her feet already carrying her away from the table and toward the back door.

The night air hit her like a slap, cool and sharp against her skin. She fumbled in her pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with practiced ease. The first drag filled her lungs, the faint buzz grounding her slightly as she exhaled into the breeze.

The backyard was quieter than inside, though the muffled thrum of music spilled out into the open air. Minjeong swayed slightly, the combination of alcohol and nicotine pulling her into a peculiar rhythm. The breeze caught her, tugging at her hair and nudging her from side to side like a playful push.

The breeze barely had time to cool Minjeong’s flushed skin before Wonyoung appeared, her presence as commanding as ever. “There you are,” Wonyoung said, her voice cutting through the muffled thrum of music spilling from the townhouse. She didn’t wait for a response, her hand already wrapping around Minjeong’s wrist. “Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question. Wonyoung’s boldness left no room for refusal, and Minjeong, too hazed to argue, barely managed to stub out her cigarette before being pulled back inside. The music hit her like a wave, the bass vibrating through her chest as Wonyoung led her straight to the dance floor. The crowd parted instinctively for Wonyoung, her laugh ringing out like a beacon as she spun Minjeong toward the center of the chaos.

In the kitchen, which opened up to the edge of the dance floor, Ryujin leaned casually against the counter, her drink in hand as she bopped to the beat. Her movements were effortless, her head nodding in time with the music as she sipped from her cup. Beside her, Jimin stood with a drink of her own, though her focus was elsewhere. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for something—or someone.

Wonyoung’s laugh broke through the noise, drawing Jimin’s attention. She turned her head just in time to see Minjeong, her amber hair catching the light, looking completely out of it as Wonyoung twirled her into the crowd. Jimin’s grip on her cup tightened, her expression unreadable as she watched the scene unfold. Without a word, she tipped her head back and chugged the rest of her drink, the burn doing little to ease the knot in her chest. She poured herself another, her movements sharp and deliberate, before leaning back against the counter.

Aeri was lost in the rhythm, her movements dangerously close to Yizhuo’s as the music pulsed around them. For a moment, it felt like heaven—being this close, the warmth of Yizhuo’s presence wrapping around her like a cocoon. But the spell broke when Wonyoung passed by, her laugh cutting through the noise like a beacon. Aeri’s gaze shifted, catching sight of Minjeong trailing behind, her hands guided by Wonyoung in a way that made Aeri’s stomach twist.

She watched as Wonyoung moved with bold confidence, her charm on full display as she led Minjeong’s hands over her body, the hockey player too hazed to resist. Aeri’s eyes flicked to the kitchen, where Jimin stood with Ryujin. Even from across the room, Aeri could feel the heat radiating from Jimin—the daggers she was throwing at Minjeong were unmistakable, her expression sharp enough to cut through the haze of the party.

Aeri snapped out of her trance, breaking the dance between her and Yizhuo much to her own reluctance. Yizhuo whined, her hand reaching out to pull Aeri back, but Aeri raised her hand to stop her. “Wait,” Aeri said, her voice low but firm. “Look.”

Yizhuo followed Aeri’s gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the scene unfolding on the dance floor. Wonyoung’s laugh, Minjeong’s dazed compliance, Jimin’s piercing glare—it was a tangled web of tension that no one outside their circle would ever notice. But Aeri and Yizhuo didn’t need explanations to understand the weight of it. They didn’t need to spell out their respective best friends’ problems to piece together what was happening. It was all there, written in the way Jimin’s grip tightened around her drink, in the way Minjeong swayed like a puppet under Wonyoung’s touch.

Yizhuo sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly as she turned back to Aeri. “I’ll think of something,” she said simply, her tone carrying the kind of quiet determination that made Aeri’s chest tighten.

Aeri smiled faintly, her admiration for Yizhuo bubbling up despite the tension. What amazed her wasn’t just how easily Yizhuo listened, but how they didn’t even need to say it out loud—how they could figure out the unspoken truths between their best friends without revealing a single detail. It was a kind of understanding that felt rare, and in this moment, Aeri was grateful for it.

Yizhuo huffed, her moment with Aeri shattered, but the glint in her eyes quickly turned wicked. If her dance was going to be interrupted, she might as well make it worth her while. A wild grin spread across her face as she spun on her heel, her movements exaggerated and chaotic as she launched herself toward Wonyoung and Minjeong on the dance floor.

“Oops, sorry!” Yizhuo exclaimed, her voice loud and unapologetic as she stumbled into them with all the grace of a baby deer. Her hands flailed dramatically, one of them conveniently nudging Minjeong just enough to break the closeness between her and Wonyoung. “My bad! These feet have a mind of their own,” she added, flashing a sheepish smile that was anything but innocent.

Minjeong blinked, her hazy mind struggling to process what had just happened, while Wonyoung raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into an amused smirk. “Yizhuo,” Wonyoung drawled, her tone dripping with suspicion. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing, obviously!” Yizhuo chirped, already twirling herself into Wonyoung’s space with a laugh that was just a little too gleeful. “You know me—can’t resist a good beat. Minjeong, you don’t mind if I steal her for a second, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer, her arm looping around Wonyoung’s waist as she spun her away from Minjeong with a flourish.

Minjeong, too hazed to argue, swayed slightly before catching herself, her gaze drifting toward the kitchen. Yizhuo glanced over her shoulder, her devilish grin widening as she caught sight of Jimin’s sharp gaze locked on Minjeong. Perfect.

Wonyoung laughed, her light, airy voice carrying over the music as Yizhuo swept her into a new rhythm, spinning her away from Minjeong. The movement was seamless, almost too smooth, as Yizhuo’s mischievous energy kept Wonyoung focused entirely on her. She threw in an exaggerated twirl for good measure, earning another round of giggles from Wonyoung.

Wonyoung laughed, shaking her head as she let Yizhuo guide her into a new rhythm. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, though her tone was light, her amusement evident.

“Thank you,” Yizhuo replied with a playful grin, her movements never missing a beat. She cast a quick glance across the room, her eyes locking onto Aeri, who was watching from the corner with a knowing smirk. With a sly wink, Yizhuo tilted her head slightly in Aeri’s direction, silently asking for recognition.

Aeri rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. She raised her glass subtly, acknowledging Yizhuo’s antics. If there was anyone who could effortlessly stir the pot, it was Yizhuo—and Aeri knew that she didn’t have to explain herself. Yizhuo never minded adding a little chaos into the mix, especially if Aeri was the one asking.

Jimin exhaled, the tightness in her chest easing slightly as she watched Minjeong leave the dance floor. The sight of her stepping away from Wonyoung was enough to make Jimin’s pulse slow, if only for a moment. She set her drink down, her focus narrowing as she prepared to follow, but just as she took a step forward, an arm gently stopped her.

Ryujin stood there, her smile soft but tinged with something unreadable. “Dance with me,” she said, her voice low and calm, almost coaxing.

Jimin hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the direction Minjeong had gone. “I need to check something really quickly,” she replied, keeping her tone vague as she tried to step around Ryujin.

But Ryujin didn’t move. Her smile faltered, the mask she wore slipping just enough to reveal the frustration simmering beneath. “You’ve been looking at her the whole time,” Ryujin said quietly, her voice steady but laced with a sharp edge. “You don’t have to say it—I already know.”

Jimin froze, her jaw tightening as she turned back to Ryujin. “If you know,” she spoke out, her voice cutting through the noise around them, “then let me go.”

Ryujin’s grip on her arm tightened, not enough to hurt but enough to hold her in place. “Minjeong is fine,” she said firmly, her gaze locking onto Jimin’s. “She’s not with Wonyoung anymore, so stop hovering over her.”

Jimin’s chest tightened, the heat of the alcohol and the anger bubbling up inside her like a storm she couldn’t contain. She scoffed, the sound bitter and sharp as she yanked her arm free. “That’s rich coming from you,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “You’re the one who can’t seem to let go.”

Ryujin’s grip faltered for a moment, her fingers loosening as Jimin’s words hit her like a slap. She wasn’t used to this side of Jimin—the sharpness in her tone, the bitterness in her eyes. The girl-next-door image that Jimin carried so effortlessly had cracked, revealing something raw and unfiltered beneath. Ryujin opened her mouth to respond, but Jimin was already walking away, her steps quick and purposeful, leaving Ryujin standing there, stunned and silent.

Jimin’s pace slowed as she moved through the crowd, her gaze scanning the room until it landed on Minjeong. Her chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t anger—it was something heavier, something she couldn’t quite name. Minjeong was stumbling slightly, her movements unsteady as she made her way back to Jaehyun’s table. Jimin’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face as she watched Jaehyun chuckle, his smirk as mischievous as ever.

“The offer still stands,” Jaehyun said smoothly, his voice carrying just enough for Jimin to catch. Minjeong blinked at him, her hazy mind struggling to process his words, but then she nodded faintly, her movements slow and deliberate. Jimin’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Minjeong lean forward, positioning her head over the table. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. She just stood there, frozen, as Minjeong snorted the line.

Minjeong straightened up, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand to wipe away the excess. Her expression was distant, her eyes unfocused as she swayed slightly on her feet. Jaehyun laughed again, his voice low and amused, but Jimin barely registered it. All she could see was Minjeong—her Minjeong—looking so far gone, so unlike herself.

Jimin’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to storm over. The anger, the confusion, the helplessness—it all swirled inside her, threatening to spill over. But she didn’t move. She just stood there, watching, as the storm inside her grew louder.

Minjeong stumbled backward, her movements unsteady as the haze of alcohol and the lingering effects of the line clouded her senses. She bumped into someone, mumbling a soft apology as she turned to see who it was. Her half-lidded eyes widened slightly before a lazy smile spread across her face. It was Jimin.

“Jimin,” Minjeong murmured, her voice slow and slurred, as though tasting the name on her tongue. Her hand reached out, brushing against Jimin’s cheek with a touch that was firm yet oddly tender. Jimin froze, her breath catching as the unfamiliar sensation sent a jolt through her chest. Minjeong’s smile deepened, her gaze unfocused but warm, and Jimin swallowed hard, unsure how to respond to the sudden closeness.

“Are you enjoying the party?” Minjeong asked, her voice soft and teasing, as though the question carried more weight than it should. Jimin didn’t answer, her hands instinctively gripping Minjeong’s hand that lingered on her cheek. The warmth of her palm against Jimin’s skin was intoxicating, and before she could stop herself, Jimin pressed her lips to Minjeong’s palm in a kiss that felt both desperate and grounding.

Minjeong giggled, the sound light and airy, as though the moment was nothing more than a fleeting whim. Her thumb brushed against Jimin’s lips, and then, with a boldness that caught Jimin off guard, she slipped it into her mouth. Jimin’s breath hitched, her grip tightening on Minjeong’s hand as the intimacy of the gesture sent her mind spinning. The world around them seemed to fade, the noise of the party dimming as the tension between them grew heavier, more palpable.

Minjeong’s voice was low, almost a whisper, but the weight of her words hit Jimin like a tidal wave. “God, I want you,” she revealed, her eyes darkening with a mix of desire and something deeper, something unspoken. But just as quickly as the moment came, Minjeong pulled away, a lazy smile curling on her lips as though she hadn’t just shattered Jimin’s composure.

Jimin swallowed hard, her throat dry as her cheeks burned red from the boldness of Minjeong’s confession and action. Her heart raced, her mind spinning as she struggled to find her footing. She couldn’t let herself falter—not like this, not when Minjeong was like this. But the pleading look in her eyes betrayed her resolve as she whispered, almost desperately, “Come home with me.”

The word “home” hung heavy between them, carrying a meaning far deeper than the physical space it represented. Minjeong tilted her head slightly, her half-lidded gaze flickering with amusement as she leaned closer, burying her face into the crook of Jimin’s neck. The warmth of her breath against Jimin’s skin sent a shiver down her spine, her grip tightening instinctively on Minjeong’s waist.

Jimin’s voice wavered as she whispered again, her tone softer but no less urgent. “Please, Minjeong. Come home with me.” Her words were laced with a quiet desperation, her emotions spilling over despite her best efforts to hold them back. She felt the wetness on her cheeks before she realized she was crying, the tears falling silently as she clung to Minjeong, her heart aching with the weight of it all.

Minjeong chuckled softly, the sound light and airy, as though she didn’t notice—or chose not to acknowledge—the tears staining Jimin’s cheeks. Her thumb brushed against Jimin’s jaw, her touch firm but gentle, and she pulled back just enough to meet Jimin’s gaze. “You’re too sweet,” she murmured, her smile lingering as she swayed slightly in Jimin’s hold.

But Jimin didn’t let go. She couldn’t. Her grip tightened, her voice breaking as she whispered one last time, “Please.” Jimin blames the alcohol pulsing through her veins for this vulnerability and... desperation. 

Jimin sniffed, her chest tight as she scanned the chaos of the party for somewhere—anywhere—they could escape to. Sungchan’s room. It wasn’t ideal, but it was quiet, tucked away from the noise and the crowd. She guided Minjeong through the hallway, her grip firm but gentle as the hockey player swayed slightly, her steps unsteady. Minjeong didn’t resist, her eyes closed the entire time, letting Jimin lead her without question.

Once inside, Jimin lowered them both to the floor, their backs resting against the edge of the bed. Minjeong hummed softly, her head tilting back to rest on the mattress, her amber hair spilling over her shoulders. Her eyes remained shut, her breathing slow and uneven, until she cracked one open, a lazy grin spreading across her face as she caught sight of Jimin’s somber expression.

“Why the long face?” Minjeong murmured, her voice slurred but teasing. She straightened her posture, her movements sluggish but deliberate, and scooted closer to Jimin. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around the student body president, pulling her into an embrace that felt both grounding and surreal.

Jimin stiffened at first, the warmth of Minjeong’s touch catching her off guard. But as Minjeong’s chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, Jimin found herself leaning into it, her head resting against the hockey player’s shoulder. Minjeong’s breathing was heavy, deliberate, as though she was silently telling Jimin to follow her rhythm—to let the weight of the moment settle and ease.

Minjeong wasn’t sober, not even close, but something in her shifted. It was instinctive, an innate response to the sadness etched across Jimin’s face. Her grip tightened slightly, her fingers brushing against Jimin’s arm in a gesture that felt oddly protective. Jimin closed her eyes, her own breathing gradually syncing with Minjeong, the tension in her shoulders easing as the storm inside her quieted, if only for a moment.

After about an hour, the room fell silent, save for the soft sound of Minjeong and Jimin’s steady breaths. The room was quiet, safe from the faint hum of the party still raging outside. Minjeong and Jimin had fallen into a sleeping embrace, their breaths slow and steady, their bodies unconsciously matching each other’s rhythm. Jimin’s head rested against Minjeong’s chest, her face peaceful for the first time in what felt like weeks. Minjeong, still under the influence, remained blissfully unaware of the world around her, her arm draped loosely over Jimin’s shoulder.

Meanwhile, Aeri and Yizhuo were in a frenzy, darting through the townhouse in search of their best friends. They had checked every corner—the dance floor, the kitchen, even the backyard—but neither Minjeong nor Jimin was anywhere to be found. Aeri’s frustration was palpable, her brows furrowed as she scanned the crowd, while Yizhuo’s usual playful energy had turned into genuine concern.

“Where could they be?” Aeri muttered, her voice sharp as she tugged Yizhuo toward the hallway. “They wouldn’t just leave without telling us.”

Yizhuo shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Minjeong isn't exactly in a state to leave on her own,” she said, her tone quieter than usual. “And Jimin—she wouldn’t just disappear like that.”

Their search eventually led them to Sungchan, who was leaning against the wall with a drink in hand. “Have you seen Minjeong or Jimin?” Aeri asked, her voice urgent.

Sungchan raised an eyebrow, his expression puzzled. “Not since earlier,” he replied, his tone casual. “Why?”

Aeri sighed, her frustration mounting. “They’re missing. We’ve looked everywhere.”

Sungchan groaned, setting his drink down as he joined them. “They better not be in the bedrooms,” he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with reluctant dread. The bedrooms were supposed to be off-limits, but Sungchan knew Minjeong well enough to suspect she wouldn’t care about that rule. She had a history of using his room for... well, less-than-innocent purposes.

When they reached Sungchan’s room, he hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open. The sight that greeted them made all three of them freeze. Minjeong and Jimin were curled up on the floor, their backs resting against the bed, their arms tangled in a peaceful embrace. Aeri’s lips twitched into a smirk, while Yizhuo let out a soft laugh, her concern melting into amusement.

“Well, well,” Aeri said, her voice teasing but quiet enough not to wake them. “Looks like they found their own little hideaway.”

Yizhuo grinned, crouching down beside them. “It’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?” she said, her tone playful. “Our best friends, all cuddled up like this. Who knew they had it in them?”

Sungchan groaned again, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just hoping that’s all they did in here,” he muttered, his tone half-joking but tinged with genuine concern. “I don’t need to be scrubbing my mattress tomorrow.”

Aeri rolled her eyes, nudging Sungchan with her elbow. “Relax, they’re just sleeping. You’re so dramatic.”

Yizhuo stood back up, her grin softening as she looked at Minjeong’s peaceful face. “She’s out cold,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Not even our bickering could wake her up.”

“And Jimin?” Aeri added, her gaze lingering on her best friend. “She looks like she’s finally getting some rest. About time, honestly.”

Yizhuo nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Guess we’ll take them home,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of warmth. “They need it.”

As Aeri bent down to lift Jimin, her best friend stirred, half-awake but still groggy. “Minjeong…” Jimin mumbled softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Aeri couldn’t help but chuckle, her expression softening as she whispered back, “Don’t worry, your little hockey player is close by.”

She glanced over at Yizhuo and Sungchan, who were struggling to balance Minjeong between them. Minjeong’s arms hung over their shoulders, her body sluggish and uncooperative. Yizhuo huffed, her face scrunched with effort as she shifted Minjeong’s weight. “What did she take to be out cold like this?” she muttered.

Sungchan winced, avoiding Yizhuo’s gaze as he mumbled, “I, uh… I might’ve seen her talking to Jaehyun earlier.”

Yizhuo groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose but deciding not to press the matter. “Great,” she muttered, shaking her head before reminding herself to check Minjeong’s pulse occasionally as they made their way out. “Let’s just get her home.”

But as they struggled with Minjeong’s weight, Yizhuo couldn’t help but complain. “She’s so heavy,” she grumbled, shifting under the strain. Aeri, ever the opportunist, suddenly stopped in her tracks, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “You know,” she said, her tone deliberate, “we could just let her stay with Jimin. Saves us the trip, and they clearly need to work out whatever this is.”

Yizhuo blinked at her, considering the idea for a moment before nodding. “Fair enough. Minjeong could use a babysitter tonight anyway.”

As they moved toward the exit, Ryujin appeared, her expression darkening as she took in the scene. Her gaze locked onto Jimin, who was still half-asleep in Aeri’s hold, and without a word, Ryujin stepped forward, reaching for her. “I’ll take her,” Ryujin said, her voice firm.

But Aeri quickly stepped in, blocking her path with a reassuring smile. “Relax, Ryujin. I’ve got her,” she said, her tone light but resolute. Ryujin hesitated, her eyes narrowing as they flicked to Minjeong, her suspicion evident. Before she could say anything, Yizhuo huffed, her patience clearly worn thin. “They were just sleeping,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut through Ryujin’s doubt.

Before Ryujin could argue further, Wonyoung’s voice rang out. “Minjeong!” she exclaimed, rushing over with wide eyes. She crouched down, gently taking Minjeong’s sleeping face into her hands as her lips pouted in worry. “What happened to her?”

Yizhuo sighed, rolling her eyes but softening her tone. “Don’t worry, Wonyoung. It’s just Minjeong being Minjeong.” She offered a small smile, adding, “She’ll be fine. We’ll get her home.”

Wonyoung nodded reluctantly, her hands lingering on Minjeong’s face for a moment longer before stepping back. With everyone finally satisfied, Aeri and Yizhuo resumed their mission, their determination renewed. As chaotic as the night had been, at least Minjeong and Jimin would have the space they needed—together.

At Jimin’s apartment, Aeri and Yizhuo carefully maneuvered the sleeping pair onto the bed, arranging them side by side with little effort to conceal their amusement. Minjeong shifted slightly in her sleep, her arm flopping onto Jimin, who remained completely out of it. Sungchan, who had helped organize the Uber and assisted Yizhuo along the way, stood back, eyeing Aeri and Yizhuo’s plan with a mix of skepticism and resignation.

“This feels so wrong,” Sungchan muttered, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

Aeri, ever the picture of innocence, shrugged with a grin. “Oh, come on. They’re not going to do anything,” she said lightly, waving off his concern. “You know them—they’re as dense as bricks and about as non-confrontational as it gets. It’d take them ages to even acknowledge what’s happening, let alone skip any steps.”

Yizhuo clapped her hands suddenly, breaking the conversation as she strode toward the kitchen with determination. “Water for everyone,” she declared, grabbing glasses and filling them at the sink. She returned moments later, handing one to Sungchan and Aeri before raising her own with a smug grin. “We deserve this.”

Sungchan shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile as he took the glass. “You two are something else,” he muttered, though his tone carried more amusement than annoyance.

As they drank, the three of them stood back and observed the scene, the peaceful pair tucked into bed as if nothing had happened. Aeri leaned against the counter, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “You think they’ll ever figure it out?” she asked, her voice teasing.

Yizhuo snorted, shaking her head. “Not a chance,” she replied with a laugh. “But honestly, that’s half the fun.”

Sungchan sighed, glancing at them with an exasperated look. “I just hope they don’t wake up and think I had anything to do with this,” he muttered, downing the rest of his water.

The trio’s quiet banter filled the kitchen, a stark contrast to the chaos that had led them here. In the end, all they could do was step back and let the night unfold as it would—knowing full well that Minjeong and Jimin might remain oblivious to the threads tying them closer together.

The sunlight streamed through the window, harsh and unrelenting, pulling Jimin from the depths of sleep. She groaned, shielding her eyes with her arm as a dull ache throbbed in her head. The remnants of the night before lingered like a haze, but it wasn’t the headache that caught her attention—it was the weight on her stomach.

Blinking against the light, Jimin turned her head, her breath catching as she took in the sight beside her. Minjeong was sprawled out on the bed, her mouth slightly open, her hair a chaotic mess that half-covered her face. She looked utterly disheveled, and yet, somehow, still managed to look peaceful. Jimin’s heart skipped a beat as she stared, her mind racing to piece together how they’d ended up like this.

Minjeong never slept in her bed. She was stubborn about it, always insisting on the couch or the floor, claiming she didn’t want to “invade Jimin’s space.” But here she was, her arm draped over Jimin’s stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The memories of the night before came rushing back in fragments—Minjeong with Wonyoung, the line of powder, Jimin begging her to come home, and then… the thumb. Minjeong’s thumb in her mouth. Jimin’s cheeks burned as the recollection hit her, the words Minjeong had whispered echoing in her mind: God, I want you.

Jimin buried her face in her hands, resisting the urge to scream into her pillow. Her heart was racing, her face flushed as she tried to push the memories aside. She needed to focus, to ground herself in something normal. Quietly, she slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Minjeong, and made her way to the bathroom to freshen up.

With her glasses perched on her nose and her hair pulled into a messy bun, Jimin headed to the kitchen. The familiar routine of cooking breakfast felt like a lifeline, something to anchor her amidst the chaos of her thoughts. It wasn’t common for her to cook—Minjeong was usually the early riser, the one who took charge in the kitchen. But today, Jimin needed the distraction.

She pulled out a pan, cracking eggs and slicing bread with practiced ease. The sizzle of butter in the pan filled the quiet apartment, the aroma of breakfast slowly spreading through the air. As she worked, her mind wandered back to the girl still asleep in her bed, her heart fluttering despite herself.

Minjeong hummed softly, her half-conscious mind registering the unfamiliar comfort of the mattress beneath her. It felt strange—almost foreign—as she slowly stirred, her body sinking into the softness that she didn’t often experience. That realization jolted her awake, her eyes snapping open as she scanned her surroundings. The room was unfamiliar at first glance, until her gaze landed on the closet where she’d frequently grabbed her clothes before practice or late-night study sessions. Recognition hit her like a wave, and her brows furrowed in confusion as she rubbed her temple.

She was in Jimin’s room.

The thought made her stomach flip, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. Sweat clung to her skin, making her feel even more disoriented. Maybe it was the warmth of the bed—something she wasn’t used to. She swung her legs over the side, her movements slow and careful, as though the mattress might swallow her whole. After rummaging through the clothes Jimin kept for her at the apartment, she pulled on a pair of shorts and a thin T-shirt, the fabric light against her skin. The collar dipped slightly, revealing her collarbones, but she didn’t think much of it as she pushed her messy hair back from her face.

Rubbing her eyes, Minjeong wandered out of the room, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. The faint aroma of food pulled her toward the kitchen, where Jimin stood at the counter, her back to the door, busy flipping eggs in a pan. Minjeong hesitated in the doorway, her eyes lingering on Jimin’s glasses perched on her nose and her hair tied into a messy bun. The sight made something in Minjeong’s chest ache, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on what.

Jimin turned slightly, her focus shifting from the stove to Minjeong. Her lips parted as her gaze swept over the hockey player, taking in her disheveled appearance—the rumpled hair, the flushed cheeks, the collarbone peeking out from the T-shirt. Jimin swallowed hard, but her expression remained composed. “Good morning,” she greeted, her voice steady but quieter than usual.

Minjeong stepped further into the kitchen, her fingers brushing against the edge of the counter as she glanced at the breakfast. “You’re cooking?” she asked, her voice still raspy from sleep.

Jimin nodded, her attention returning to the pan. “Figured you’d be hungry,” she said lightly. “It’s not as good as your cooking, but it’ll do.”

Minjeong tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite her lingering confusion. “You’re full of surprises,” she murmured.

Jimin’s cheeks tinted pink, but she didn’t respond, focusing instead on plating the eggs. The weight of the previous night hung between them, unspoken but palpable, as Minjeong pulled out a chair and sank into it. The warm scent of breakfast filled the space, but neither of them addressed the tension lingering in the air—not yet.

Minjeong chewed slowly, the quiet rhythm of breakfast filling the space between them. Conversations were never a necessity when they ate—both comfortable in shared silence—but something felt different today. As she glanced at Jimin, her brows knitted slightly. There was a shift in her, a measured precision to her movements as she sipped her coffee and focused on her plate. It wasn’t like Jimin to seem so calculated, so… distant.

Minjeong reached for the coffee pot, intending to refill both their mugs, when Jimin slid a small bottle of aspirin across the table without a word. Minjeong paused, her hand hovering mid-reach before she grabbed the bottle, muttering a soft, “Thanks.” She popped the cap, shaking out two tablets and swallowing them with a gulp of coffee, her mind hazy from the remnants of the night before.

“Uh…” Minjeong’s voice trailed off as she set the bottle down, glancing at Jimin again. “What happened last night?” she asked, her tone almost sheepish. “Because, uh… I don’t really remember anything. Like, at all.” She scratched the back of her neck, laughing awkwardly.

Jimin cleared her throat, keeping her gaze firmly on her plate as she pushed her eggs around with her fork. “You were drinking,” she said evenly. “You… looked like you were having fun.” Her tone was carefully neutral, but there was something guarded in her demeanor that Minjeong couldn’t quite place.

Minjeong tilted her head, her lips pursing into a slight pout. She could tell Jimin wasn’t saying everything, but she also knew better than to push. Still, the distance between them felt strange, unfamiliar. “You’re not mad at me, are you?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Jimin shook her head quickly, finally glancing up with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No, I’m not mad,” she said softly, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her words.

Minjeong hummed thoughtfully, deciding to drop the subject for now. She took another bite of toast, her mind lingering on the faint glimpses of memory she couldn’t fully piece together. Something about the way Jimin avoided her gaze made her chest feel tight, but Minjeong brushed it off, focusing instead on the warmth of the food in front of her.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t as comfortable as it usually was. Jimin’s calculated calm and Minjeong’s quiet confusion hung in the air like an invisible wall neither of them dared to breach—yet.

Jimin’s pout deepened with each passing minute, her lips pressed firmly together as she poked at the remnants of her breakfast. Across the table, Minjeong noticed the subtle shifts in Jimin’s demeanor, from the way her movements became slightly stiffer to the tiny huffs of air she let out every now and then. Despite the subtle anxiety gnawing at her chest over Jimin’s behavior, Minjeong couldn’t help but find the student body president’s attempts at being upset… cute.

The quiet was interrupted by the buzz of Jimin’s phone vibrating against the table. She picked it up, her face neutral as she read the message—until her eye twitched. The sender’s name only added fuel to the simmering frustration. Aeri. And the message was simple yet infuriating: “You’re welcome.”

Jimin let out a sharp breath and slammed her phone onto the table, the sound making Minjeong glance up with curious alarm. Without a word, Jimin stood, gathering her plate and utensils in a calculated manner as she headed for the sink. Minjeong quickly rose from her seat, her instinct to help kicking in, but as she reached for Jimin’s plate, Jimin huffed—a soft, almost pouty sound that made Minjeong bite back a grin.

“I’ll do it myself,” Jimin said firmly, though the way her cheeks puffed out slightly betrayed how flustered she really was.

Minjeong couldn’t hold back her amusement any longer, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Madam President, you’re extra grumpy this morning,” she said, leaning lightly against the counter as she watched Jimin scrub her plate with more vigor than necessary. “Did something happen? Did Aeri do something again?”

Jimin ignored her, her shoulders stiffening as she rinsed the plate. Refusing to meet Minjeong’s gaze, she focused on placing the dish in the drying rack before hurriedly dropping the silverware into the sink. Minjeong tilted her head, her grin growing as she continued to prod lightly.

“You know,” Minjeong started, her tone light, “you’re kind of cute when you’re trying to be mad. It’s not really working, though.”

Minjeong grinned to herself as Jimin stomped quietly into her room, her pout still evident despite her best attempts to act composed. The sight lingered in Minjeong’s mind as she began tidying up the kitchen, washing the dishes Jimin had left behind and wiping down the counters with practiced ease. She glanced toward Jimin’s door occasionally, her curiosity building but not enough to push further—yet.

Once the kitchen was spotless, Minjeong turned her attention to the apartment itself. Grabbing the vacuum cleaner, she went from room to room, the hum of the machine filling the quiet space as she worked. When she reached Jimin’s room, she paused, her hand hovering over the door frame as she knocked gently.

“Come in,” came the muffled reply, though it was more of a vague mumble. Minjeong decided to take it as permission, opening the door slowly as she peeked inside.

Jimin was hunched over her laptop, her glasses precariously perched on the tip of her nose as she furiously typed away. Her messy bun was coming undone, strands of hair falling into her face as she let out a frustrated sigh. Minjeong couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the sight—it was almost comical how the poised student body president could look so utterly disheveled.

Turning off the vacuum, Minjeong walked over, her bare feet sinking into the soft rug as she knelt down beside Jimin’s chair. With gentle hands, she turned the chair toward her, forcing Jimin to look at her directly. Jimin blinked in surprise, her typing slowing as Minjeong’s concerned gaze met hers.

“Jimin,” Minjeong said firmly, her voice steady but gentle. “What happened? And don’t brush it off. Does this have anything to do with me?”

Jimin hesitated, her lips parting slightly as though she wanted to deny it. But something about Minjeong’s steady presence—the way her brows furrowed slightly, her hands resting lightly on Jimin’s arm—made her falter. She couldn’t lie, not when Minjeong was looking at her like that.

“It’s not—” Jimin began, but stopped herself. She cleared her throat, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk as she exhaled. “It’s… complicated,” she finally admitted, her voice quieter now. “Last night was… a lot.”

Minjeong tilted her head, her concern deepening. “Did I do something?” she asked softly, her grip tightening just slightly, her own voice laced with worry. “I don’t want to mess things up between us.”

Jimin swallowed, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting Minjeong’s again. “No, Minjeong,” she said, her tone more resolute this time. “It’s not you. It’s just—” She broke off again, her cheeks flushing red as the memories of the night resurfaced.

Minjeong stayed silent, giving Jimin the space to find her words. She didn’t press, didn’t demand answers—she simply waited, her presence grounding Jimin as the frustration in her chest slowly began to dissipate.

Jimin slouched on her chair, fidgeting with her fingers as she rambled, her voice spilling out in bursts of frustration. “You know how Mark’s parties are always just... chaos ? Like, I don’t even know why we go half the time. Everyone’s out there laughing, dancing, having fun, and then there’s you—you’re with Wonyoung, letting loose. And meanwhile, I’m... snapping at Ryujin of all people!” She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It just felt like everything was spiraling.”

Minjeong, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Jimin, looked up at her with a gentle expression. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice calm and steady, “take a moment. You’ve been holding onto a lot.” Her words carried a quiet reassurance, like she was grounding Jimin without needing to say much more.

Jimin huffed dramatically, removing her hands from her face as her cheeks flushed. She took a deep breath, her mind darting back to last night despite her efforts to stay focused. Jimin closed her eyes for a moment as she tried to steady herself. In that brief pause, her thoughts wandered. The image of Minjeong swaying carelessly flashed in her thoughts—her eyes vacant and devoid of their usual warmth, as if she were opening herself up to every wild impulse without a care. Not that it made Jimin frustrated with her; no, it was nothing like that at all. The stark thought sent a jolt through Jimin, though she kept that worry locked away, unwilling to voice it out loud.

After a moment, Jimin exhaled sharply and looked at Minjeong. “I’m sorry for projecting everything onto you this morning,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It’s just... waking up with you here—it caught me off guard. I didn’t know how to process it. And with everything that happened last night...” She trailed off, her face reddening as the rollercoaster of emotions finally hit her fully.

Minjeong softened, her smile turning playful as she leaned forward. “So you’re saying I gave you a jump scare?” she asked, her voice tinged with amusement.

Jimin let out a soft laugh despite herself, shaking her head. “Something like that,” she muttered. Without thinking, she reached out and ruffled Minjeong’s hair, her touch light and affectionate. “You just had to be unpredictable, didn’t you?”

Minjeong grinned, her cheeks tinting faintly as she shrugged. “Keeps things interesting.”

But for Jimin, that unpredictability—the very thing that made Minjeong so magnetic—was also the source of her flustered state. She wasn’t mad, not at all. Yet her cheeks flushed every time her thoughts circled back to the moments that led to waking up in the same bed as Minjeong. The way the events spiraled: Mark’s party, Minjeong’s hazy state, Jimin begging her to come home—all of it. It was a whirlwind she hadn’t expected, one that left her embarrassed and just a little vulnerable.

As the quiet settled between them, Jimin glanced at Minjeong out of the corner of her eye, her lips twitching into a faint smile despite the blush creeping up her neck. Maybe it was the rollercoaster of emotions, or maybe it was just Minjeong’s presence, but something in her softened. She didn’t need to explain why she felt this way—not yet, anyway. The silent understanding between them was enough for now.

Minjeong bit back a grin, her chest warming at Jimin’s flustered honesty. “Well,” she said, her tone soft but teasing, “I guess I’ll have to make it up to you somehow.”

Jimin shifted in her chair, her gaze flickering between Minjeong and her laptop before finally breaking the silence. She cleared her throat, her voice soft but steady as she spoke. “Do you… want to stay here for a couple of days?” she asked, her tone casual, though there was a subtle hesitation that betrayed her nerves. “We could study together,” she added quickly, offering the excuse as a buffer for the unspoken weight behind her words.

Minjeong blinked, her lips curling into a gentle smile as she nodded. “Yeah, sure,” she replied simply, the warmth in her voice making Jimin’s chest tighten. Without thinking, Minjeong raised one hand, her fingers brushing against Jimin’s cheek in a tender gesture.

The action stopped both of them in their tracks. Jimin’s eyes widened, her breath catching as the memory of last night came rushing back—the feel of Minjeong’s thumb on her lips, the bold confession that still lingered in her mind. Minjeong froze too, her own foggy recollections surfacing as she realized the familiarity of the touch. She could almost see it: her thumb grazing Jimin’s mouth, the hazy intimacy of the moment.

Minjeong pulled back abruptly, her hand dropping to her side as her cheeks turned bright red. “Sorry,” she muttered quickly, her voice slightly higher than usual as she averted her gaze, desperate to act like nothing had happened—or that she remembered anything at all.

Jimin, equally flushed, stared at her for a moment before quickly looking away, her hands gripping the edge of her desk as she tried to steady herself. Her heart was pounding, her face burning as the tension between them grew heavier, more palpable. Neither of them spoke, both too flustered to address the electricity in the room.

The only sound was the faint hum of the laptop and the distant noises of the city outside. Both were red as tomatoes, their minds racing with thoughts they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say out loud.

The morning had started with a playful clash, but by the time the argument had settled, their Sunday fell into a calm, peaceful rhythm. The heaviness lingering from the night before gave way to a quiet shared understanding, each of them carving out their own space while still existing in the same comforting bubble.

Minjeong leaned against the balcony railing, her posture relaxed but her mind anything but. The cigarette between her fingers burned steadily as she took another drag, the smoke curling into the air before dissipating into the city skyline. Her tired eyes scanned the buildings below, the faint hum of traffic and distant chatter grounding her in the present. The effects of last night had worn off, leaving her with a clear head but a restless mind. Thoughts crawled back into her consciousness, uninvited and persistent.

Inside, Jimin frowned as she caught sight of Minjeong through the glass door. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she rummaged through her backpack, pulling out a lollipop with a determined expression. Sliding the door open, she stepped onto the balcony, her slippers padding softly against the concrete. She joined Minjeong at the railing, her gaze briefly flicking to the scenery before settling on the hockey player.

Minjeong didn’t say anything, quietly allowing Jimin’s presence as they stood side by side. The silence was peaceful, almost comforting, until Jimin’s hand darted out and snatched the cigarette from Minjeong’s fingers. Minjeong blinked, her mouth opening slightly in surprise as she turned to Jimin. “W-what?” she stammered, her voice caught between confusion and disbelief.

Jimin didn’t respond, her focus entirely on the cigarette as she dropped it to the ground and stomped on it with her slipper. The action was swift and decisive, leaving no room for argument. Minjeong watched, her brows furrowing as she tried to process what had just happened.

Without missing a beat, Jimin unwrapped the lollipop and shoved it into Minjeong’s mouth, her movements firm but not unkind. “There,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Much better.”

Minjeong blinked again, the candy resting awkwardly between her lips as she stared at Jimin. Her initial irritation melted into amusement as she bit down on the lollipop, her lips curling into a small smile. “You’re something else, you know that?” she muttered, her voice muffled by the candy.

Jimin crossed her arms, her expression softening as she leaned against the railing. “And you’re stubborn,” she replied, her tone lighter now. “But I’m not letting you ruin your lungs on my balcony.”

Her voice held no judgment—Jimin had always been one to respect boundaries, careful not to overstep. It was part of who she was as a future doctor—valuing patient autonomy, even when it came to Minjeong’s lifestyle choices. And yet, there was an irony in that: Minjeong, another future doctor, quietly wrecked her body with substances, while Jimin watched, not interfering but silently worrying.

Last night, though, something shifted for Jimin. It wasn’t a matter of scolding or correcting Minjeong—it wasn’t her place to dictate someone’s choices. But seeing Minjeong like that, the dullness in her eyes as she swayed and let anything enter her body—it had sparked something in Jimin, something protective. She wanted to be proactive, to show care in ways that might plant small seeds of change, even if she couldn’t force them to grow.

Sliding the lollipop into Minjeong’s mouth had been a small gesture, playful but meaningful—a quiet declaration that she wanted to look out for her. Minjeong blinked, caught off guard but quickly accepting it, the sweetness melting into the space between them as she bit down with a faint smile.

Minjeong chuckled softly, shaking her head as she turned back to the view. The tension eased, replaced by a quiet understanding as they stood together, the lollipop now a sweet reminder of Jimin’s unwavering care.

Chapter Text

“Alright, pens down,” the professor’s voice called out, sharp but somehow soothing in its finality. The echo of scribbling pens and shifting paper came to an abrupt halt, followed by a collective sigh from the room. Winter finals are officially over.

Jimin set her pen down carefully, her hand cramping from the last-minute flurry of writing. She glanced around, her eyes catching Minjeong and Yizhuo a few rows ahead. Yizhuo stretched dramatically, groaning as she threw her arms over her head like she’d just run a marathon. Minjeong, ever composed, leaned back in her chair and let out a deep breath, her face unreadable except for the slight curl at the corner of her lips.

As the students began packing their bags, the low murmur of conversation filled the room. Jimin slung her bag over her shoulder, weaving her way through the desks to meet the others. Yizhuo was the first to spot her, her face breaking into a grin as she waved. “We survived!” she announced, loud enough to earn a few chuckles from nearby students.

“Barely,” Jimin muttered as she reached them, though there was a smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes flicked to Minjeong, who was slinging her bag over one shoulder with her usual nonchalance. “How’d it go?”

Minjeong shrugged, her expression calm as always. “Could’ve been worse,” she said simply, though the glint in her eye suggested she wasn’t too worried. “You?”

Jimin sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I think I pulled something in my brain,” she said, earning a laugh from Yizhuo.

“Girl, same,” Yizhuo said, slinging an arm around Jimin’s shoulders as they headed out of the exam room. “But it’s over! No more finals, no more stress—at least for now.”

As they stepped out into the chilly hallway, the weight of the season seemed to lift, replaced by the promise of a well-deserved break. Minjeong walked a little ahead, her lollipop already in hand, and turned back to glance at them. “So,” she said casually, “what’s next? Celebration or hibernation?”

Yizhuo grinned, nudging Jimin with her elbow. “I vote for celebration. We deserve it.”

As they stepped out into the crisp winter air, Jimin let out a long, satisfied sigh, her breath visible in the chilly breeze. The weight of finals had lifted, leaving behind a sense of freedom that felt almost surreal. Yizhuo stretched dramatically, her arms reaching toward the sky as she groaned. “I’m so hungry,” she announced. “All that exam anxiety totally killed my appetite. But now? I could eat an entire buffet.”

Jimin laughed at her friend’s over-the-top complaint, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. “Sounds like you’re already planning our next stop,” she teased lightly, her own smile growing as the post-exam buzz started to settle in.

Before they could continue, Jisu, Yeji, Eunseok, Jeno, and Sungchan approached, their faces lighting up as they exchanged quick hugs and hearty congratulations. The chatter swelled, filled with laughter and shared relief, as everyone recounted their exam struggles and tentative winter break plans.

Minjeong, standing slightly apart from the center of the group, exchanged a few quiet hellos and congrats with her teammates—Eunseok, Sungchan, and Jeno. Their exchanges were brief but genuine, marked by easy familiarity. Minjeong’s lollipop spun absently between her fingers, a small distraction that kept her grounded in the moment.

The rest of the group continued to chat and joke with the kind of ease that came naturally to them, but Minjeong couldn’t shake a faint restlessness stirring inside her. It was ironic, really—she should feel relieved now that finals are over, free from the endless nights of studying and the weight of deadlines. But for Minjeong, the end of exams wasn’t just about freedom. It marked the beginning of winter break—a time she’d been quietly dreading.

Returning to her family and hometown meant holiday festivities, cheerful gatherings, and everything that came with them. While most would be looking forward to the warmth of home, Minjeong felt the weight of it instead—a gnawing sense of obligation she couldn’t quite put into words.

She shifted her focus back to the lollipop, giving it a subtle flick in her palm. Lately, these small candies had been showing up everywhere—in the pockets of her jackets, tucked into her backpack—an obvious gesture from the ever-thoughtful student body president. They were meant to be a lighthearted surprise, but in moments like this, even the sugar couldn’t quite sweeten the bitter edges of her thoughts.

Still, Minjeong stayed with the group, her quiet presence a stark contrast to their easy, animated chatter. For now, she let herself linger on the outskirts, taking in their laughter as the reality of the holiday season loomed just a little closer.

Jimin, ever the gracious leader, was quick to extend an invitation. “Let’s grab brunch,” she said warmly to the group, her voice cutting through the chilly winter air. The new arrivals—Jisu, Yeji, Eunseok, Jeno, and Sungchan—readily agreed, their smiles bright as they fell into step with her, their excitement evident. These were Jimin’s regular crowd, the friends who had been with her long before Yizhuo and Minjeong entered her orbit. Yet, the dynamic had seamlessly shifted over time, their circles blending in a way that felt natural.

Yizhuo, who had no trouble keeping up with the lively chatter thanks to her student council ties, drifted over to Minjeong’s side. She wrapped an arm around the hockey player’s shoulder, her grin as wide as ever. “Can you believe it?” Yizhuo said, shaking Minjeong gently as her glee bubbled to the surface. “One more semester and we’re done with med school. Done! ”

Minjeong couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her, her shoulders relaxing as Yizhuo’s excitement chipped away at her usual stoicism. “Yeah,” she said, her voice light. “It’s almost over.”

The group continued their trek, the cold air nipping at their cheeks as their chatter filled the space between them. Yizhuo had practically begged to go to a particular café she’d been raving about for weeks, and with little resistance from the group, they were on their way. As they walked, Jimin led the pack with a natural ease, her presence magnetic as always. Every so often, she glanced back over her shoulder, her gaze softening as it landed on Minjeong and Yizhuo.

Jimin’s smile lingered, small but genuine, as she watched the two. Yizhuo’s energy was infectious, and even Minjeong, with her quiet, steady demeanor, seemed lighter in her presence. There was something about the sight of them—something grounding and reassuring. And though Jimin didn’t say it, there was a sense of contentment that settled in her chest, knowing they’d all made it through this chapter together.

The table was alive with chatter as menus were passed around, everyone eagerly debating which dishes looked the most tempting. The excitement of post-finals freedom lingered, giving the conversation an almost celebratory tone. Amid the buzz, Minjeong spoke casually, “I’m just going to get the Jumbo-Tron breakfast.”

Her declaration earned an instant reaction—laughter rippling across the table. “The Jumbo-Tron ?” Yeji asked, barely holding back a chuckle. “Minjeong, that thing’s massive. Are you sure?”

Minjeong chuckled along, not at all fazed by the attention. “What? I’m hungry,” she said simply, leaning back in her seat with an amused grin.

Beside her, Sungchan let out a hearty laugh and slapped her on the back, shaking his head in disbelief. “This girl,” he said, gesturing toward Minjeong. “I don’t know where she puts it all. You’d think she’s carbo-loading for a triathlon or something.”

Jeno leaned in from across the table with a teasing smirk. “Maybe she’s secretly feeding a second stomach,” he suggested, earning another round of laughter.

“Oh, please,” Yizhuo chimed in from Minjeong’s other side, dramatically patting her own stomach. “Leave her alone. Let the girl eat—besides, she’s the only one at this table brave enough to try it.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Look, I just don’t see the point of ordering something small when I can have it all,” she retorted, her tone playful but firm. “Unlike Sungchan here, who once gave up halfway through a cheeseburger. You call yourself an athlete?”

The table burst into laughter again as Sungchan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, that was one time,” he protested, grinning sheepishly. “And that cheeseburger was huge !”

Minjeong shrugged, clearly enjoying the teasing volley. “Uh-huh. Sure it was,” she said with a smirk, causing Sungchan to groan while the others howled in amusement.

The back-and-forth set the tone for the meal, with the group falling into an easy rhythm of laughter and lighthearted jabs. Minjeong’s appetite was a source of entertainment, and she played along with just enough cheekiness to keep everyone grinning.

The scene unfolded with a natural rhythm, Jimin sat back, watching Minjeong engage with her group of friends, her movements relaxed but animated as she traded remarks with Sungchan and the others. It was easy to see how Sungchan’s presence added to the comfort at the table—fellow hockey players always had that unspoken camaraderie, a connection that grounded their conversations.

Across the table, Jisu brought up winter break plans, sparking a lively thread of discussion. Eunseok, with a grin that practically stretched ear to ear, spoke up first. “I’m going snowboarding with Sungchan and Minjeong,” he said proudly. “It’s tradition by now.”

Jeno piped in, his tone half-joking, half-regretful. “I was going to join, but it overlaps with some stuff I already promised my family. Honestly, though, I’m kind of relieved—Minjeong always drags these trips out for days. It’s exhausting.”

His comment earned a laugh from around the table, and Eunseok quickly jumped in, adding his own teasing remark. “I’ve been hitting the gym lately so I keep up with her energy this time,” he joked, gesturing at Minjeong with a mock look of exasperation. “This girl doesn’t slow down!”

Sungchan nodded in agreement, adding his two cents with a playful grin. “That’s why we always book overnight stays at the ski lodge. There’s no way we’d survive trying to drive back home afterward—not with how much energy Minjeong burns and we have to follow her too!”

Minjeong shrugged her shoulders casually, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “The stays at the ski lodge are fun,” she said simply, her tone as nonchalant as ever. “Besides, you need the full snowboarding experience. It’s not just about the slopes.”

Yeji leaned forward with a playful smirk, resting her chin in her hand. “Alright your turn, Madam President. Tell us—what grand plans does our esteemed leader have for winter break?” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity.

Jimin groaned, rolling her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “You have to stop calling me that,” she shot back, though her smile gave her away. “And for the record, aren’t you my Vice President ? Shouldn’t you be helping with all this ‘esteemed leader’ nonsense?”

Yeji grinned. “Oh, I’m Vice President when it’s convenient for you. Otherwise, I’m your personal cheerleader. You know how it works.”

The group chuckled, and Jimin waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway,” she said, steering the conversation back, “it’s nothing special—just lots of family traditions. My family, Aeri’s family, and Ryujin’s family always get together. There’ll be way too much food, a few board games, and a lot of catching up.”

Jeno, ever the opportunist, piped up with a mischievous grin. “Ryujin… Isn’t she the one who went head-to-head with Minjeong on the ice?”

Yizhuo laughed loudly, but her gaze immediately sharpened as she glanced at Jeno, her internal daggers clearly aimed. Within moments, Jeno yelped and grabbed his shin under the table, his face twisting in pain. The culprit was obvious, with Yizhuo sitting back in her chair like she had absolutely nothing to do with it, her expression suspiciously angelic. 

Jeno was still wincing, his hand instinctively rubbing his shin as he glared across the table. “Whoever just kicked me is seriously lucky I don’t hold grudges,” he said, his tone half-joking but clearly still annoyed.

All eyes turned toward Yizhuo, who was sitting back in her chair with the most suspiciously innocent expression anyone had ever seen. She even tilted her head slightly, feigning complete ignorance. “What?” she said, blinking as if she were above suspicion.

Minjeong, ever the quiet observer, didn’t miss a beat. Her hand darted under the table, subtly pinching Yizhuo’s arm. Yizhuo yelped softly, shooting Minjeong an offended look, though she still refused to admit guilt. “I didn’t do anything,” she said, her tone betrayed by the sheepish grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

Jimin rolled her eyes, exhaling deeply as she decided to step in before the situation spiraled further. “Alright, alright,” she said, her voice cutting through the rising tension. “Let’s not start a full-blown interrogation at brunch.” She gave Yizhuo a knowing look but allowed the topic to drop. “Anyway,” Jimin added, deftly changing the subject as she leaned back in her chair, “One of my plans for winter break is giving skating another shot. Ryujin and Aeri have this tradition of skating at the pond in town, you know, the one that’s always decorated so beautifully for the holidays. I figured it’s time I joined them.”

Yeji perked up instantly, her smirk playful as she leaned forward. “Oh, skating again?” she teased, her tone laced with mischief. “Because I heard from Jeno that you were, uh, less than graceful during your hockey team debut.”

Jimin froze, her cheeks heating up. “Wait, what? Jeno—”

Jeno, who was mid-sip of his drink, nearly choked as all eyes turned to him. “What? No, I—why am I always the target here?” he exclaimed, his hands raised in mock defense.

Yeji laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “He said you were clinging to Minjeong like she was your lifeline,” she added, her grin widening.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow at the mention, lazily rolling her thumb absentmindedly brushing over the lollipop wrapper’s surface as she gave Jimin a knowing look.

Jimin groaned, her head dropping into her hands as the table erupted into laughter. “You’re all the worst,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by her palms.

Minjeong, sitting beside her, chuckled softly. “It wasn’t that bad,” she said, her voice calm but carrying a hint of amusement- trying to save Jimin from the embarrassment. “You stayed upright most of the time.”

“ Most ?” Jimin shot back, her groan turning into a dramatic sigh. “I am never trusting any of you again.”

The laughter died down into scattered chuckles, and Jimin finally sat upright, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m joining Ryujin and Aeri at the pond this winter,” she repeated, her tone firm as if trying to reclaim some dignity. “It’s a holiday tradition, and it sounds like fun. I’ll make it work—even if I have to crawl across the ice.”

The plates arrived, steaming and stacked with food, and the once lively table fell into a rare silence as everyone began to devour their meals. For all the teasing about Minjeong’s appetite, it was clear by the public eye that they were all equally ravenous, their post-exam hunger demanding focus. Forks clinked against plates, and the occasional hum of satisfaction broke the quiet as each of them indulged in a much-needed meal.

In the midst of shoving a mouthful of pancakes into his mouth, Jeno paused just long enough to ask, his words slightly muffled, “Hey, are you guys going to the hospital winter banquet?”

Jimin looked up, slightly amused at his inability to finish chewing before speaking. Yeji chimed in first, setting her fork down and glancing between Jimin, Minjeong, and Jeno. “I’m going,” she said with a small shrug. “It’s a good networking opportunity. I need to find someone who can guide me in a field I actually care about—orthopedics is killing me.” She groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes. “The school placing me there was bad luck, but if I can meet someone in cardiology, maybe they’ll take me under their wing when I graduate.”

The group chuckled at Yeji’s blunt remark, though the context gave the comment weight. The hospital winter banquet was an event meant to connect students with potential mentors, offering a chance to explore their interests and future paths. However, not everyone was attending the same event. Placements at different hospitals had scattered their class across the city, and Yizhuo, Jisu, Sungchan, and Eunseok would be attending a different hospital banquet than Jeno, Jimin, Yeji, and Minjeong.

Minjeong gave a small nod, her expression thoughtful. “I’ll be there,” she said simply, her voice steady. “Dr. Choi wanted to introduce me to some people.”

Eunseok perked up at that, smirking as he leaned forward. “Ooh, Minjeong’s got a foot in the trauma unit already,” he teased, earning a few chuckles from the table.

Minjeong rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it, the corner of her lips quirking up faintly.

Jimin chimed in next, setting her coffee mug down. “I’ll be going too,” she said, her tone light. “Might as well make the most of it.”

At that, Jeno clapped his hands together, his grin widening. “Perfect,” he said. “The more, the merrier. I can’t be stuck alone with all that fake smiling and sucking up to doctors—I need reinforcements.”

The group laughed, the conversation easing into a lighter tone as they continued eating. Among the chatter, it became clear that while the banquet had its obligations, moments like these—shared meals and teasing remarks—made even the most stressful parts of med school feel a little more bearable.

The group wrapped up brunch with a flurry of goodbyes and warm wishes. They exchanged early “Happy New Years” with those they wouldn’t see again until the new semester and parted ways with a mix of lingering camaraderie and anticipation for the winter break. Sungchan and Eunseok made sure to confirm their snowboarding plans with Minjeong, reminding her they’d see her soon for their trip before heading off in their own directions.

Minjeong, with her bag slung over her shoulder, began heading toward the subway station, assuming Yizhuo would follow. But before she got far, Yizhuo hung back with a small smile playing on her lips, her cheeks slightly flushed. “I’m waiting for someone to pick me up,” she admitted, her tone casual but tinged with something that caught Minjeong’s attention.

Minjeong turned, furrowing her brows as she studied Yizhuo’s expression—the subtle smile, the faint blush painting her cheeks, and the way she was fiddling with her hair. It didn’t take long for realization to hit, and when it did, a sly grin spread across Minjeong’s face. “Well, well,” she began, her tone laced with mischief, “waiting for Ms. Lawyer, are we?”

Yizhuo’s blush deepened instantly, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits as she glared at Minjeong. “Say that again, and I swear—” she began, raising her leg in mock threat. “I’ll kick you into next week.”

Minjeong didn’t flinch, her grin only widening as she leaned back slightly, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, come on. Don’t be shy. I’m sure Aeri’s already planning her closing arguments for why you’re the perfect date,” she teased, her voice light but relentless.

Yizhuo groaned, her hands flying to her face as she muttered something unintelligible under her breath. Before she could retaliate, Jimin appeared, walking up after her final goodbyes to the others. She stopped just in time to catch Yizhuo mid-threat and Minjeong laughing like she’d just won a gold medal in teasing.

“What’s going on here?” Jimin asked, her tone amused as she glanced between the two.

“Oh, nothing,” Minjeong replied, her voice calm but dripping with mischief. “Yizhuo is just very excited for her hot date with Ms. Lawyer.”

Yizhuo groaned loudly, dramatically throwing her hands in the air. “First of all,” she started, pointing an accusatory finger at Minjeong, “it’s not a hot date . And second, if you keep calling her that, I’m going to bury you in the snow during our next blizzard.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching as she fought back a laugh. “Wait… Ms. Lawyer?” she asked, her curiosity piqued as she looked at Yizhuo. “Are you talking about Aeri?”

Yizhuo clapped her hands over her face, as if hiding from the world would erase the conversation. “No,” she said, her voice muffled but unconvincing. “We’re not talking about Aeri.”

Minjeong leaned casually against a nearby lamppost, her grin widening. “Oh, we absolutely are ,” she said. “Aeri’s picking her up, and I’d bet good money there’s dinner involved—maybe even flowers. Is that why you barely touched your food? You kept saying you were starving, and I thought you’d go for two main dishes. Turns out you were saving room for two meals… one with Aeri-chan.”

Yizhuo dropped her hands, shooting Minjeong a sharp glare. “Okay, you need to stop,” she snapped, though her flushed face betrayed her annoyance. “It’s just a ride. A friendly ride.”

“Friendly ride?” Jimin repeated, her tone teasing as she folded her arms. “Yizhuo, who gets flustered over a friendly ride ?”

Yizhuo whirled on Jimin, practically combusting on the spot. “You know about this already!” she groaned, dramatically pointing a finger in her direction. “Why are you joining forces with Minjeong now?”

Jimin laughed, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I might’ve heard a thing or two from Aeri, but seeing you flustered in real time is a whole different experience,” she admitted, earning a loud sigh from Yizhuo.

“Exactly,” Minjeong chimed in with a soft chuckle, glancing at her watch. “So, what time does the friendly ride get here? Should we stick around to witness it?”

Yizhuo swatted at Minjeong’s arm, her face impossibly red now. “Absolutely not. Both of you—scram.”

Minjeong sighed dramatically, clutching at her chest as though she’d been mortally wounded. “So this is it,” she said, her voice heavy with mock sorrow. “Abandoned. Forced to brave the subway alone while my so-called best friend rides off into the sunset with her lawyer.”

Yizhuo groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Okay, Minjeong,” she drawled, crossing her arms. “Maybe tone it down a little. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Minjeong gasped, her expression one of exaggerated offense. “This is how you treat me after all we’ve been through? All the snacks I’ve shared? The times I’ve saved you during late-night cram sessions?” She shook her head solemnly, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I hope Aeri knows what she’s getting into.”

It was a rare sight—Minjeong giving Yizhuo a taste of her own medicine—and Jimin couldn’t hold back her laughter as she watched Yizhuo try (and fail) to look unaffected. “Looks like someone doesn’t like being on the receiving end,” Jimin teased, earning another groan from Yizhuo.

Before Yizhuo could retort, the sound of a car pulling up interrupted her. All three turned toward the curb as a sleek car rolled to a stop, its headlights cutting through the winter light. Yizhuo straightened instantly, smoothing out her coat and attempting to compose herself. Minjeong’s eyes lit up with renewed mischief as she nudged Jimin lightly.

Through the rolled-down passenger window, Aeri waved, her expression warm but tinged with slight embarrassment as her gaze flicked briefly to the trio. If her faint blush was any indication, she’d caught on to the teasing atmosphere. Jimin smiled and waved back, her amusement growing when she noticed Yizhuo glancing nervously at Aeri before giving a quick, awkward wave.

Minjeong, however, wasn’t about to let the moment pass without one final jab. She crossed her arms, adopting a stern expression as she looked at Yizhuo. “I expect a full report,” she said firmly, her voice filled with mock authority. “Every detail. Don’t leave anything out.”

Yizhuo groaned one last time, muttering under her breath as she grabbed her bag and headed toward the car. “You’re insufferable,” she called over her shoulder, though the slight upward quirk of her lips gave her away.

As Yizhuo climbed into the car and waved through the window, Minjeong turned to Jimin, her expression shifting from playful to thoughtful. “Think she’ll actually tell me anything?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jimin chuckled, tucking her hands into her coat pockets. “Not a chance,” she replied, her tone light. “But that’s what Aeri’s for.”

Minjeong laughed softly, shaking her head as they watched the car pull away. “Fair enough,” she said, her grin returning as she turned toward the subway station. “Guess you’ll just have to interrogate her later.”

As the car disappeared down the street, Jimin’s arm hooked around Minjeong’s arm. The gesture caught Minjeong off guard, and she tilted her head to look at Jimin, her brows furrowing slightly.

“What’s this for?” Minjeong asked, her voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

Jimin shrugged, a soft grin playing on her lips. “You were the one making such a big deal about heading home alone earlier,” she teased lightly, letting her arms drop. “I thought I’d offer my sympathy. Besides, my car is still parked on campus—I can drive you home.”

Minjeong shook her head, her expression composed but softened by the faint curl of a smile. “Thanks, but it’s fine. The day’s still young, and it’s only a forty-minute walk,” she replied easily, slipping her hands into her coat pockets. “I don’t mind. I just have to walk to my sister’s place to grab some things before heading to my parents’ house” Her voice was steady, but a flicker of something unspoken lingered in her gaze. 

Jimin frowned lightly, her brows knitting together. “You were planning to take the subway earlier—what changed?” she asked, her concern barely masked beneath her casual tone. 

Minjeong hesitated for a fraction of a second before she sighed softly, her breath forming faint clouds in the brisk air as she put a little distance between her and Jimin. At first, she’d wanted to hang out with Yizhuo—to absorb her chaotic energy and let it buoy her spirits before the inevitable trip back to her hometown. But with that plan scrapped, Minjeong found herself deliberately stretching out the time it would take to get to her hometown, dreading the looming visit to her parents’ house. The thought of family festivities, the expectations, and the effort of keeping up appearances weighed heavily on her. 

“I was going to keep Yizhuo company,” Minjeong admitted, her voice thoughtful as she looked ahead. “But the weather’s nice… might as well walk.”

Her pace slowed as she spoke, putting a bit of distance between herself and Jimin. Though Minjeong’s words were measured, there was an unmistakable undercurrent of hesitation. The thought of returning to her parent's home and stepping into the swirl of family expectations, cheerful gatherings, and holiday obligations felt heavier with every step she took.

Jimin observed her in silence, picking up on the faint tension in Minjeong’s otherwise composed demeanor. She didn’t push, though her gaze lingered thoughtfully.

“You know,” Jimin said finally, her voice warm and grounding as it broke the quiet, “I’ll appreciate the company while it lasts.”

Minjeong blinked, the distant look in her eyes clearing as she turned to Jimin. A soft smile tugged at her lips, “Yeah?” she replied evenly. “Then how about I walk you to your car? Besides, I can’t have you wandering off alone.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “Oh, really? Since when are you the protective type?”

Minjeong shrugged, her expression calm but her voice light. “Consider it my good deed for the day,” she quipped.

Jimin rolled her eyes but grinned, her steps aligning with Minjeong’s. “Well, I guess I should feel special then,” she said, her tone teasing but warm. “Lead the way, Minjeong.”

The quiet between them settled comfortably, their footsteps crunching against the thin layer of snow. The faint rustle of trees and the distant hum of cars were the only sounds filling the cold air, a peaceful contrast to the lively café they had just left behind.

Jimin walked beside Minjeong, her gaze flicking briefly to her companion. There was something about the way Minjeong carried herself today—a steady composure, her hands tucked into her coat pockets, yet with an almost imperceptible heaviness in her steps. Jimin couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was on her mind, but she didn’t need to; she’d grown attuned to the quiet tension Minjeong often held beneath the surface.

Without a word, Jimin unlinked her arm from Minjeong’s and instead slipped her hand gently into hers, the sudden gesture grounding but unobtrusive. Minjeong glanced down at the connection, momentarily surprised, but said nothing. Her pace slowed slightly, as though she were savoring the quiet moment rather than rushing to break it.

“Hey,” Jimin said softly, her voice steady and filled with warmth. “You know… if you’re not ready to head home, you could come hang out at my place for a bit. No pressure—just putting it out there.”

Minjeong turned her head toward Jimin, her expression unreadable for a moment before softening into a faint smile. They both reached Jimin's car. She shook her head lightly, her gaze dropping toward the snow-covered ground as she leaned subtly against Jimin’s car. “You’ve probably got things to do—getting ready to see your family,” she replied, her tone measured but kind.

Jimin leaned against the car as well, her thoughtful expression holding steady as she studied Minjeong. She didn’t reply right away, allowing the silence to linger for just a beat longer before her grip on Minjeong’s hand tightened slightly—not enough to demand, but enough to reassure. “I don’t mind the company,” Jimin said simply, her tone low and grounding. “Or the delay. Delays aren’t so bad when the company’s good.”

Minjeong let out a soft laugh, nudging Jimin lightly with her elbow. “You’re going to miss me, aren’t you?” she teased, her faint smirk tugging at her lips.

Jimin chuckled, shaking her head as she looked at her. “I don’t know about all that,” she replied, her voice laced with teasing warmth. “But you’re definitely worth the delay.”

Minjeong smiled at that, her smirk softening as she glanced out toward the empty parking lot. “Well, I still need to hang out with Yizhuo before she runs off to Harbin. So, I’ll be back in the city often enough. It gets boring in my hometown pretty fast.” she said lightly, her voice carrying a bit more ease now. “Can’t leave her unsupervised for too long—she’ll stir up chaos otherwise.”

Jimin chuckled at that, shaking her head lightly as she watched Minjeong. “You’re acting like you’re doing us all a public service,” she replied, her voice tinged with warmth.

Minjeong shrugged, her expression turning playful again. “Someone’s got to keep her in check. It’s a full-time job.”

Jimin’s laughter faded into a soft smile, and she glanced back at Minjeong. “You’ll keep busy, then,” she said lightly, though her tone carried an unspoken understanding.

“Well, Aeri did tell me about her one-week plan with Yizhuo before she heads off to Harbin,” Jimin said casually, her voice steady but with a playful edge. “We should crash one—or maybe even all—of those days if you’re coming back to the city.”

Minjeong chuckled at that, the playful glint in her eyes returning. “That sounds tempting,” she said with a soft laugh. “Keep me updated, and we’ll plan something. I’ll stay in touch.”

Jimin’s grin widened as she nodded. “Sounds like a plan,” she replied warmly, her teasing demeanor giving way to a quieter understanding.

Minjeong shifted, gently pushing herself off the car as she moved toward the driver’s door. Her movements were deliberate yet unhurried. “Alright,” Minjeong said, as she opened the driver’s door for Jimin. “Thanks for the company,” she added softly, her voice steady but warm. “But you should get going. Don’t keep Mr. and Mrs. Yu waiting—they probably miss you a lot.”

Jimin paused in her step, her lips curving into a faint smile. But instead of stepping into the car, she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms tightly around Minjeong in a sudden embrace.

Minjeong froze for a moment, blinking in surprise, before her posture relaxed as she leaned lightly into Jimin. The hug was brief yet grounding, Jimin’s warmth cutting through the chilly air.

Her voice was soft, almost a mumble as she spoke. “Your family probably misses you too,” Jimin said, her words carrying quiet reassurance. “Don’t overthink it, okay? And if you need anything…” She leaned just slightly closer, her breath warm against Minjeong’s ear as she added, “I’m just one call away.”

When Jimin pulled back, Minjeong found herself momentarily speechless, her gaze lingering on Jimin’s comforting smile. There was something in the way Jimin looked at her—steady, kind, and unwavering—that seemed to chip away at the weight Minjeong had been carrying, leaving her chest feeling just a little lighter.

Jimin paused, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the car door. Her lips curved into a faint smile, but instead of stepping inside, she glanced back at Minjeong. “See you at the banquet this weekend?” she asked casually, though her tone carried a playful edge. “You could be my arm candy for the night—help me survive all the awkward small talk with doctors.”

Minjeong blinked at her, caught off guard for a split second before letting out a laugh. “Arm candy?” she repeated, her grin growing wider. “That’s a bit ambitious, don’t you think? But sure, I wasn’t planning on leaving your side anyway. Arm candy, though? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves—I’d probably bring you down a notch if anything.”

Jimin laughed softly at Minjeong’s response, her cheeks faintly flushed in the cold. “Bring me down a notch?” she echoed, shaking her head as she leaned lightly against the car door. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. Trust me, you’d keep things fun—arm candy or not.”

Minjeong smirked, tilting her head slightly as her gaze lingered on Jimin. “Oh, I can keep things fun,” she teased lightly, her tone calm but playful. “But you owe me. I want coffee afterward—maybe even dessert.”

Jimin sighed dramatically, pressing her palm to her chest as though in deep thought. “Fine,” she said at last, her tone exaggerated. “Your coffee and dessert demand have been officially noted. Deal?”

Minjeong nodded, her grin widening. “Deal,” she echoed, her playful tone softening into something warmer. “Thanks… for this,” she added quietly, the words carrying more weight than her usual banter.

As Jimin slid into the driver’s seat, she glanced back at Minjeong one more time, her expression softer now. “Don’t overthink things too much,” she said gently, her voice steady and kind. “And don’t keep all those thoughts to yourself—I’m just a text away.”

Minjeong smiled faintly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she nodded. “I know,” she replied, her voice quiet but filled with sincerity.

As Jimin drove away, Minjeong stood there for a moment, her breath visible in the cold air as she watched Jimin’s car pull away. The winter chill nipped at her cheeks, but it couldn’t quite chase away the lingering warmth of their exchange. As the taillights disappeared into the distance, Minjeong found herself with a small, unshakable smile, the weight she had been carrying feeling just a little less heavy.

Minjeong’s steps were slow, deliberate, as if stretching out the moments before she reached her destination. The lively buzz of the morning—exams, the playful teasing over brunch—had faded into a quiet restlessness that settled heavily in her chest. The world around her was still, the crunch of her boots on the thin layer of snow the only sound accompanying her.

Her hands slipped into her coat pockets instinctively, brushing against the lollipop she’d tucked away earlier. She paused mid-step, pulling it out to study it. The candy spun idly between her fingers, the sharp edges of the wrapper crinkling under her touch. For a moment, she just stared at it, her thoughts swirling in the cold air like the faint clouds of her breath.

Her gaze softened, and a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her lips. “I'm sorry,” she murmured, the word barely audible. Her voice was steady but tinged with something fragile, as if the apology wasn’t just for the lollipop but something deeper she couldn’t quite name. The unspoken words lingered in the air before she slipped the candy back into her pocket, her fingers brushing lightly against the smooth surface one last time.

Minjeong reached instead for her lighter and cigarette box, her movements measured and deliberate. Her thumb flicked the lighter open with ease, the small flame momentarily illuminating the faint shadows under her eyes. She lit the cigarette with a quiet precision, bringing it to her lips as she took a long, slow puff. The smoke curled upward, dissipating quickly into the cold winter air.

As she resumed her walk, the faint haze of smoke followed her, merging with the steady rhythm of her steps. The distant glow of streetlights illuminated the path ahead, but Minjeong’s gaze remained downward, her thoughts far away. The restless weight in her chest hadn’t lifted, but it felt quieter now—muted, if only slightly.

The streets were empty, save for her solitary figure making its way back to her sister’s place. Minjeong’s pace remained unhurried, her breaths steady as the crisp air filled her lungs. The warmth of earlier moments lingered faintly at the edge of her mind, a small comfort against the solitude. She didn’t rush—she couldn’t—but she kept moving forward, letting the quiet of the city guide her steps.

Chapter Text

The crisp winter air was sharp against her face, and the faint curl of smoke trailed behind her as Minjeong stubbed out her fifth cigarette against the brick wall by her sister's house. She lingered for a moment, her fingers fishing for the mint tin in her coat pocket. She slid two mints past her lips, as though they’d somehow mask the smell clinging to her clothes. The icy taste prickled her tongue as she pulled her scarf up higher and quietly slipped inside.

The house was quiet, the faint hum of the heater buzzing in the background. Minjeong tread lightly, her footsteps barely audible against the floor as she made her way upstairs. Her pace was quick but measured, her focus on avoiding any chance of stirring her sister or brother-in-law. She hadn’t let anyone know she was back—not yet, anyway. The solitude was easier to manage.

Once in her room, Minjeong wasted no time. Her duffle bag lay crumpled by the bed, and she began shoving clothes into it. The thought of cheerful holiday chatter pressed at the edges of her mind, but she shoved it aside just as quickly, focusing instead on zipping up the bag.

Her luck ran out the moment she stepped out of her room. She was halfway down the stairs when her sister, Taeyeon, stepped out of her small home office at the base of the staircase. Minjeong halted mid-step, biting back a quiet curse as Taeyeon’s gaze landed on her with a knowing smile.

“Heading to our parents’ place?” Taeyeon asked lightly, her voice steady and warm as she eyed the duffle bag in Minjeong’s hand.

Minjeong nodded, her grip tightening around the strap as she tried to compose herself. “Yeah,” she said simply, her tone calm but clipped.

Taeyeon raised an eyebrow, her smile widening slightly. “Perfect timing,” she said. “You should join me—I was just about to pick Chaeyoung up from daycare.”

Minjeong hesitated for a fraction of a second, but there was no way she could say no. She didn’t mind seeing her niece before heading out—if anything, the idea softened her resolve. “Alright,” Minjeong replied with a faint smile, her voice steady now. “I’d like to see her before I leave.”

Taeyeon nodded approvingly, her smile never wavering as she grabbed her coat. “She’ll be thrilled to see you,” she said casually. “Come on—we’ve got just enough time.”

Minjeong followed her sister out the door, the winter chill brushing against her cheeks once more. 

The short walk to the daycare was quiet, the crunch of snow beneath their boots marking the only steady rhythm. Minjeong stuffed her hands into her coat pockets, letting the cold air nip at her cheeks as she focused on the path ahead. She wished the silence would stretch just a little longer—comfortably uneventful.

But, of course, Taeyeon broke it.

“So,” Taeyeon began, her voice casual yet carrying that unmistakable older-sister tone, “how were exams?”

Minjeong’s gaze didn’t waver as she answered, her tone equally nonchalant. “Fair.”

“Fair?” Taeyeon pressed, glancing sideways at her. “Do you think you did well?”

Minjeong shrugged, her expression unreadable. “We’ll see,” she replied simply, her voice betraying no concern.

Taeyeon chuckled softly, the sound carrying warmth against the brisk winter air. “I was talking to mom earlier,” she said, her words laced with amusement. “She’s been prepping all morning—said she’s making a feast for you when you get there.”

Minjeong’s lips curved into the faintest smile, her gaze still fixed ahead. “Sounds good. I’ll eat well,” she murmured, her tone light but sincere.

The silence returned for a few steps, but Minjeong could feel Taeyeon’s presence beside her, the quiet holding an edge that meant her sister wasn’t done. Sure enough, Taeyeon broke it again—this time with something entirely more unfiltered.

“So, you know how mom gets,” Taeyeon began, her tone shifting to something lighter, even teasing. “She thinks you’re depressed.”

Minjeong blinked, her steps faltering slightly as she turned her head to glance at Taeyeon.

“And,” Taeyeon continued, chuckling as if she couldn’t hold it in, “I told her she’s overreacting. That you’re fine.” The laugh softened her words, but Minjeong still caught the pointed edge beneath it—the part of her sister that wasn’t just joking.

Minjeong didn’t reply right away. She stuffed her hands further into her pockets, her expression composed as she exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the winter chill. Finally, she said, “Tell her not to worry. I’m fine.”

Taeyeon rolled her eyes lightly, adjusting the strap of her bag. “You should tell her yourself tonight,” she said, the teasing edge still there but carrying something firmer beneath it. “Reassure her. And would it kill you to call once in a while?”

Minjeong shrugged, her expression remaining unreadable. “I’m busy with studying,” she replied simply, her voice steady but detached. “It’s always the same conversation anyway—she asks how I’m doing, and I say I’m fine. Short and curt. What’s the point?”

Taeyeon gave a short laugh, quick and dismissive, as though brushing off any deeper meaning. “Oh, come on, Minjeong,” she said, her tone light but carrying an edge of certainty. “Mom just worries too much. She thinks you’re sad or something. Emotional, even. But I told her not to make a big deal out of it.”

Minjeong’s jaw tightened, but she kept her gaze ahead, her footsteps steady. The way Taeyeon said it, so flippantly, grated against her. Her sister’s laughter felt as though it was smoothing over everything, flattening what was knotted deep inside her into a neat, palatable narrative. Fine. Always fine.

“I told her you’re not depressed,” Taeyeon continued, almost casually, as if the words carried no weight. “She just overthinks things. That’s all it is.”

Minjeong said nothing. What was there to say? Her sister wasn’t asking—she was answering for her. Defining her. The usual attempt to smooth over something uncomfortable, reducing her feelings to an inconvenience. Minjeong had long stopped trying to explain herself to her family. They asked how she was out of obligation, not because they truly wanted to know. The check-ins were nothing more than hollow gestures, thin veneers of care that never scratched below the surface.

Her chest tightened with every word Taeyeon threw out so casually. But Minjeong swallowed it down, letting the cold air bite at her cheeks to ground her. What was the point? Even if she said something—tried to convey the depth of the storm inside her—it would only be met with more of this. More dismissal. More simplifications. More laughs.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she said eventually, her voice quieter than she intended but firm enough to end the conversation.

Taeyeon glanced at her, a faint smile on her lips, clearly satisfied with the confirmation. “Exactly what I told her,” she said, as if it were a victory.

Minjeong hummed faintly in response to Taeyeon’s words, not bothering with anything more as she focused on speeding up her pace. Each step forward felt like shedding layers of conversation she didn’t want to have, leaving Taeyeon’s dismissive tone behind with the crunch of snow beneath her boots. Just a few more steps, she thought. Then she could immerse herself in the one thing she was certain she loved wholeheartedly—her niece.

The daycare’s entrance came into view, bright and welcoming against the winter afternoon. Taeyeon didn’t comment on Minjeong’s quickened stride, but her presence remained steadfast as they walked inside together. The front desk clerk greeted them warmly, handing over the sign-out sheet. Taeyeon signed her name swiftly, Minjeong following suit with a quiet, unhurried motion.

After checking out, they headed down the hallway toward Chaeyoung’s classroom. The faint sound of children chatting and laughing greeted them as Taeyeon pushed open the door. Minjeong stood just a step behind, her gaze scanning the room—and there she was.

Chaeyoung spotted her instantly, her small face lighting up like fireworks as she pushed herself up from her seat. Her wobbling gait was quick but adorably clumsy as she darted across the room toward Minjeong, her arms stretched out in giddy excitement. Chaeyoung squealed, her voice bright enough to pierce through the weight Minjeong had been carrying.

Minjeong let out a soft, steadying breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her knees bent to bring herself down to Chaeyoung’s level, her arms opening wide to embrace her beloved niece. The moment Chaeyoung collided into her, all the tension melted away, leaving nothing but warmth and familiarity.

Minjeong wrapped her arms gently around Chaeyoung, her grip firm but comforting. “Hey there, Chaeyoung,” she murmured softly, her lips curving into a smile she didn’t need to fake. “Missed me?”

Chaeyoung laughed emphatically, her small arms squeezing around Minjeong as if she never wanted to let go.

Minjeong chuckled, her heart feeling lighter for the first time in hours. “Me too, kiddo,” she replied softly, her tone carrying a rare warmth. “Me too.”

The comforting moment with Chaeyoung didn’t last long. Soon, Minjeong found herself crouched down again, slipping her niece’s tiny arms into the sleeves of her snowsuit. Chaeyoung wriggled and giggled as Minjeong zipped it up, her small hands clinging to Minjeong’s coat sleeve while she adjusted the hood. Minjeong managed a faint smile, steadying her niece for one last squeeze before standing.

“All ready to go,” Minjeong said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Chaeyoung’s face.

Taeyeon stepped in, picking up Chaeyoung’s bag and looping it over her shoulder. “Come on, kiddo,” she said with a smile. “Let’s not keep grandma waiting for Auntie Minjeongie.”

The walk back to the daycare entrance was brief, the crisp air nipping at Minjeong’s cheeks as they stepped outside. At the doorway, Taeyeon turned to Minjeong, her usual sharp gaze softening slightly. “Take care,” she said simply, her tone lighter now. “Don’t disappear for too long.”

Minjeong gave a slight nod, shifting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “I’ll keep in touch,” she replied quietly, though her words felt automatic.

Chaeyoung raised her tiny hand and sent her aunt a flying kiss instead, her chubby fingers flinging the gesture with enthusiastic flair.

Minjeong let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her hands to her chest as if the kiss had struck her directly. “Ah, you got me!” she cooed, grinning widely. “Goodbye, my little Chaeyoung-ie!”

Without looking back, Minjeong turned and began her walk toward the subway station. Her steps felt heavier now, the noise of the daycare fading with each stride. The cold air pressed against her, and she exhaled a long, visible breath, letting the quiet of the city fill the space left behind.

The subway rattled along the tracks, the soft hum of its movement filling the otherwise quiet car. Minjeong sat near the window, her gaze fixed on the blurred cityscape rushing by. She pulled her phone out briefly, typing a quick text to her father to confirm her arrival time. Within moments, a short response popped up on her screen—an acknowledgment that he would be there. No unnecessary words, no frills. It was enough.

Sliding her phone back into her pocket, Minjeong let out a quiet sigh, her breath fogging up the glass momentarily before fading away. Her duffle bag sat heavily on her knees, the strap biting into her thighs and almost cutting off her circulation. She shifted it slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the weight remained a familiar presence. She packed it fuller than usual this time—unlike her usual minimalist style of throwing in a couple of staples and moving on, the holiday festivities demanded more preparation. Sweaters, casual pieces, something slightly dressy—everything to meet the expectations of her parents' carefully orchestrated gatherings.

Her thoughts wandered as the train announced its next stop, the robotic voice a faint backdrop to the hum of activity outside. A child’s laughter filtered in from farther down the car, a brief burst of joy in the otherwise muted space. Minjeong closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her forehead lightly against the cold glass.

The two-hour journey felt simultaneously endless and fleeting. Part of her wanted the ride to stretch on indefinitely, avoiding the looming awkwardness of family dinners and forced cheer. But another part, the quieter, wearier part, just wanted it over with. Rip the bandage off. Get through the motions.

When the subway finally slowed to a stop at the transfer station, Minjeong shifted the bag onto her shoulder and stood, her legs stiff from sitting so long. The next leg of the trip—an hour on the train—waited ahead. She stepped onto the platform, the cold air greeting her sharply. A deep breath steadied her. With her ticket already tucked neatly into her pocket, she made her way toward the platform for the train that would take her home.

Minjeong sat by the window, the steady rhythm of the train pressing against her ears like a quiet metronome. The countryside stretched out beyond the glass, vast and pale under the winter sky. It was different from the blurred cityscape of earlier, but the feeling—the weight sitting in her chest—remained the same.

She caught sight of her reflection in the window, faint and fleeting against the passing scenery. Her lips curled into a practiced smile, small and subdued. Polished. Rehearsing the façade she would carry for the next few days. It lingered for only a moment before fading, slipping away like the frost melting against the glass.

Leaning back against the stiff seat, she exhaled slowly, her thoughts cutting through the hum of the train. She had barely left the city, yet the anticipation of home already clawed at her skin—both familiar and unwelcome.

Her chest tightened slightly as her mind circled back to the conversation with her sister. She had come so close to losing control, the frustration bubbling just beneath her composure. And the thought terrified her—she couldn’t let it happen. Not again. Not before she even set foot in her parents’ house.

The memory of the last time, a couple months ago, she broke down played vividly in her mind, like an unwelcome reel she couldn’t shut off. At first, it had been nothing—a simple conversation, harmless in theory. She had been frustrated, venting about her group project, complaining about how some of her teammates refused to pull their weight. She hadn’t meant to spiral, hadn’t intended to let her words tumble out so freely, but exhaustion had chipped away at her restraint, letting every small irritation slip through. And for some reason—perhaps foolishly—she had thought Taeyeon would understand. That her sister would offer something beyond detached logic. Maybe even validation. 

But Taeyeon had barely listened before waving it away. “You’re being emotional,” she had said, sharp and clipped. “Petty, even. You really shouldn’t let things like that bother you. Don’t read too much into it and just let it go.”

Minjeong had faltered, her breath hitching slightly. She hadn’t been complaining about anything monumental—just small frustrations, the things that added up over time. The sloppy formatting on their shared document, the half-hearted responses in their group chat, the way she always had to double-check everything because no one else cared enough to. She had let herself vent, let herself spiral into the tiny details that had grated against her patience—and yet, the way Taeyeon dismissed it so easily made Minjeong feel foolish for even speaking.

She tried, briefly, to defend herself, stumbling over her own words as she attempted to explain that it wasn’t just about the project, but about effort —about putting in the same energy as everyone else. That it wasn’t wrong to expect some level of reciprocation in collaboration. But Taeyeon wasn’t interested. Her expression barely shifted, her tone remaining firm, unwavering.

“It’s just a group project, Minjeong,” she had said with a quiet scoff, brushing the irritation aside like it was irrelevant. “You’re taking it too seriously.”

Minjeong felt her stomach twist at the memory, her nails pressing lightly into the fabric of her long sleeve. The way her sister looked at her—like she was blowing things out of proportion, like she was exhausting to listen to—had left her humiliated. It wasn’t just that Taeyeon didn’t understand. It was that she had made Minjeong feel ridiculous for even having emotions about it at all. Like she had exposed something weak, something unnecessary.

She had tried to swallow the frustration, tried to move past the sharp sting of Taeyeon’s words, but it clung to her—tight and suffocating. Her breath had come quicker, her chest aching with something she couldn’t quite push down. The embarrassment festered, creeping under her skin, turning into something deeper. Hotter.

Minjeong had barely noticed the moment she tipped past the point of control. It was sudden, a sharp, visceral reaction—her breath hitching, her pulse spiking, her fingers curling tightly as her vision blurred at the edges. Everything narrowed into a singular, crushing pressure in her chest.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

The stress, the exhaustion, the weight of being dismissed—it all swirled together, overwhelming and unstoppable, overtaking her completely.

And for the first time, Taeyeon had stilled. Her sharp words gone, her confidence faltering as she stood frozen, watching Minjeong struggle through the unraveling.

The conversation stopped and Taeyeon just watched Minjeong calm herself down. Once Minjeong’s breath was steadier, then her sister was able to speak up again. Her sister, frozen in place, her sharp words softened into uncertainty for the first time.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Taeyeon had asked then, her voice quieter, tentative—so unlike her usual bluntness.

Minjeong had tried to brush it off, calling it normal, something she could control. She’d said the words so casually, hoping to smooth over the mess she had just created. Taeyeon nodded, seemingly satisfied, and Minjeong had foolishly thought that was the end of it.

But it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.

Taeyeon had told their mother—because Taeyeon always told their mother. That had been the real spark, the start of something Minjeong couldn’t contain. Her mother had reacted with anger, frustration spilling out in hurried, heated words, all directed at Minjeong. It wasn’t just the anger that had unsettled her—it was how it had stemmed from her keeping such things a secret and Taeyeon’s revelation instead. The secrecy felt like betrayal, and Minjeong bore the brunt of it.

Yet through the haze of frustration, Minjeong had thought it was an opportunity—an opening to talk, to connect, to explain what had been clawing at her chest for months. She’d felt a fleeting sense of hope, thinking that maybe this would be the chance to finally share the storm within her and be understood.

Because, despite the anger, despite the harshness of her mother’s reaction, there was something buried beneath it. A want. A need to be included in Minjeong’s struggles, even if she didn’t know how to ask for it properly. It wasn’t the reaction Minjeong had wanted—but wasn’t it proof that her mother cared? That she wanted to help, in some way?

Maybe, Minjeong had thought, the anger could be redirected into something better. Maybe it could open a door that had always been closed.

How foolish of her.

When she opened up again a few weeks later, after yet another emotional episode, her mother hadn’t reacted the way she’d hoped. No soft words, no careful listening—just confusion at first, frustration soon after. Minjeong had struggled to put her feelings into words, but each attempt only seemed to widen the gap between them. Her mother didn’t understand. And when understanding didn’t come, frustration took its place, sharp and misplaced.

Minjeong had watched, helpless, as the frustration slowly faded into something worse—defeat. Her mother sat there, blank-faced, waiting for her to stop crying, offering no comfort, no reassurance. And when the silence stretched too long, she changed the topic. It was another dismissal. Another confirmation that Minjeong’s emotions were too much—too complicated, too inconvenient.

She stepped back then, startled by how quickly it had all unraveled, by how exposed she felt. That had been the moment she truly shut the door. She had thought it was ajar, open just enough for her emotions to slip through. But it wasn’t. It had never been.

From that day on, she stopped talking about her mental health entirely. If something slipped, if a stray emotion leaked through, it felt wrong. Uncomfortable. Like an intrusion into spaces where it didn’t belong.

Sharing her emotions became an impossibility, locked away in some distant corner of herself where her family couldn’t touch them. It was safer that way. She wouldn’t cry in front of them anymore, wouldn’t yell. If anything broke through, she smothered it with faint smiles or empty reassurances. I’m fine became her armor—these simple words that protected her from scrutiny.

Even when they prodded, their voices laced with faint concern, reaching for answers they didn’t truly want to hear, Minjeong stayed firm. She knew better than to let herself believe it could lead to something real. The occasional probing questions felt like echoes of that distant sliver of hope she used to hold—but she wasn’t naive enough to chase them again.

Her mother’s reaction had taught her enough. The way she fumbled through the conversation, overwhelmed with emotions she didn’t know how to express or direct, had only deepened the wedge between them. It wasn’t that her family didn’t care—they just didn’t know how to. Or maybe they didn’t know how to care for her.

Either way, Minjeong knew she couldn’t rely on them.

Not anymore.

She leaned back in her seat, staring out at the blurred lights of the subway tunnel as the train sped along. Her reflection in the window gazed back at her, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. This was who she was now—someone who didn’t burden her family with emotions they couldn’t handle. Someone who didn’t crack, even when the pressure built up inside her chest.

After an hour and a half of commuting, the train finally pulled into the station. Minjeong stepped onto the platform, her breath visible in the chilly air as she adjusted the strap of her duffle bag. Standing near the parking lot, her father greeted her with a broad smile, his excitement evident as he gestured eagerly for her to come over.

“Come on, let’s get out of the cold,” he said warmly as she approached. His usual reserved demeanor gave way to a grunt of satisfaction as she slid into the passenger seat. Once settled, he glanced at her, his tone gentle but concerned. “Was the journey long? Are you cold?”

Minjeong glanced at her father as he turned the key in the ignition, the car rumbling to life. His broad smile remained, his quiet excitement evident in the way he tapped his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. She could tell he was happy to see her—even without words, his presence carried the ease of familiarity.

“The trip was fine,” she said, adjusting her coat as she settled into the seat. The heat in the car started to build, but she barely felt it. “And no, not really. It’s cold, but I’m used to it.”

Her father hummed in response, nodding as he pulled out onto the main road. “Good. Your mom’s been cooking all day,” he said, his tone light, conversational. “She’s making that stew you like.”

Minjeong pressed her lips together, a quiet acknowledgment—something that wasn’t quite gratitude, but not indifference either. Her fingers tightened briefly around the strap of her duffle bag before she loosened her grip again.

Her father didn’t push. He never did. His conversations were easy, unobtrusive. He talked just enough to fill the silence but never demanded much in return. That was something Minjeong appreciated.

Still, there was an unspoken weight in the air—a subtle expectation lingering beneath the steady hum of the car engine. She could feel it in the way he glanced at her between turns, in the slight hesitance behind his words.

“You doing alright?” he asked after a beat, his voice quieter this time. Less casual.

Minjeong exhaled slowly, turning her gaze toward the window. The streetlights flickered past in intervals, illuminating patches of snow-covered sidewalks, stretches of familiar houses. The road home.

She gave the answer she always did. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Her father nodded, not challenging her words, though she knew he didn’t fully believe them.

But he let it go.

And for that, Minjeong was grateful.

The car ride was filled with comfortable silence, the hum of the engine and the distant sound of the radio filling the space between them. Soon enough, they arrived at her parents’ home, the warmth of the house spilling out as her mother opened the door. The aroma of home-cooked dishes enveloped Minjeong, the familiar scents wrapping her in a sense of nostalgia.

Her mother greeted her enthusiastically, ushering her inside with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the winter chill. The table was already set, dishes spread out in a colorful array. Minjeong felt the corners of her lips lift into another smile as she moved to the table. Everything felt happy, everything felt good—for now.

She joined the meal, letting herself slip into the rhythm of the evening. Minjeong smiled at the right moments, laughed softly when a story was shared, and spoke whenever a question was directed her way. The family’s energy surrounded her, bright and lively, a world she could inhabit for the evening without needing to give too much of herself.

She ate well, as her mother had intended, and the warmth of the home settled around her like a comforting blanket. For now, Minjeong allowed herself to be carried by the current of family life, letting it fill the quiet spaces she had carried with her on the journey back.

“The food is good, right?” Minjeong’s mother asked, her tone warm and expectant as she placed another dish on the table. “I added the king oyster mushrooms, just the way you like them.”

Before Minjeong could say a word, her father shook his head, already reaching over to her bowl. “Minjeong doesn’t like mushrooms,” he interjected matter-of-factly, scooping the mushrooms away and replacing them with more meat from the serving platter.

Minjeong watched the exchange, her lips curving into a smile. “It’s fine, Dad,” she assured him softly, stopping his hand mid-motion. “Really—it’s okay.”

Her father gave her a look but relented, leaning back in his chair. Minjeong turned her gaze to the bowl, her smile still in place as she picked up her chopsticks. She speared one of the mushrooms and brought it to her mouth, chewing slowly despite every instinct in her body screaming against it. The texture, the taste—it was unbearable, but she didn’t let it show.

She swallowed the bite with practiced ease, her smile never faltering. “It’s good, Mom,” she said, her voice steady but light. Her mother beamed at the reply, her satisfaction evident as she bustled about the kitchen.

Minjeong placed her chopsticks down briefly, her fingers brushing over the edge of her bowl. She glanced across the table at her parents—her father’s contented expression as he loaded her plate with more food, her mother’s proud smile as she moved back to the stove. 

Dinner was over, and Minjeong stood in her washroom, gripping the edges of the sink as she fought back the nausea creeping up her throat. She breathed in through her nose, steady and measured, willing herself to push it down. The mushrooms could have been the culprit, or maybe the sheer amount of food after weeks of barely eating anything substantial. Or maybe—it was just everything. The weight of the evening. The effort. The way her body had carried that unease through every bite.

She didn’t know. And she didn’t have time to figure it out.

From downstairs, her mother’s voice carried faintly through the house, calling for her to come down for dessert. Minjeong swallowed, forcing the tightness in her chest to settle, and answered—her tone light, even.

She reached for the faucet, splashing cold water onto her face. The shock steadied her, bringing her back into control. A few quick swipes, a rinse, and then she looked up at the mirror, studying herself under the bathroom’s warm light. Her lips curled into a familiar shape—practiced, effortless.

A smile.

Then, she turned and headed downstairs, where her mother was already preparing a slice of rolled strawberry cake, steam curling from the tea beside it. Her father sat at the table, quietly peeling oranges, setting them aside for her in neat segments.

Minjeong pulled the chair out, settling into place.

Everything felt normal.

Minjeong took a slow sip of tea, hoping the warmth would settle the unease in her stomach. The liquid pooled in her throat, soothing but fleeting, and she exhaled softly, fingers curling around the mug for stability.

Across the table, her mother’s gaze lingered on her, eyes scanning with quiet scrutiny. “You’ve lost weight,” she noted, the words carrying the familiar mixture of concern and mild reprimand. “You need to eat more.”

Minjeong just smiled, practiced and effortless, the same way she always did.

Her mother tsked under her breath, reaching out to nudge Minjeong’s cheek. “Look at you,” she sighed. “So dull and sunken.” The lament was almost mournful, her fingers pressing lightly against the curve of Minjeong’s face, as if she could smooth away the hollowness with her touch alone.

Then, with a small shake of her head, her mother’s tone shifted—brighter, more insistent. “Come now, cheer up,” she urged, as if it were as simple as that.

Minjeong’s smile didn’t waver, even as she lifted the tea to her lips again, letting the warmth press against the quiet ache in her chest.

Her mother slid the plate toward her, the rolled strawberry cake perfectly sliced, the delicate layers almost too pristine to touch. Minjeong didn’t hesitate. She picked up her fork and started eating—quick, deliberate bites, barely tasting the sweetness as she forced it down.

The softness of the cake crumbled against her tongue, mixing with the lingering warmth of tea, but the flavors barely registered. She wasn’t eating because she wanted to. She was eating because it was expected. Because her mother had given her that familiar look—the one that told her without words to just eat, to just let it happen.

So she did.

She kept going, shoveling bite after bite with practiced ease, feeling the weight of the evening pressing against her ribs. The faster she finished, the sooner this would be over. The sooner she could retreat upstairs, away from the careful observations, the affectionate scolding, the warmth that somehow still left her cold.

Her mother nodded approvingly, oblivious to the urgency behind Minjeong’s movements. “Good girl,” she murmured, setting down her own teacup with quiet satisfaction.

Minjeong swallowed the last bite, setting her fork down gently on the plate.

It was done.

Minjeong excused herself, murmuring something about wanting to go on a walk. Her father’s gaze followed her as she moved, sharp and assessing. His eyes flickered toward her pockets, the faintest crease forming between his brows.

She didn’t notice—too focused on slipping out quickly. The door shut behind her, and he lingered for a beat, his expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet exhale, he turned to check the small wooden box near the entrance—the place where he kept his stash of cigarettes. His fingers brushed over the contents, counting, confirming.

Nothing had been taken.

He sighed, barely audible, relief settling into his shoulders.

Outside, Minjeong walked with steady steps, her fingers fishing through her pocket until she felt the familiar weight of her own pack. She flipped the lid open absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the street ahead as she noted the dwindling number—only three left.

She sighed, tucking the box back away, making a quiet mental note.

She’d have to buy more soon.

Minjeong walked toward the park, the cigarette hanging loosely from her lips as she flicked her phone on, the screen glowing against the evening air. She hadn’t checked her messages all day—had barely even thought about it between the tension and the forced smiles. Now, with the cold settling into her skin and the familiar weight of solitude pressing against her, she finally had a moment to catch up.

A few messages from Yizhuo popped up first—updates about her outing with Aeri, snippets of excitement packed into quick, energetic texts. Then Eunseok’s confirmation about booking the ski lodge for the overnight trip, short and straightforward. And finally, a message from Jimin, saying she had details about Yizhuo and Aeri’s plans.

Minjeong's thumb hovered over the screen for a moment, her gaze settling on the last message. A small, simple Call me from Jimin. No context, no explanation—just the quiet request lingering at the bottom of the chat.

Minjeong pressed the phone to her ear as the call connected, the cigarette balanced loosely between her fingers. She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the winter air.

“Hey,” Jimin greeted, her voice warm, teasing.

Minjeong sighed—a quiet, barely audible release. But Jimin caught it.

“You sound relieved,” she mused, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Did I call at the wrong time?”

Minjeong shook her head slightly, her lips curling into a small, genuine smile. “Not at all. I needed this—hearing someone’s voice that isn’t my parents,” she replied, her voice steady but light.

There was a faint shuffle on the other end, and Minjeong, curiosity piqued, shifted her phone slightly. “Are you still packing?” she asked, her tone casual.

“Not exactly,” Jimin admitted, her voice carrying a playful edge. “Aeri came over for a chat—a full debrief of her hangout with Yizhuo, actually. It’s her fault I haven’t left for my hometown yet.”

Minjeong hummed, her grin widening as she rolled onto her side. “Oh, really? And is there anything juicy you’d like to share?”

Jimin let out a dramatic gasp, her voice dripping with mock indignation. “Minjeong, please. Do you think I’d betray the sacred best-friend girl code like that? Aeri would kill me!”

Minjeong laughed, the sound quiet but genuine as she stretched out, one arm resting behind her head. “Fair enough,” she replied, her grin still lingering. “But now I’m curious. You can’t just dangle that and not give me something.”

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Jimin said, her tone dropping conspiratorially before breaking into a laugh. “Aeri’s putting in more effort than I’ve ever seen her do for anyone. If you ask me, Yizhuo’s got her hooked. ”

Minjeong laughed even harder, the tension she’d been carrying all day melting away, if only for a moment. The sound of Jimin’s voice, her playful energy, and the ease of their conversation made her feel lighter—like herself again. For now, that was more than enough.

Minjeong took a slow drag from her cigarette, the quiet lingering between them for a moment. The sound of distant traffic hummed in the background, filling the gaps in the conversation.

Jimin let the laughter settle before shifting again. “Are you outside?” she asked.

Minjeong blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change. “…Yeah.”

Jimin’s voice softened. “Possibly smoking?”

Minjeong hesitated, the cigarette still burning between her fingers. She sighed. “Possibly,” she mumbled, guilt gnawing at her chest. Jimin had been the one gently nudging her toward quitting, always reminding her to take it slow.

But Jimin didn’t sound disappointed. If anything, her voice remained steady, even soothing. “It’s okay,” she said simply. “It’s hard to quit.”

Minjeong hummed again, flicking the ashes to the ground.

Jimin shifted slightly on the other end. “Your reunion with your parents… was it tough?” she asked carefully.

The question hung in the air for a moment, met with silence on Minjeong’s end.

Jimin, perceptive as ever, broke the pause gently. “You know,” she said, her tone light but thoughtful, “it seems like going home bothers you. I just wanted to check in.”

Minjeong let out a quiet laugh, trying to mask the discomfort of being so easily read. “Wow, you’re really good at this,” she joked, her voice carrying a playful edge. “Are you secretly psychic or something?”

Jimin laughed along, the sound warm and reassuring. “Not psychic—just observant,” she replied, her tone encouraging. “You can be honest with me, Minjeong. I won’t judge.”

Minjeong sighed, her gaze drifting downward, watching the faint glow of her cigarette’s ember flicker against the dark. She tapped the ashes away absently, the distant hum of passing cars filling the silence.

“It’s… exhausting,” she finally said, the words heavier than she’d meant them to be. “Being home, being around them. I don’t know—it’s like there’s this expectation, this rhythm I have to follow. Smile when I’m supposed to, nod when it’s appropriate. I can do it. I’ve always done it. But sometimes, I wonder if they ever notice how much effort it takes.”

Jimin didn’t respond right away. She let Minjeong’s words settle, as she always did, giving her space to breathe.

Then, gently, “You don’t have to do it alone, you know.”

Minjeong let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I do, though,” she murmured. “It’s easier that way.”

Jimin scoffed lightly. “Easier? You just haven’t let me in yet,” she teased, her voice dipping into that familiar, confident lilt. “I do exceptionally well in making people love my company, you know. Even your family wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You have plans, Jimin,” she reminded her. “Your family has traditions, things you actually enjoy doing. You can’t just drop everything.”

But Jimin was persistent. “I’ll be in my hometown by the afternoon,” she said, unfazed, sending Minjeong her family’s address without hesitation. “So I’ll see you there.”

Minjeong stared at the notification popping up on her screen. “Wait—how are you even getting there?”

Jimin sighed, as if she had expected the question. “Usually, Aeri drives me, but she’s staying in the city a little longer for Yizhuo. So, I’ll be taking the transit.”

Minjeong snorted. “Of course she is.”

Jimin laughed. “Aeri’s making it work. She’ll be driving back and forth for family events until Yizhuo leaves Seoul, so she’s coming to dinner tomorrow with Yizhuo.”

Minjeong hummed, shaking her head lightly at the thought.

“But I wanted to head over earlier to help my mom with preparations,” Jimin continued.

Minjeong hesitated, flicking the cigarette between her fingers, then sighed. “I’ll drive you.”

Jimin was quiet for a beat. “Are you sure?”

Minjeong nodded to herself, her voice steady. “It’s the least I can do since I’m intruding on your family gathering.”

Jimin let out a small laugh, her tone softer now. “You’re not intruding,” she said. “You’re welcome, Minjeong.”

For once, Minjeong didn’t argue. She let the warmth settle, silent but present.

Chapter Text

The morning was crisp, the winter air biting against the windshield as Minjeong breezed down the highway, the hum of the engine steady beneath her. The drive stretched long, the city still two hours away, but she didn’t mind. Not today.

She had woken early, shaking off the remnants of sleep with a harsh gulp of cold black coffee, the bitterness sharp against her tongue. The bakery had been her next stop, its warmth spilling onto the street as she grabbed a few buns—one to keep her stomach occupied on the way, and a couple more for Jimin, just in case. She quickly sent a text to Jimin, informing the student body president that she is on her way. 

Now, the highway stretched open before her, the morning sun barely cresting over the horizon, casting long shadows across the road. Her music played low in the background, filling the empty spaces, just enough to keep her company without overwhelming the quiet.

Her parents had been fine with her taking their old car—beat-up but still running, tucked away in the garage as something she could always use whenever she was home. It wasn’t like she didn’t have a car in the city—her brother-in-law had found her a secondhand one, dirt cheap, just practical enough to get her around when public transit wasn’t ideal. Like the banquet night, when she drove Yizhuo instead of making her suffer through the subway in a dress and heels. Some things just weren’t worth the hassle. She rarely used it, though. Parking in the big city was a scam, expensive and frustrating, and she preferred taking the longer way—transit, even walking, giving her time to breathe.

Yesterday, taking the train home made more sense. She could have asked her father to pick her up, but two hours in and two hours back felt unnecessary. She could have driven herself, but sitting behind the wheel, staying sharp, focusing on the road—it wasn’t what she wanted. Not after the weight of exams, not after barely sleeping, not when she still wasn’t sure how she felt about winter break.

She had needed something passive.

To sit still. To let the train move for her. To zone out, let the city blur past, and not think about what came next.

The solitude of transit had given her space to simply exist—to let the motion carry her while she sorted through the quiet hum of uncertainty in her chest.

Today, though, was different.

The exhaustion wasn’t pressing against her chest anymore. Her thoughts weren’t scattered, lingering in the weight of finals or the uncertainty of break. So having the car to herself felt easier. Just her, the road, and the quiet ease of the drive ahead.

Her fingers tapped idly against the steering wheel as she settled deeper into the drive, the rhythm of the highway lulling her into something calm, something measured.

Two hours.

It wasn’t so bad.

And in the end, she’d have company.

Jimin would be waiting.

Minjeong stepped out of the convenience store, steam curling from the fresh cup of coffee in her hands. She allowed herself the brief pause—a washroom break, a moment to stretch, a second to let the quiet morning settle. As she leaned against the car, sipping her drink, her phone vibrated against the console.

Jimin.

Minjeong unlocked the screen, her gaze sweeping over the incoming messages.

Already? I was under the impression time would be more forgiving. Packing with unmatched urgency now—though I admit, this predicament is largely self-inflicted.

Minjeong exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking her head slightly. Self-awareness is refreshing. You had ample warning.

Jimin fired back instantly.

Warning is only effective if one chooses to acknowledge it. I prefer to ignore reality until it becomes unavoidable.

Minjeong took another sip of her coffee, amusement flickering behind her gaze. A bold approach.

It’s worked for me thus far. Unfortunately, the consequences remain inconvenient.

Minjeong smirked, settling against the car as she typed one last message. Perhaps next time, you should schedule the panic in advance.

Jimin sent an ellipsis. Then, after a beat:

Logistically impossible. But I appreciate the thought.

Minjeong laughed softly, shaking her head as she tucked her phone away.

Jimin could justify her choices all she wanted.

But when Minjeong arrived, the evidence of her method—or lack thereof—would be plain to see.

Minjeong barely had a moment to enjoy the quiet before another notification lit up her screen.

Yizhuo.

She sighed, unlocking her phone, already bracing herself.

So, the message began, slow and deliberate, like Yizhuo was carefully positioning pieces before an inevitable checkmate. You’re attending the esteemed Jimin-Aeri family holiday gathering tonight as well?

Minjeong frowned slightly, typing back. It’s a dinner. You’re making it sound like an exclusive club.

The response was immediate.

Oh, but isn’t it? Years of tradition, families intertwined, deep history… and yet, somehow, you’ve found yourself a seat at the table.

Minjeong exhaled slowly, taking a sip of her coffee. I’m driving Jimin. That’s all.

Ah, yes, Yizhuo typed back, smugness practically dripping through the screen. The chauffeur narrative. Convenient, but unconvincing.

Minjeong chuckled, shaking her head. You spend too much time crafting narratives.

Another beat. Then:

I don’t create narratives. I merely highlight the most compelling details.

Minjeong sighed, rubbing her temple.

This was going to be a long night.

And knowing Yizhuo, she was only getting started.

Minjeong didn’t bother dignifying Yizhuo’s latest message with a response. She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat, fingers flexing briefly against the steering wheel before settling back into the drive.

The two hours passed as they always did—predictable, unremarkable. The highway stretched long before bleeding into the outskirts, then into the familiar corridors of the city. She knew the roads, the exits, the rhythm of traffic.

But none of it felt like returning.

She didn’t shift in her seat at the sight of the skyline. Didn’t linger on the towering buildings or the streets winding between them. It was just another destination.

She had been moving through places for too long—her hometown, the city, every space in between. The sensation of arriving somewhere had dulled into routine, any sense of belonging thinning with each trip back and forth.

She drove through the streets like she always did, unfazed, unthinking.

By the time she pulled into visitor parking outside Jimin’s apartment, the movement had already settled into something familiar—just another stop, just another point along a path.

She shut off the engine, letting the quiet settle before reaching for her phone. Jimin’s messages were waiting, frantic as expected, but Minjeong ignored them in favor of sending her own.

Heading up now.

Jimin’s reply was instant.

Noooo, wait, stay in the parking lot for a sec.

Minjeong rolled her eyes, stepping out of the car. Not happening.

You have no patience.

Minjeong smirked, locking the car as she typed back. I operate on efficiency. You should try it sometime.

Jimin sent an immediate response.

Efficiency is a flawed metric.

Minjeong stepped into the building, the familiar hum of the lobby settling around her.

The concierge glanced up as she approached, his smile easy, familiar. “You always find your way back here.”

Minjeong huffed a quiet laugh, stopping briefly by the counter. “It’s hardly a challenge.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Still, Jimin never seems to mind you showing up.”

Minjeong exhaled, tapping her fingers lightly against the counter before pushing off. “Not my fault she keeps letting it happen,” she murmured, the corner of her mouth tugging upward—just barely.

The concierge hummed, amused. “Seems like she enjoys having you around.”

The exchange settled easily between them—natural, familiar, like a conversation they’d had before in different variations.

No questions. No hesitation.

She reached the elevators, pressing the button with the same absent-minded ease she always did, fingers resting against the panel like they had so many times before.

She exhaled slowly, slipping her phone from her pocket.

Jimin’s messages had continued in her absence, frantic yet predictable.

Are you actually coming up right now?

Minjeong smirked, typing back.

Would you prefer I submit a formal request to the student council first?

Jimin fired back instantly.

You’re interfering with the democratic process.

Minjeong laughed, shaking her head. I believe it’s called keeping the president accountable.

The elevator doors slid open.

She had made this trip before.

But tonight, she wasn’t just dropping by.

She was invited.

She made her way up to Jimin’s apartment floor, ringing the doorbell before hearing a frantic shuffle inside.

A beat later, the door swung open to reveal a slightly frazzled Jimin—hair still puffed from too much running around, her sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder, and behind her? A complete disaster zone. Clothes were strewn across the living room, half-packed bags sitting open, shoes mismatched and tossed aside like an afterthought.

Jimin pouted, crossing her arms. “You’re early,” she accused, her voice dipping into playful exasperation.

Minjeong barely reacted, simply shrugging. “I came to help you pack.”

Jimin twisted her body slightly, attempting—poorly—to shield the mess behind her. “I was packing. I just wanted to plan my outfits accordingly,” she justified, though the embarrassment was evident in the way she fidgeted.

Minjeong raised a brow, glancing past her toward the chaos. “Right,” she said, unimpressed.

Jimin sighed, giving up on shielding the mess entirely. “Fine. Since you’re here, you might as well help with choosing my outfits.”

Minjeong nodded, already pulling a bakery bag from under her arm. “Did you eat yet?” she asked, handing it over.

Jimin blinked at the offering, then took it with a quiet, appreciative sigh. “You really know how to keep me alive,” she muttered, tearing off a piece of a bun before shuffling back toward the mess.

Jimin chewed absentmindedly as she scanned the mess in front of her. She sighed dramatically. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Minjeong settled onto the floor beside her, picking up a rogue sock and flicking it back into the pile. “The part where you put things in a suitcase usually helps.”

Jimin shot her a look. “You’re hilarious.”

Minjeong smirked, reaching for the nearest sweater—a bright pink fuzzy thing that was somehow soft and overwhelming at the same time. She lifted it up between her fingers. “This is bold.”

Jimin scoffed, snatching it from her grip. “What? It’s warm.”

Minjeong hummed, unconvinced. “Warm and aggressively pink.”

Jimin narrowed her eyes, folding the sweater dramatically and setting it beside her. “I need options.” She sifted through another pile before pulling out a brown turtleneck. “This is safer.”

Minjeong glanced at it, then at Jimin. “Very professional. Maybe you’ll give off CEO energy.”

Jimin groaned, flopping backward onto the carpet. “This is stressful .”

Minjeong chuckled, nudging Jimin’s knee with her own. “Here.” She sifted through the mess before pulling out a black wool quarter-zip, a white t-shirt peeking out from underneath, paired with comfortable jeans. She held it up with little fanfare. “Try this.”

Jimin blinked, sitting up slightly.

She took the outfit from Minjeong’s hands, turning the sweater over in thought.

“…It’s kind of nice.”

Minjeong smirked. “Told you.”

Jimin sighed, running a hand through her hair before looking over at her. “Fine. You get one good decision tonight.”

Minjeong raised a brow. “One is all I need.”

Jimin rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at her lips as she set the outfit aside, finally making a dent in the chaos around her.

Jimin huffed, tossing the outfit onto the growing pile of “approved” clothes. “Anyway, now that you’ve exercised your one good decision for the night—” she paused, diving into the mess again before resurfacing with something truly horrific.

Minjeong blinked. “Oh. Wow. ”

Jimin grinned, holding up an ugly Christmas sweater so offensively textured that Minjeong almost recoiled. Half of a Christmas tree stuck out from the fabric, complete with miniature ornaments dangling precariously, and at the center of it all, a reindeer’s nose jutted forward like a permanent fixture.

Minjeong let out a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “You actually wear these in public?”

Jimin scoffed, flipping the sweater dramatically over her shoulder. “It’s tradition. Christmas Eve only.” She gestured at the pile of similarly horrifying sweaters she had apparently curated. “I take it very seriously.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, still staring at the reindeer sweater like it had personally offended her. “Where do you even find these?”

Jimin grinned, crossing her arms smugly. “Second hand stores have everything. You wouldn’t believe the things people willingly part with.”

Minjeong hummed, amused. “I think I would.”

Jimin tossed the sweater onto the bed with a satisfied nod before looking back at Minjeong. “But hey,” she added with an exaggerated smirk, “if you wanted to wear one to dinner tonight, I wouldn’t stop you.”

Minjeong scoffed. “Not a chance.”

Jimin laughed, nudging her playfully. “Shame. You could’ve made a statement.”

The conversation settled into something easy, effortless. The apartment quieted as Jimin continued sifting through clothes, the playful energy from earlier settling into something softer.

Minjeong stayed on the couch, folding stray shirts while Jimin disappeared into her bedroom.

A beat later, Jimin stepped out wearing a silver shimmering dress—short, playful, catching the light with every slight movement. She turned slightly, adjusting the fabric with practiced ease. “Aeri and I are matching for New Year’s,” she said casually.

Minjeong barely reacted, offering only a glance before returning to her task, fingers smoothing over a wrinkle in a sweater.

Jimin huffed, disappearing again.

Another moment passed before she returned, slipping into a black silk maxi dress—smooth, understated. The fabric draped elegantly over her frame, hugging just enough in the right places, the simplicity carrying a quiet kind of grace.

Minjeong froze, fingers still resting lightly over the fabric she’d been folding.

Jimin adjusted the straps slightly, turning toward her expectantly.

Minjeong’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. She blinked once, then twice, before forcing herself to exhale, posture shifting ever so subtly—leaning back against the couch as if to make her reaction seem casual.

Minjeong’s fingers stalled over the fabric she’d been folding.

She blinked. Then quickly looked away. A deliberate inhale, a slow exhale.

Still avoiding Jimin entirely, she picked up a stray sweater, smoothing it out as if it suddenly needed immaculate attention. “That… looks nice.” Her voice was level, but the way she adjusted the hem twice betrayed her.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, watching her. “Just nice?”

Minjeong nodded—sharp, firm, too definitive—still not looking. “What’s this one for?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Jimin hummed, running her fingers over the silk. “I actually bought it just for fun,” she admitted, smiling slightly to herself as she turned toward the mirror, adjusting the straps. “Didn’t have a reason when I got it, but now... It’ll be perfect for the winter hospital banquet.”

Minjeong hummed in response, far quieter than intended.

Jimin caught it instantly, lips twitching in amusement.

She let the silence hang just long enough before turning toward the doorway, throwing a glance over her shoulder as she walked back into her room.

“Oh, and don’t forget,” she teased, voice light but unmistakably pleased. “You’re my arm candy for that night.”

Minjeong nearly fumbled the sweater in her hands, snapping her head toward her with an incredulous look, but Jimin was already gone.

She exhaled, pressing her knuckles against her forehead, shaking her head to herself before returning to folding.

Minjeong let out a quiet breath as she set the last suitcase into the trunk, surveying the luggage situation with mild amusement. More than one suitcase for two weeks—of course.

She’d already crossed paths with the concierge multiple times now, each trip to the car marked by some kind of teasing remark.

And right on cue—

“You moving in somewhere else?” the concierge called from his desk, watching as she passed by once again.

Minjeong shot him a look. “Moving out of this building would be a nightmare. Wouldn’t miss you, though.”

The concierge laughed, shaking his head. “Careful, I might forget to buzz you in next time.”

Minjeong smirked. “Jimin wouldn’t let you.”

She turned back toward the elevator, making her way up for the final trip.

Stepping into the apartment, she found Jimin standing near the door, backpack straps secured over both shoulders, ready to go.

And smiling—bright, easy.

Something softened at the sight.

Minjeong didn’t even think about it when she broke into a quiet smile in return, shaking her head slightly before moving to gather the last few stray things—a scarf tossed over the chair, a charger nearly left behind.

Jimin slung her backpack higher, nodding toward the door. “Ready?”

Minjeong hummed, tossing the scarf over Jimin’s shoulder without a word before leading them out.

Back downstairs, the concierge perked up immediately.

“Well, if it isn’t the VIP herself,” he greeted, eyes twinkling as he finally got to direct his teasing toward Jimin.

Jimin scoffed but played along. “Should I start paying extra for all the personal attention?”

Minjeong smirked, tossing a glance between them. “I already carry her bags. She’s getting way too comfortable.”

Jimin gasped dramatically. “And here I thought I was the best travel company you could ask for.”

The concierge laughed. “Better hope she doesn’t leave you behind.”

Jimin turned, walking toward the car with exaggerated purpose. “She wouldn’t dare.”

Minjeong let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head before catching up, waves goodbye to the concierge and loading the last few things in before slipping into the driver’s seat.

Jimin settled in beside her, letting her backpack sit on her lap before exhaling, shoulders sinking slightly into the seat.

A beat of silence.

Minjeong glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “Ready?”

Jimin smiled, fastening her seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

The ride was quiet, calming—the kind that settled easily between them, needing no real conversation to fill the space.

Jimin leaned back, tapping through her music app, skipping tracks until she landed on one she liked. She hummed softly, letting it play before glancing at Minjeong. “Have you heard this one?”

Minjeong spared her a glance before returning her focus to the road. “Can’t say I have.”

Jimin perked up, already prepared to explain why it was a masterpiece. “It’s got that melancholy-but-weirdly-warm thing going for it,” she mused. “Like the kind of song you’d play when on a long drive.”

Minjeong hummed, nodding along as the chorus played. “Fits the mood, I guess.”

Jimin smiled, satisfied enough with the approval.

They coasted forward in companionable silence until the car jolted lightly over a speed bump.

From the back, one of Jimin’s suitcases shifted, making an unfortunate thunk against the trunk wall.

Minjeong chuckled. “If you actually did end up carpooling with Aeri, I’d pay good money to see how you two would cram all your luggage in one car.”

Jimin let out a dramatic sigh. “She’s just as bad as me. Worse, maybe.”

Minjeong smirked. “Would there even be space for Yizhuo?”

Jimin huffed. “Oh, Aeri would make space for Yizhuo. Probably kick me out of the car instead.”

Minjeong laughed, shaking her head. “No loyalty.”

Jimin crossed her arms, leaning against the window. “Terrible, honestly.”

Silence stretched again—easy, familiar.

Jimin tapped through a few more songs, letting the background music fill the space.

Eventually, she spoke again, tone softer this time. “I don’t mind driving in the city. Short trips are fine.”

Minjeong glanced at her briefly before focusing back on the road. “But this?”

Jimin sighed, shifting slightly. “Long distances make me zone out too much. I don’t trust myself for road trips.”

Minjeong hummed in understanding, waiting for her to continue.

“I usually take transit. Or wait for Aeri to drive if I really need a ride home,” Jimin admitted. “But she’s got plans with Yizhuo right now, and I need to get home to help with dinner. Figured I couldn’t really wait this time.”

Minjeong nodded, glancing at her again. “Convenient that I exist, then.”

Jimin snorted. “Oh, absolutely.”

She stretched her arms slightly before settling back into her seat, tapping at her playlist again.

“…Though now that I think about it,” Jimin mused, a smirk curling at the edges of her lips, “if I really did get kicked out of the car, would you be coming to rescue me?”

Minjeong scoffed. “You think I’d drive all the way to pick up a stranded Aeri reject?”

Jimin gasped, scandalized. “I am your banquet arm candy! Show some respect!”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, though the laughter was unmistakable in her voice. “Fine. But I expect a formal plea for help.”

Jimin grinned. “Don’t tempt me.”

The car rolled to a stop in front of Jimin’s house—a familiar sight, homey in a way that mirrored Minjeong’s own. A two-story structure tucked in the quiet of the suburbs, its front lawn dusted with remnants of last night’s snow, soft against the porch steps.

Jimin broke into a smile, barely waiting before pushing open the car door. Excitement thrummed through her, steps light as she moved toward the house—but she paused, lingering just enough to let Minjeong catch up.

When Minjeong reached her side, Jimin reached for her hand, fingers curling around hers with an easy squeeze.

Her smile softened. “They’re going to love you,” she murmured, voice assured, steady.

Minjeong exhaled, glancing toward the house.

Jimin squeezed her hand again, a quiet reassurance settling between them. “Especially when they find out you’re staying for dinner.”

Minjeong huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Is that supposed to help?”

Jimin grinned, tugging her forward. “Definitely.”

The warmth stretched between them, easy and familiar, as they stepped toward the front door.

The house was covered in pictures—framed on the walls, tucked onto shelves, scattered across the side tables.

Minjeong took them in as they walked, the familiar sight of an only child’s memories woven into every frame. Some showed Jimin as a baby, grinning with a chubby face; others displayed school events, birthdays, family vacations—all moments frozen, captured through the years.

The house felt like Jimin.

Jimin barely gave her time to linger, tugging Minjeong toward the kitchen where warmth and the smell of home-cooked food greeted them.

Her mother stood by the counter, stirring something in a pot, the faint scent of simmering broth filling the air.

When she turned, Minjeong caught the resemblance immediately—Jimin was her mother’s spitting image. Same sharp eyes, same easy smile.

Minjeong bowed slightly, offering a polite smile.

Jimin’s mother’s face lit up. “I’m so glad Jimin brought a friend,” she said warmly. “She sounded excited over the phone.”

Jimin huffed, leaning against the counter. “Not that excited.”

Her mother waved her off. “Enough for me to hear it.”

She returned to stirring the pot before adding, “Aeri’s bringing a friend too. Her mother was telling me all about it during last week’s dinner.”

Jimin groaned, reaching out to lightly swat her mother’s arm. “You two gossip so much.”

Her mother chuckled, completely unfazed. “Mothers like to stay informed.”

Minjeong smirked slightly, listening to their easy back-and-forth.

As Jimin started rolling up her sleeves, Minjeong instinctively moved toward the counter, eyes scanning the prep. She reached for an apron without a word, slipping it on while grabbing a knife from the rack.

Jimin’s mother raised an eyebrow, pleased. “You cook?”

Minjeong nodded, adjusting the apron. “Survival skills.”

Jimin scoffed, setting down a cutting board beside her. “That is such an understatement.” She glanced at Minjeong, amused. “She cooks really well. Sometimes I try to help, but I just get lectured about doing things properly. ”

Minjeong huffed, grabbing a handful of vegetables. “Because you never do it properly.”

Jimin groaned dramatically. “Chopping slightly uneven doesn’t mean disaster.”

Her mother laughed, shaking her head. “Good. That means she won’t let you slack off.”

Minjeong smirked, nudging Jimin’s elbow playfully. “That’s the plan.”

Jimin sighed in defeat but kept chopping, the kitchen filling with quiet conversation, the rhythm of home settling comfortably between them.

Jimin’s mother stirred the mashed potatoes with slow, deliberate movements, her expression subtly thoughtful. Though the scent was familiar—warm, buttery—something about the texture made her hesitate.

“They taste fine,” she murmured, as if trying to convince herself.

She scooped up a spoonful, turning toward Minjeong. “Try this.”

Minjeong blinked before leaning forward slightly, taking the offered bite.

She hummed thoughtfully as she let the flavor settle, recognizing the richness but also noting the slight flatness in depth.

“Chives would help,” she said finally. “Adds fragrance and a little texture.”

Jimin perked up, already moving toward the fridge. “We have—” she paused, scanning the shelves. “…Wait, no, we don’t have chives.”

Minjeong was already untying her apron. “I’ll grab some from the store.”

Jimin straightened. “I’ll go with—”

Minjeong shook her head before Jimin could finish, her expression easy but firm. “Stay. Spend some time with your mom.”

Jimin hesitated for half a second—long enough for her mother to reach out, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder before giving her a playful nudge forward.

“If you’re going to be a good host,” she teased, eyes twinkling, “you should at least show her around properly.”

Jimin scoffed, crossing her arms. “You just want me out of the kitchen.”

Her mother smirked, returning to the pot. “That too.”

Minjeong chuckled softly, slipping her coat over her shoulders. “Come on then, local guide.”

Jimin sighed, grabbing her jacket as she followed her out.

Jimin lingered near the aisle, watching as Minjeong moved through the shelves with practiced ease.

At first, it was just the chives. Simple. Straightforward.

But then—cheese, thinly sliced prosciutto, crackers, nuts. Ingredients for a charcuterie board, planned out like second nature.

Jimin’s brows furrowed, amused. She stepped forward, looping her arm around Minjeong’s, resting her chin lightly against her shoulder. “You don’t need to prepare anything for tonight,” she murmured.

Minjeong shook her head, eyes still scanning the shelves. “It’s the least I can do. I’m intruding.”

Jimin let out a quiet breath, shifting slightly closer, voice softer now. “You’re not intruding,” she said, firm but easy. “I want you here.”

Minjeong blinked, fingers hesitating over a box of crackers.

She exhaled, a small shift in her posture—just enough to acknowledge the words, letting them settle before she continued shopping, Jimin’s arm still comfortably linked with hers.

Their movements were a little restricted, steps slightly slowed, but neither of them seemed to mind. The warmth was steady, constant.

By the time they reached checkout, the grocery store was aglow with festive decorations—garlands draped across the ceiling, strings of warm white lights intertwined with wreaths.

The fresh scent of pine lingered in the air, mixing with the familiar smell of farm produce neatly displayed near the entrance.

Minjeong’s gaze flickered over the register, then toward the floral section.

Her fingers ghosted over a bouquet—soft winter hues, delicate but full.

Without a word, she picked it up.

Jimin glanced at her, something fond playing at the edges of her expression, but said nothing.

She simply tightened her arm around Minjeong’s arm, lingering in the quiet moment as they moved forward to pay.

The drive back carried the quiet lull of familiarity, the gentle rhythm of the road weaving effortlessly into the space between them.

Jimin sat comfortably, scrolling through her phone absentmindedly, but her attention kept flickering—drawn not to the soft hum of the radio or the city lights passing by, but to the back seat.

More specifically, to the bouquet resting there among the grocery bags.

She craned her neck slightly, stealing glances through the side mirror, lips pressing together like she was biting back a question.

At first, it was a fleeting glance—just a quick flick of her eyes before turning back toward the window.

Then another.

And another.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, she was fidgeting , fingers absentmindedly smoothing over the sleeve of her coat.

She wanted to ask. Needed to ask.

But instead of blurting it out, she bit her lip, holding back the bubbling excitement.

The moment Minjeong pulled into the driveway, Jimin unbuckled quickly, pushing open the door with practiced ease.

She turned to the backseat, already reaching for the bags, but hesitated—eyes flicking once again toward the bouquet.

“…You bought flowers.”

Minjeong hummed as she unbuckled her seatbelt, her tone light. “Seemed fitting.”

Jimin lingered by the trunk, lips pressing together like she was holding back a grin.

“For—?”

Minjeong glanced at her, amusement barely flickering in her eyes. “Just grab the door.”

Jimin huffed quietly, but didn’t push further, stepping ahead to unlock the house.

Still, her eyes remained on the bouquet, curiosity simmering beneath her silence.

The house felt instantly warmer the moment they stepped inside—but this time, another presence greeted them.

Jimin barely had time to tug off her coat before strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a firm embrace.

Her father.

The hug was solid—an undeniably fatherly kind, filled with the quiet reassurance of time and familiarity.

Jimin sank into it briefly, breathing him in, the scent of fresh air and lingering cologne settling over her before she pulled away, exhaling softly.

Then, his gaze shifted.

Landing on Minjeong.

Minjeong straightened instinctively, offering a polite bow to Jimin’s father in greeting.

But as she bent slightly, adjusting the grocery bags in her grip, a few items slipped loose. A quiet thud echoed as they hit the floor.

Jimin, ever observant, barely held back a giggle, biting her lip as Minjeong scrambled to gather them up.

The noise was enough to draw Jimin’s mother to the entryway, peeking out from the kitchen, her expression already curious.

But before she could step in to help, Jimin’s father moved forward, gesturing lightly. “I’ve got it.”

Minjeong, however, had already crouched down, fingers quick and deliberate as she swept the fallen items back into the bags.

Jimin stepped forward too, instinctively prepared to help—but before she could move, Minjeong’s voice came, soft but firm. “I’ve got it.”

Jimin exchanged a glance with her mother—one filled with quiet amusement, both of them rolling their eyes.

Not just at Minjeong.

But at Jimin’s father, too.

Because of course he stepped in before his wife could.

And of course Minjeong wouldn’t let Jimin do the labor, either.

Their insistence—their responsibility—played out the same way.

Familiar. Unspoken.

Still, Jimin’s father easily picked up what remained, slipping them back into the bags.

Minjeong, hands firm over the straps, hesitated slightly as he reached for them, her quiet stubbornness showing in the way her fingers didn’t fully let go.

“I can handle it,” she murmured, assured but respectful.

Jimin’s father exhaled, amused, before patting her back—firm but not forceful. “You’re too stiff, kid.”

And then—finally—he broke into a smile.

“I’ll bring these into the kitchen,” he added, lifting the bags with ease.

But before stepping away, his gaze flickered to Minjeong’s grip—specifically, to the bouquet.

Minjeong’s hands were wrapped around the stems, fingers curled just a little too tightly, as if they belonged to her in a way she wasn’t quite ready to explain.

Jimin’s father tilted his head slightly, observant.

“…You’re holding onto that pretty tight.”

Jimin, still beside Minjeong, straightened, warmth creeping onto her face.

Minjeong, seemingly unaware of the growing attention on her, adjusted her grip ever so slightly—but still didn’t let go.

The quiet stretched, anticipation threading through the moment.

Minjeong barely hesitated.

With practiced ease, she turned, shifting the bouquet in her hands before extending it forward—direct, unbothered.

To Jimin’s mother.

Jimin’s breath hitched.

She stared , warmth creeping up her neck as realization struck almost too quickly.

The flowers weren’t for her.

She had spent the entire grocery run— the entire drive home —thinking they were.

Her mother, oblivious to the emotional crisis unfolding beside her, lit up, taking the bouquet with delighted hands. “Oh, how lovely!”

Jimin barely registered her words, still processing.

Minjeong, unaffected, adjusted her coat and glanced toward the kitchen. “They suit you,” she murmured simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jimin blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Her body felt unusually stiff, heat creeping from her neck to her ears as she struggled to compose herself.

Minjeong was already slipping past her, calm, unbothered, as if she hadn’t just shattered Jimin’s entire assumption in one effortless motion.

Jimin’s mother cradled the bouquet with fond appreciation, already stepping toward the dining table to find a vase, humming softly.

Jimin opened her mouth, then closed it.

It wasn’t that she wanted the flowers.

It was that—well— why had she thought they were for her in the first place?

A ridiculous assumption.

One that Minjeong had neither confirmed nor denied, yet had effortlessly unraveled with a single action.

Jimin exhaled sharply, rubbing at her temple, trying to shake off the weight of her own thoughts.

Her father, still standing nearby, chuckled. “Did you think they were for you?”

Jimin groaned . “Please.”

Minjeong, already halfway toward the kitchen, glanced over with mild curiosity. “You good?”

Jimin shot her a glare, but Minjeong only blinked—genuinely oblivious, as if she hadn’t just unknowingly tossed Jimin into emotional turmoil.

Jimin groaned again, this time more dramatic, before stomping toward the kitchen.

It wasn’t worth dwelling on.

But she would dwell on it.

For a little while longer.

Jimin tried to move on.

Really, she did.

But as the hours passed, as the kitchen filled with the familiar scent of baking apples, caramelized sugar, and warm cinnamon, she kept catching glimpses of the bouquet—nestled in a vase on the dining table, standing proudly where her mother had placed it with careful affection.

Minjeong, meanwhile, had seamlessly fallen into step beside Jimin’s mother, assisting with the finishing touches on dinner.

Apple tarts were the final task.

The dough had already been rolled, the filling prepared, and as Minjeong worked alongside Jimin’s mother, their movements carried the easy rhythm of practiced hands—brushing on egg wash, sprinkling sugar with effortless precision.

Jimin had wanted to help, but she still felt vaguely betrayed by reality, so instead she loitered by the counter, snacking on stray apple slices, staring at nothing in particular.

By the time everything was ready, Jimin’s mother clapped her hands together, smiling. “Alright, you two, go freshen up. Ryujin and Aeri’s families will be here soon.”

Jimin stretched, finally pushing off the counter. “Guess that means I need to look as put together as people expect me to be.”

Minjeong wiped flour from her hands, tilting her head slightly. “You’re always put together.”

Jimin scoffed, nudging her lightly. “Finally, some respect.”

Minjeong smirked. “Not really.”

Jimin groaned but laughed anyway, shaking her head as she stepped toward the hallway.

As they made their way upstairs, Jimin’s father leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity.

“Is Minjeong staying over?” he asked, tone casual.

Jimin paused.

She turned slightly toward Minjeong, expecting a quick answer—only to find her hesitating.

Minjeong blinked, glancing between them, caught off guard by the question.

Her fingers twitched slightly at her side. “I—”

Jimin’s father waved off the uncertainty before she could answer. “It’s better if you do. You know how these gatherings go—they always last longer than expected.”

Then, with a knowing smirk, he added, “Besides, Ryujin’s dad just got back from California. He’ll bring good wine. Safe bet is for you to try it and stay here.”

Minjeong blinked again, the logic unfolding faster than she could process.

Jimin huffed a quiet laugh. “See? You’ve already been claimed for the night.”

Minjeong exhaled, amused but resigned. “…Guess so.”

Jimin’s father nodded in approval, stepping aside to let them pass, his presence lingering just enough to remind Minjeong that she was, undeniably, part of the space now.

Minjeong ran a hand through her hair absentmindedly, exhaling as she tugged the hem of her crew neck into place.

She knew how these gatherings went—loud, warm, comfortable in a way that was second nature to the people who belonged here.

She just wasn’t sure if she did.

Jimin, however, was completely at ease, humming softly as she stepped out of the washroom, shaking her straightened hair loose from where it had settled over her shoulders.

The strands were sleek now, all traces of morning frizz smoothed away—nothing like the chaos of last-minute packing and moving things around earlier.

Her sweater hung loosely over her frame, the soft white knit cozy against the black leggings she’d paired underneath. Her knee-high socks stretched snugly over them, the kind of outfit that looked effortless but still somehow put together .

Minjeong glanced down at her own clothes.

She had spent the entire day in a fitted white t-shirt, anticipating sweat from carrying luggage earlier. Only now had she pulled on her navy blue knitted crew neck—a deliberate choice, clean and fresh for the evening ahead.

Still, even dressed for the occasion, even standing in the space like she had always belonged, she felt the weight of something uncertain settle in her chest.

More people.

More unfamiliar faces.

More chances for someone to look at her and wonder why she was here.

Jimin stretched, tilting her head slightly as she turned toward Minjeong, catching something in the way her fingers lingered on the hem of her sleeve.

A pause.

Then, lightly, casually—“You ready?”

Minjeong swallowed, fingers curling slightly into the fabric at her wrist.

Jimin didn’t rush her, didn’t pry.

She just waited .

And for some reason, that made it easier.

Jimin stepped forward, closing the space between them as she reached for Minjeong’s hands.

Her grip was firm but gentle, fingers curling securely around Minjeong’s own as she offered a reassuring squeeze.

The warmth of her touch settled over Minjeong’s skin, grounding, steady.

Jimin’s smile softened. “I know this isn’t your thing.”

Minjeong exhaled, something small flickering across her face—acknowledgment, quiet understanding.

Jimin’s smile widened slightly. “But I really appreciate you being here.”

Minjeong swallowed, watching the way Jimin’s expression carried nothing but certainty.

Jimin squeezed her hands again. “Yizhuo and I are here. You can rely on us.”

Minjeong nodded once, almost instinctively, before lifting a hand—fingers brushing through Jimin’s hair, smoothing out the strands delicately.

Jimin leaned into the touch without thinking, eyes fluttering briefly before settling on Minjeong again.

Minjeong’s voice was quieter now. “I don’t want you spending the whole night worrying about me.”

Jimin chuckled, shaking her head. “Silly.”

Her fingers caught Minjeong’s hand, holding it gently, pressing it against her cheek.

Her skin was soft beneath Minjeong’s palm, warmth seeping through, familiar in a way that made Minjeong’s breath hitch.

A flicker—an echo of something distant but unshaken.

The last party.

The same position.

Minjeong’s hand against Jimin’s cheek, Jimin holding onto it like she needed it.

Her head leaning ever so slightly toward the touch, like it was second nature.

Minjeong’s fingers curled, just faintly.

Her eyes darkened a fraction, gaze flickering—downward, just briefly.

The soft curve of Jimin’s lips.

Then back up.

Jimin held her gaze, searching, waiting.

The air between them felt heavier now—not overwhelming, not suffocating, but charged .

Something unspoken hovered between them.

Something inevitable.

Chapter Text

The murmur of voices drifted through the house, soft but unmistakable, threading through the walls like a quiet signal that the night was shifting—pulling them forward whether they were ready or not.

Footsteps followed, steady, familiar, a rhythm of movement that pressed them toward inevitability.

Minjeong barely moved at first.

She lingered, caught in the weight of the moment they had built between them, the silence wrapping around her like a fragile thread.

Jimin exhaled lightly, her grip still wrapped around Minjeong’s hands, fingers curling just faintly before she let go.

Not all at once.

Slowly.

A quiet reassurance laced through the motion—like she understood even this had to be done gently, like she was giving Minjeong time to hold onto something before it slipped away.

Then—

Her mother’s voice carried up from downstairs, cutting through the hush of hesitation with effortless certainty.

“Aeri and Yizhuo are here! Come down and greet your friends!”

Minjeong’s breath caught—just briefly—as the weight of the moment unraveled.

Then, reality returned.

Her fingers, still resting against Jimin’s face, twitched slightly before slowly retreating, the warmth lingering even as the distance settled between them.

Jimin watched her, expression steady, a quiet reassurance threading through her presence.

Then—she smiled.

Gentle. Patient.

Without hesitation, she reached for Minjeong’s wrist, a light tug—a wordless gesture toward the door.

Minjeong inhaled, schooling herself quickly, smoothing out the flicker of hesitation before offering a smile of her own.

It wasn’t forced.

It wasn’t entirely effortless, either.

But it was there.

And with that, she turned, stepping forward, heading downstairs to greet her friends.

By the time they reached the front hall, Aeri was already slipping inside, shaking off the cold, eyes bright with familiarity, like she had never really been away.

“Finally,” she huffed, rolling her shoulders before pulling Jimin into a hug—one of those effortless ones, where she fit against her like it was second nature.

She pulled back just enough to pat Jimin’s cheek, her expression playfully exaggerated. “Miss me?”

Jimin scoffed. “Not even a little.”

Aeri gasped dramatically. “How dare you.”

Minjeong snorted, watching as Aeri pivoted smoothly, turning toward her next with a quick but warm side hug, casual but carrying the same ease—the kind that made it clear she wasn’t a stranger here.

Jimin did the same for Yizhuo—who, up until now, had been minding her business, simply taking in the atmosphere.

But the second her gaze landed on Minjeong, her lips curled, amusement flickering instantly.

Minjeong barely had time to brace herself.

She already regretted coming downstairs.

“Well, look at you,” Yizhuo mused, arms crossing, tone dripping with mischief. “You must’ve really missed me.”

Minjeong exhaled slowly, steadying herself. “…What?”

Yizhuo tilted her head, the smirk deepening, knowing exactly what she was doing. “I mean, driving all the way from your parents’ house, then back to the city, then here? Just to have dinner with me ?”

Minjeong blinked once.

Twice.

Then sighed, shaking her head as if it were some grand, tragic truth.

“You got me,” she muttered, dropping her shoulders in mock defeat. “I missed you so much, I went through all those extra steps just to see you again.”

Yizhuo grinned, victorious, ready to say something else —but before she could push her luck, Aeri clapped a hand lightly against Minjeong’s shoulder, seamlessly shifting the conversation.

“Thanks for taking care of Jimin, by the way,” she said, casual but genuine.

Minjeong blinked, refocusing. “Huh?”

Aeri shrugged, lips twitching faintly. “I mean, I wouldn’t have trusted her to make the trip home alone—she’s a bit clumsy.”

Jimin gasped, jaw dropping. “ Excuse me ?”

Aeri barely spared her a glance, utterly unbothered. “I know you, President.”

Jimin groaned, nudging her playfully before turning toward the house, muttering under her breath. “I hate you.”

Minjeong shook her head, but followed anyway—already bracing herself for whatever other nonsense Yizhuo was about to pull before the night even fully started.

Yizhuo leaned in again towards Minjeong, eyes flickering with far too much amusement for someone who had just been given an inch.

Minjeong sighed, already exasperated. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, but I must,” Yizhuo continued, resting her elbow against Minjeong’s shoulder, grinning in a way that made it very clear she was not about to let this go. “You really went out of your way, huh? Parents’ house, city, then here?”

She tilted her head slightly. “Almost like something was worth the trip.”

Minjeong narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “This is not about you.”

Yizhuo hummed, pleased with herself. “No? Could’ve sworn I was the reason.”

Then—without hesitation—she shot Minjeong a pointed, deliberate glance before nudging her, not so gently.

Not toward herself .

Toward Jimin.

Minjeong felt the implication before Yizhuo could even say it outright.

The teasing had run its course, lingering for just a moment before Yizhuo finally let it go with a quiet exhale.

Then—without hesitation—she looped an arm around Minjeong’s shoulders, tugging her in close, resting their foreheads together for just a second—a grounding touch, familiar and steady.

Her voice dropped lower, softer now, threading past the amusement.

“How was last night?” she asked, quieter this time, the mischief fading.

Minjeong exhaled, settling into the shift.

“Manageable,” she murmured.

Yizhuo hummed, watching her for a beat longer, then nudged her lightly.

“I meant to FaceTime you,” she admitted. “Got caught up—but I should’ve called. I wanted to.”

Minjeong gave her a small look, not annoyed, just understanding.

“You don’t have to check in all the time,” she said simply. “I can handle myself.”

Then—just barely holding back a smirk—

“Besides… I know you’ve got someone else keeping you busy.”

Yizhuo narrowed her eyes, catching the shift immediately.

Minjeong barely moved, just glanced sideways.

Just briefly.

Toward Aeri.

A slow, deliberate signal.

A knowing tease.

Because they both knew exactly why Yizhuo had been too preoccupied to check in last night.

With a certain law student.

Yizhuo scoffed, shaking her head.

“You think you’re funny.”

Minjeong shrugged, utterly unbothered.

“I am .”

While Yizhuo and Minjeong whispered amongst themselves—words barely audible between teasing nudges and sidelong glances—Aeri and Jimin mirrored them effortlessly, locked into conversation like they hadn’t just seen each other yesterday.

Their voices, familiar and quick, overlapped in easy rhythm, catching up on things neither of them had actually missed but still talked about like they were life-changing.

Then—Jimin’s mother entered the hall, warmth radiating through her presence before she even spoke.

The second she saw Aeri, she smiled, stretching her arms wide as if the girl hadn’t been part of their family for years already.

“There she is,” Jimin’s mother mused, pulling Aeri in like it was instinct. “You’re looking too good—haven’t seen you in a while.”

Aeri grinned, squeezing back before pulling away just enough to meet Jimin’s mother’s gaze.

“Well,” she started, voice coated in that signature charm, “I actually skipped stopping by my own parents just to see you first.”

Jimin’s mother scoffed, immediately swatting her arm. “You’re such a suck-up.”

Aeri gasped dramatically. “That’s rude .”

“Accurate,” Jimin muttered under her breath, earning a glare.

Before Aeri could retort, Jimin’s father entered, exhaling deeply as he took in the scene.

“Sweet-talker, huh?” he mused, eyebrows raising as he glanced toward Aeri.

Aeri straightened, ready to argue her case.

But he waved her off with a grin. “Nah, that tracks. That lawyer charm—you always had it.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Your father won’t shut up about how you’re gonna keep us all out of legal trouble.”

Aeri snorted. “Well, if anyone here commits a crime, just let me know early.”

Jimin’s mother laughed, shaking her head. “Aeri, you’d defend them even if they were guilty.”

Aeri put a hand to her chest, looking scandalized. “Are you doubting my integrity?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Jimin chuckled, shaking her head at the exchange while Minjeong—still half-engaged in whatever nonsense Yizhuo was muttering—watched with quiet amusement.

Jimin’s mother lingered for a moment after greeting Aeri, her warmth still filling the space like second nature.

Then—her gaze shifted, landing on Yizhuo with open familiarity, like she had already decided she was welcome before she even stepped through the door.

“Oh, and you sweetheart ,” she mused, stepping forward with genuine excitement. “You know, I keep hearing your name, but now I actually get to meet you.”

She reached for Yizhuo’s hand without hesitation, squeezing it lightly before pulling her into a brief hug—nothing formal, just comfortable, like she was already part of the fold.

“I’m Jimin’s mom,” she continued, squeezing lightly before pulling back. “And that over there—” she gestured toward her husband with a playful flick of her hand, “—is Jimin’s dad—don’t mind him if he pretends to be serious.”

Jimin’s father scoffed, shaking his head but stepping forward anyway, offering Yizhuo a nod paired with an easy smile.

“Good to finally meet you,” he said. “We hear you keep Jimin on her toes.”

It took less than a second for Yizhuo to switch gears.

The transformation was instant.

The teasing mischief? Gone.

The smug delight? Vanished.

Instead, she straightened slightly, flashing an easy, harmless smile—like she hadn’t just been causing chaos moments ago.

She met Jimin’s mother’s gaze with perfect composure.

“Thank you for having me,” she said sweetly, voice smoother than it had been all night. “Jimin always talks about you—figured it was about time I saw the place myself.”

Jimin hummed lightly but said nothing, watching as her mother beamed, clearly pleased.

“Well, sweetheart , you’re always welcome here,” Jimin’s mother said, giving Yizhuo’s arm a light pat. “Make yourself at home.”

Jimin’s father nodded, still amused but moving on.

Minjeong, watching the display unfold beside her, exhaled, shaking her head in something between amusement and resignation.

She murmured, mostly to herself, “I have never seen someone switch personas so fast.”

Aeri snorted, barely holding back a laugh.

Jimin’s mother remained blissfully unaware, ushering them all toward the dining area with casual ease.

And just like that, the devil had been reborn as a saint.

At least temporarily.

Thirty minutes passed, filled with chatter, laughter, and Jimin’s mother determined to ensure no one left the table without having sampled every single appetizer at least twice.

At first, Yizhuo welcomed the constant offerings with enthusiasm, popping bite-sized snacks into her mouth without hesitation.

But then—her pace slowed.

Then—her eyes widened slightly.

Then—her chewing became noticeably more difficult.

Jimin, watching it unfold in real time, lifted a hand in mild protest.

“Mom, you’re going to kill her.”

Her mother waved her off, completely unconcerned.

“She’ll live.”

Yizhuo, mouth full, made a weak attempt at nodding.

Meanwhile, Minjeong was having her own silent struggle.

She refused to show signs of distress.

She had to win this battle.

The appetizers kept coming—one bite after another, placed onto her plate with unwavering dedication.

And despite the growing challenge, she kept her expression neutral, chewing with deliberate care, swallowing with as much dignity as possible. 

Jimin knew Minjeong well enough to see it.

Her lips twitched as she leaned toward Aeri.

“She’s suffering, right?”

Aeri hummed, observing the scene with a slow nod.

“Oh, definitely.”

But Minjeong wasn’t about to let them have the satisfaction of seeing her struggle. At least more than Yizhuo.

She straightened her back, reached for her drink with graceful precision, and willed herself through it.

This wasn’t just a meal.

This was a test of endurance.

Just when Minjeong and Yizhuo were on the verge of turning into stuffed poultry , salvation arrived.

The front door swung open without hesitation, carrying the familiar ease of long-standing tradition.

Aeri’s mother didn’t even pause—because, of course, Jimin’s family always left it unlocked for expected guests, a silent understanding passed down through years of shared dinners, holidays, and effortless hospitality.

Aeri rushed forward instantly, greeting her mother with warmth that fit so naturally, it was as if she had never been apart from her. She barely had time to speak before her mother narrowed her eyes slightly, lips pursing in mock disappointment.

“You didn’t even stop by home first?”

Aeri winced, playfully guilty, shifting on her feet. “I meant to.”

Her mother huffed, shaking her head as she crossed her arms. “Unbelievable.”

Behind them, Minjeong and Yizhuo—who had been locked into a silent battle with appetizers mere seconds ago—exchanged relieved glances.

Saved by the bell.

Or, in this case, by Aeri’s mom .

Before Aeri could think of a clever retort, her mother turned toward Jimin’s mother with practiced exasperation, hands on her hips like this was an argument she had fought before.

“I swear, you keep stealing my daughter,” she declared, shaking her head. “Every time I turn around, she’s here.”

Jimin’s mother, completely unbothered, grinned.

“And yet, you still act surprised.”

Aeri’s mother sighed dramatically.

“I should’ve known—she practically lives here.”

Jimin’s mother scoffed, waving her off.

“Sweetheart, please . You know this house has always had a room for her.”

Aeri groaned.

“Okay, can you two not talk about me like I’m some shared custody agreement?”

Jimin chuckled, shaking her head as Aeri’s mother finally gave in, sighing and pulling her daughter in for another hug.

But not before muttering, “You could come home more often.”

Aeri rolled her eyes, but squeezed her mother back anyway.

Jimin’s mother smiled knowingly, already heading toward the dining table.

“Come on, let’s eat before my appetizers go cold.”

As Jimin’s mother moved toward the kitchen, gathering more appetizers and glasses for wine, Jimin’s father leaned forward ever so slightly.

Then—without a word—he extended his plate toward Yizhuo and Minjeong with a knowing glance.

The silent plea for assistance was unmistakable.

Help.

Relieve yourselves.

Discreetly.

Yizhuo was the first to catch on, wasting no time in sliding a handful of appetizers onto his plate like she was orchestrating a covert operation.

Minjeong followed suit, careful, deliberate, barely suppressing a sigh of relief.

But just as they settled into the exchange—

Aeri’s mother turned.

Her gaze landed on the two unfamiliar faces.

And narrowed.

Then—without hesitation—she lifted a finger, pointing directly at Yizhuo, eyes squinting, head tilting just slightly in scrutiny.

“You…”

Yizhuo froze.

For a split second, she looked like she had been caught smuggling state secrets instead of merely transferring appetizers for the sake of tummy space.

Aeri stiffened instantly, stepping forward, cutting off her mother’s line of sight with expert precision.

“Mom,” she started, voice just slightly higher than normal, “this is my friend Yizhuo.”

She gestured quickly, like she was introducing a witness in court rather than someone who had just been accused by pure presence alone.

Yizhuo, still recovering from the intensity of the silent accusation, offered a very controlled smile.

Aeri’s mother squinted again.

Then exhaled, crossing her arms.

“Hm.”

Jimin’s father, completely unfazed, casually popped one of the stolen appetizers into his mouth, offering no further assistance.

Aeri’s mother moved forward with quiet confidence, entirely unfazed by her daughter’s attempt to act as a human shield.

Without hesitation, she reached out, resting a firm but gentle hand on Yizhuo’s shoulder, as if grounding her in place for inspection.

Yizhuo stiffened instantly.

Her eyes widened, chewing slowing with painful deliberation—because under no circumstances could she afford to accidentally spit out food right now .

Not when she was actively being examined like some questionable witness at a trial.

Minjeong, taking in the scene from the sidelines, reached for her drink at a very calculated pace—because while she had absolutely no intention of getting involved, she was definitely going to watch it unfold.

Jimin, catching on too late, sat straighter, barely holding back laughter.

Aeri’s mother held Yizhuo at arm’s length, her sharp gaze sweeping over her like she was inspecting a puzzle that needed solving, like there was something she had been waiting to confirm.

The scrutiny lingered.

Then—her lips curled.

A slow, knowing smile.

“I see it now,” she mused, nodding to herself, as if settling something that had been brewing in her mind for ages.

Yizhuo blinked, very unsure about where this was going.

“…See what ?”

Aeri’s mother hummed, her amusement deepening.

“Aeri kept mentioning it before—” she tilted her head slightly, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to fondness —“how cute you are.”

Silence.

Yizhuo froze .

Aeri froze .

Minjeong choked on her drink.

Jimin fully gave up, laughing openly as Yizhuo struggled to formulate an appropriate response.

Because under any other circumstance, she could have denied it.

Deflected.

Countered.

But now?

Now, she was actively trapped under the approving scrutiny of Aeri’s mother.

And there was no way out .

Minjeong felt Yizhuo tense beside her.

And then—

She choked.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

A sharp cough broke through the air, cutting into the conversation with brutal force.

Yizhuo doubled over slightly, face flushed red , struggling to recover as she reached desperately for a napkin, willing herself to maintain some dignity.

Minjeong barely held back a smirk.

Aeri?

Aeri didn’t even try .

She leaned back with a grin, completely unbothered, watching with open amusement as Yizhuo silently questioned every life choice that had led her to this moment.

But her mother?

Her mother had already moved on.

Aeri sighed in pure relief as the attention shifted away, tension dissolving with her mother’s next words.

Her gaze landed on Minjeong instead, eyes sweeping over her with a flicker of curiosity.

Jimin caught on instantly, stepping forward with a bright smile before anything could unfold.

“This is Minjeong!” Jimin announced confidently. “She’s my friend—and the sous chef for tonight’s dinner.”

Minjeong blinked, caught slightly off guard, but nodded politely.

Before she could respond, Mrs. Yu chimed in with a knowing nod.

“She has been such a help,” she agreed, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.”

Minjeong held her smile steady, ignoring the way Yizhuo was still trying to subtly recover beside her.

At least she wasn’t the center of attention—yet.

Jimin, effortlessly composed, continued, “Minjeong’s been incredible. I’d probably be surviving on coffee and convenience store meals if it weren’t for her.”

Aeri’s mother hummed, nodding approvingly before fully shifting her attention to Jimin.

Her gaze flicked downward for barely a second before her lips curled slightly in realization.

“I did notice,” she mused.

Then—without hesitation—her hands landed firmly on Jimin’s hips, giving a decidedly investigative squeeze.

Jimin stayed perfectly still.

Utterly unflinching .

Meanwhile, Aeri’s soul nearly left her body.

“Mom, you can’t just do that!” she yelped, horrified, gripping her mother’s arm like she could physically prevent whatever else might come next.

But her mother had already confirmed everything she needed.

She exhaled, nodding to herself, lips curling in approval.

“Well, you’ve definitely gained a little.”

Jimin, ever composed, responded without hesitation. “I’ve been eating well,” she said smoothly, brushing it off like it was nothing. She cast a brief glance toward Minjeong, lips twitching slightly. “Her cooking is too good.”

Minjeong, mid-sip, lowered her cup carefully, maintaining a neutral expression under the sudden attention. Minjeong felt the shift immediately.

The comment.

The tone.

The way Aeri's mother examined Jimin like she had just uncovered something she hadn’t expected.

Her grip on her cup tightened—just slightly, just enough to brace herself.

She wasn’t sure why she had the urge to be on guard. But something instinctual settled in her stance, a quiet protectiveness, barely perceptible.

Jimin, however—composed as always, or at least making it look effortless—remained utterly steady, her gaze trained on Aeri’s mother.

Not defensive.

Not reactive.

Just unshaken.

She held her ground, posture firm, waiting, letting the moment play out without flinching.

Minjeong didn’t move, only flicking her gaze between Jimin and Aeri’s mother, watching, waiting—until Aeri finally stepped in, scolding her mother with no hesitation.

Only then did the attention shift.

Only then did Jimin blink, breaking focus, turning to her own mother—who met her with an approving nod, subtle but noticeable, like a silent you handled that well .

Minjeong glanced at Aeri’s mother one last time, then back to Jimin.

And only when she noticed Jimin’s shoulders relax—just slightly, just enough—did her grip on her cup loosen.

Aeri’s mother sighed, waving a dismissive hand, clearly tired of Aeri’s nagging. “Alright, alright,” she muttered, giving in at last. Then—without missing a beat—she switched topics. “The Shins—what’s their ETA?”

And just like that, the conversation turned, but the question barely had time to linger before the front door swung open.

No hesitation, no restriction—because, of course, it was already unlocked.

Mr. Shin stepped inside, his movements purposeful, dragging another man behind him.

That man—Mr. Uchinaga—looked entirely defeated, shoulders slumped like he had just been caught doing something terrible.

Mr. Shin barely spared a glance at the rest of the group before locking eyes with Mrs. Uchinaga. A grin spread across his face as he pulled Mr. Uchinaga forward.

“Your husband,” he announced, absolutely reveling in the moment, “was caught smoking in the driveway as I pulled up.”

Mrs. Uchinaga blinked, registering the words. Her gaze shifted, slow and deliberate, landing on her husband, who refused to meet her eyes. He looked like a guilty teenager trying to avoid his mother’s wrath.

Silence followed.

Then—she let out a sigh, shaking her head. “A grown man sneaking cigarettes behind my back,” she mused. “How tragic.”

Before Mrs. Uchinaga could respond, the front door swung open again, ushering in two more figures—Mrs. Shin, poised and commanding, and Ryujin, trailing just behind her.

Mrs. Shin’s slick black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, her presence sharp, calculating, with an aura that commanded attention the moment she stepped inside.

She barely glanced at her husband before clicking her tongue in disapproval, shifting her gaze toward Mrs. Uchinaga.

“You need to control your man,” she said, arms crossing, her tone dry but firm. “He needs to stop the smoking.”

Jimin’s mother, sensing the tension but ever the gracious host, stepped in smoothly, greeting the new arrivals with a welcoming smile.

“Mrs. Shin, Ryujin—it’s so good to see you,” she said, effortlessly steering the energy back into lighter territory.

Mr. Yu appeared moments later, moving to help with Mrs. Shin’s belongings. Ryujin, adjusting her grip on a rather large cooler, waved him off.

“I got it,” she assured, steady despite the weight.

Before Mr. Yu could insist, Mr. Shin smacked the cooler with a loud bang, grinning as he laughed.

“Stocked up for the night,” he declared, far too pleased with himself.

The amusement barely had time to settle before Mr. Uchinaga, desperate, glanced toward his wife and daughter.

His expression—hopeful, pitiful—was the definition of puppy dog eyes.

Aeri glanced at him.

Mrs. Uchinaga did not.

Neither woman reacted.

Not a single inch of sympathy in sight.

Before the moment could stretch too long, Mr. Yu stepped forward, placing a firm hand on both Mr. Shin and Mr. Uchinaga’s shoulders, shaking his head with good-natured finality.

“What’s done is done,” he said to Mrs. Uchinaga with a knowing smile. “What matters is that we’re all here together—so let’s get this party started.”

And with that, the tension eased, laughter seeped into the air, and the night carried forward, effortlessly shifting back to warmth and celebration.

Mr. Shin clapped his hands together, turning toward Ryujin with a grin. “Alright, show the guests the goods.”

Ryujin, blank-faced but with the faintest hint of amusement, lifted the bottles—a rich red wine in one hand, a well-aged brandy in the other.

“Courtesy of the Shin family,” she announced dryly.

Mr. Shin patted his daughter’s shoulder, satisfied. “When should we start?”

Before anyone could answer, Mrs. Shin took the bottle of wine without hesitation, her movements fluid, decisive.

“The girls are staying in the dining room,” Mrs. Shin declared, turning effortlessly as she made her way inside, setting the wine down on the table with practiced ease.

Mrs. Yu caught onto the shift instantly, casting her husband a silent plea before he could disappear into the living room with the others.

Mr. Yu, ever perceptive, simply smiled and offered a playful wink.

“I’ll handle them,” he assured smoothly, already steering the men toward the living room, brandy in tow.

With that, the groups naturally settled—Mrs. Shin leading the women as fresh glasses were passed around, while Mr. Yu corralled the men toward their own corner of the house.

Mrs. Shin entered the dining room with effortless grace, greeting Mrs. Uchinaga first with kisses on both cheeks before turning to Mrs. Yu, exchanging warm smiles.

She moved on to Aeri, offering a familiar smile, then shifted her attention to Jimin.

Her gaze lingered for a moment—studying, assessing—before she reached forward, delicately brushing a loose strand of hair away from Jimin’s face.

A small nod of approval followed, silent but clear.

Then—she noticed them.

Two unfamiliar faces lagging just behind the others.

Yizhuo, catching the sharpness in Mrs. Shin’s gaze, reacted instantly —darting forward, slipping next to Aeri like she had been there the whole time.

Minjeong, however, moved much slower, her focus elsewhere.

Her gaze was locked onto the TV in the living room, where the men were settling in, the unmistakable broadcast of a hockey game flickering across the screen.

Seemed like that would be the focus for the night.

Aeri wasted no time introducing Yizhuo, gesturing toward her with easy familiarity. “This is Yizhuo—my friend.”

Yizhuo, still safely tucked beside Aeri, nodded quickly, though she barely managed to get the word hello out.

Because truthfully—Mrs. Shin was terrifying.

Not in a loud, expressive way.

Not in a staring-you-down kind of way.

No—she was the kind of terrifying that came with utter poise.

With an unreadable expression, a presence too sharp, too composed, too effortlessly commanding.

Yizhuo could practically feel herself shrinking, hoping—praying—to avoid direct attention.

Aeri moved on, about to introduce Minjeong, but Jimin was already watching her.

Minjeong hadn’t fully stepped into the dining room.

She lingered near the threshold, caught somewhere between the two spaces—not quite in the living room, not entirely in the dining room, her attention locked on the TV broadcasting the hockey game.

Jimin barely hesitated before finishing Aeri’s sentence for her.

“That’s Minjeong,” she said, voice smooth, effortlessly pulling her into the conversation. “A good friend of mine.”

Just then, Mr. Yu’s voice cut through, calling for Minjeong to join them.

Minjeong blinked, snapping back to reality as she turned toward him, about to refuse the offer.

Then—the weight of several gazes settled on her at once.

She glanced toward the women, all watching.

But two faces stood out the most.

Mrs. Shin, staring with utter blankness, unreadable.

And Ryujin—expression just as void of warmth, except for the glint in her eye that hinted at something sharper.

Something disapproving.

Something that made it very clear she wasn’t thrilled about Minjeong’s presence.

Jimin shifted slightly, stepping forward—only for Ryujin to react instantly, fingers curling around Jimin’s wrist, pulling her back without a word.

Minjeong caught the movement, saw the barely perceptible twitch in Ryujin’s eye, felt the weight of the moment.

Without another thought, she stepped backward.

And then—without further hesitation—accepted Mr. Yu’s offer.

Meanwhile, beside Aeri, Yizhuo exhaled—very quietly—because if nothing else, at least Mrs. Shin hadn’t locked onto her yet.

Mrs. Shin settled into her seat as Mrs. Yu returned from the kitchen, effortlessly slipping back into host mode. She checked the roast beef—still patiently waiting in the oven—before pouring drinks for everyone, ensuring the table remained lively and well-served.

It wasn’t long before Mrs. Shin turned her attention back to the group, eyes flicking between Aeri and Jimin with quiet curiosity.

“What brings Minjeong and Yizhuo here?” she asked, her tone even, composed.

At the mention of her name, Yizhuo ducked down, subtly shrinking against Aeri’s side like she could vanish if she tried hard enough.

Mrs. Shin’s gaze was not one she wanted landing on her.

Not now.

Not ever.

Sensing the moment, Aeri took the lead without hesitation. “Her family’s in Harbin, and since she’s leaving Seoul soon, I figured she should enjoy the festivities while she’s here.”

Mrs. Yu nodded warmly, lifting her glass slightly before adding, “She’s always welcome here. Holidays are lonely without family around.”

Yizhuo, despite herself, felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease.

At least Mrs. Yu was safe territory.

Mrs. Shin leaned back slightly, swirling her wine as she glanced at Jimin. “And Minjeong?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jimin, ever composed, smiled. “She drove me back into town.”

Ryujin’s head snapped toward Jimin, sharp and immediate. “You know I could’ve driven you,” she said, tone clipped, barely masking something underneath.

Jimin simply shook her head. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

Ryujin scoffed. “It wouldn’t have been a bother. Bet it was more of a bother for Minjeong—she’s not even from here.”

The weight in the air shifted, something just a bit tense, just a bit charged.

Mrs. Uchinaga picked up on it instantly, barely missing a beat before she let out a knowing hum.

“A lover’s quarrel already?” she mused, eyes twinkling as she looked between them.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Minjeong was probably just being nice.”

Jimin exhaled, lips twitching slightly.

But before she could speak, Mrs. Shin cut in, tone even but direct.

Mrs. Shin exhaled, placing her glass down with a knowing look. “Speaking of lovers’ quarrels,” she mused, her gaze settling on Jimin and Ryujin with quiet amusement. “When are you two really going to make it official?”

The question landed effortlessly, framed as casual curiosity—but the weight of it was undeniable.

Jimin stiffened slightly, barely perceptible to those paying attention, while Ryujin remained utterly unfazed.

She simply shrugged, casual, confident, like the answer was obvious.

“I’ve always been ready,” she said smoothly, offering the smallest hint of a smile. “Just waiting on Jimin.”

Yizhuo noticed immediately.

The hesitation.

The pause.

The way Jimin, composed as ever, suddenly had no answer.

And if there was ever a time for Yizhuo to speak up, this was it.

She had always secretly rooted for Jimin and Minjeong, always hoped something between them would finally fall into place.

So, naturally—without thinking—she acted.

Her hand shot up, finger raised like she was about to explain the laws of the universe, ready to object, clarify, defend—something.

But before she could get even a syllable out—

Aeri shut her down immediately.

A polite—yet unmistakably threatening—smile as she pressed Yizhuo’s hand back down, firm, decisive.

“Stand down,” Aeri whispered, quiet but final.

Yizhuo scowled, attempting to yank her hand free, lips parting for protest—only for Aeri to cut her off again, voice lower this time.

“It’s too complicated.”

Yizhuo furrowed her brows.

Complicated?

She threw a glance at Jimin—still stiff from Mrs. Shin’s question—and then back to Aeri, demanding answers without saying a single word.

Aeri sighed, just slightly, before whispering again—this time more pointed, more weighted.

“We—me and Jimin—we’re trying to get out of it.”

She exhaled.

“So stand down, Ning Yizhuo .”

And for once—just once —Yizhuo swallowed her argument.

But only because she was still trying to figure out what exactly they were trying to get out of.

Aeri’s mother, ever eager to chime in, let out a dramatic sigh as she gestured toward the table. “It’s been years since Ryujin stood before all of us and announced that she and Jimin would wait until their careers were settled to make things official,” she mused, clapping her hands together in excitement. “Like a classic childhood lovers’ trope! Honestly, I’m starting to get impatient myself.”

Jimin exhaled, shaking her head. “There’s still a lot to figure out,” she admitted. “I didn’t realize everyone was this loyal to an announcement we made as kids.”

Mrs. Shin, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, set her glass down with deliberate ease. “You’ve made my daughter wait long enough,” she pointed out. “You’re in med school already—graduating next semester. Is it really so hard to just say yes to her?”

The words lingered, weighted, challenging.

Then—Mrs. Yu spoke.

Her tone was polite, gentle even—but firm. Unwavering.

“Med school is tough to get into,” she said, her voice carrying just enough authority. “And tougher to stay in.”

She glanced at Jimin briefly, then back to Mrs. Shin.

“Jimin is staying true to her values—her career. And that should be respected. If the relationship is something Ryujin can’t wait for, then Jimin shouldn’t be pressured into saying yes before she’s ready.”

Mrs. Shin looked ready to retort, the tension thickening—until Ryujin spoke first.

“I’ve waited more than eight years ,” she said, tone dismissive but decided . “I can wait a couple more months.”

The table was heated, the air charged.

And Yizhuo?

Her eyes were wide, fully realizing just how serious this conversation had gotten—over a deal two kids had made when they were barely preteens.

Jimin wanted out.

The discussion had settled, but the weight of it still lingered, hovering just heavy enough to make her restless.

Then—she heard it.

A few loud cheers.

The unmistakable call of, “Shot!”

That was more than enough to perk her up, suddenly far more interested in whatever was happening in the living room than in lingering at this table.

Beside her, Mrs. Yu stood as well, catching the moment, nodding ever so slightly toward Jimin.

Both exhaled.

Both silently agreed.

“I’ll check on the roast beef,” Mrs. Yu announced, smooth and purposeful as she moved toward the kitchen.

Jimin followed suit, shifting her focus. “I’ll check on the boys.”

And just like that, they had their exit.

While the women carried on their conversation in the dining room, Minjeong found herself deep in another one—one just as intense, but in a completely different way.

Mr. Shin and Mr. Uchinaga had already settled in, pouring brandy and diving straight into stats.

They were rooting for the Lotte Giants— naturally .

Their passion was undeniable, their loyalty unwavering.

Mr. Yu, catching the energy, nudged Minjeong with an easy grin. “You a Giants fan too?”

Minjeong, ever unbothered, barely glanced up as she revealed, without hesitation, “Doosan Bears fan.”

Silence.

Not just any silence.

The kind that held weight.

The kind that made it painfully clear she had just entered enemy territory.

The entire living room stared.

Minjeong, still unfazed, stood her ground.

She wasn’t about to fold—not for a team she had rooted for since she was a kid.

So, she did what any true fan would do—she backed it up.

She explained the stats, the current rookie recruit, the momentum of the season.

And, with absolute confidence, concluded, “Doosan Bears will most likely win.”

Mr. Shin let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head in mock betrayal.

“This is a Giants household,” he lamented, pressing a hand to his chest like he had just suffered personal loss.

Mr. Uchinaga, amused, took a slow sip of his drink before casually throwing the real twist into the conversation.

“Funny thing,” he mused, looking over at Mr. Yu. “He was actually a Bears fan— up until university.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow.

Mr. Yu groaned.

And Mr. Shin?

He grinned, raising his glass as if to celebrate his greatest victory.

“What can I say?” he said with a smirk. “Peer pressure works.”

Mr. Uchinaga grinned, leaning forward with a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Alright,” he announced, “let’s make this interesting.”

He gestured between them, setting the terms like a seasoned gambler.

“Me and Shin against Yu and Minjeong. Fifty bucks on the line.”

That was all it took.

The ruckus truly began.

Each score meant a shot, and Minjeong—determined not to lose—was already mixing drinks without a second thought.

Beer.

Brandy.

A bit of soju.

It wasn’t long before things started hitting her.

But she wasn’t losing.

Not with money on the line.

Then—perfect timing.

Jimin walked in, immediately clocking Minjeong’s posture.

Elbows on knees.

Leaning forward, glued to the screen.

The energy in the room was absolute chaos—groaning, cheering, muttering as the puck shot across the rink.

Jimin stepped into their line of sight without a second thought.

The reaction was instant—a chorus of groans.

She laughed, amused, then slid onto the couch beside Minjeong, who barely acknowledged her presence.

Still focused.

Still locked in.

Jimin poked her cheek, voice light. “Hi.”

Minjeong barely muttered a greeting in return, eyes never leaving the game.

Jimin snorted. “You drunk?”

Minjeong, joking but serious, murmured, “I’m seeing two pucks on the rink—but fifty bucks are on the line.”

Before Jimin could process that, Mr. Yu popped his head into view, grin wide. “Finally, another Bears fan. And don’t worry—we’re taking that fifty tonight.”

Jimin sighed, watching the chaos unfold, then glanced at her father. “Monitor the game solo for a bit,” she said, already moving toward Minjeong. “I need to get her freshened up for dinner.”

She turned to the rest of the men, eyebrow raised. “And don’t get too drunk unless you want another scolding from Mrs. Shin and Mrs. Uchinaga.”

A chorus of Yes, ma’am followed, half amused, half serious.

Jimin just shook her head, leaning in slightly, voice lower as she whispered to Minjeong, “Come on, get up.”

Minjeong pouted, stubborn, and Jimin giggled, already knowing it wasn’t a fight worth entertaining.

“You’re obviously drunk,” she murmured.

Minjeong huffed but started following Jimin toward the washroom, still slightly unsteady.

Once inside, Jimin guided her onto the closed toilet seat, grabbing a washcloth, running it under cool water before kneeling in front of her.

Gently, she patted Minjeong’s cheeks, the warmth between them shifting to something quieter.

“Having fun?” Jimin asked softly.

Minjeong nodded without hesitation.

Then—after a pause, after the slight furrow of her brows—she mumbled back, “Are you having fun?”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard for just a second.

Then—she smiled, small but real.

“Yeah,” she murmured, focusing on the washcloth again. “I think I am.”

Minjeong exhaled, her words slightly sluggish but clear. “Sorry for not joining you in the dining room.”

Jimin shook her head immediately. “There wasn’t much to talk about.”

But Minjeong—drunk or not—noticed the sigh that followed.

The subtle shift in Jimin’s shoulders.

The way her words sounded more like an excuse than the truth.

So, naturally—she leaned in.

Jimin instinctively backed away, a faint blush dusting her cheeks as she busied her hands, resoaking the washcloth in the sink.

She barely had time to process before Minjeong stood—steady, purposeful.

Then—trapped her.

Hands braced against the counter, her body crowding Jimin against the sink, leaving nowhere to escape.

Jimin turned, facing her fully, blinking as Minjeong leaned in again.

“Something bothering you?” Minjeong asked, voice lower now, still laced with a drunken edge but gentle.

Jimin shook her head. Again.

Minjeong watched her for a moment, then nodded—accepting the answer, even if she didn’t fully believe it.

“Aeri and Ryujin’s moms are both intense,” she murmured instead, shifting the topic just slightly.

Jimin let out a small chuckle, the tension easing just enough.

“You get used to their intensity,” she admitted, drying her hands, finally meeting Minjeong’s gaze.

Then—smirking just slightly—she added, “Different kinds of intensity, though.”

Minjeong murmured, voice low but certain, “I appreciate you taking care of me tonight, but… I can do the same for you too.”

Her gaze flicked to Jimin, softer now, sincere.

“If you need me,” she continued, “I won’t hesitate to come.”

Jimin swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then why didn’t you join me at the dining room?”

Minjeong smiled, teasing, effortlessly shifting the mood. “So it bothered you that I chose hockey?”

Jimin scoffed, shoving Minjeong’s shoulder.

Minjeong barely wobbled, still rooted where she stood, but her tone softened again.

“I just wanted to give you and Ryujin some space.”

Jimin exhaled—sharp, quiet—then reached forward, fingers grasping the fabric of Minjeong’s sweater, tugging her closer.

“I didn’t want that,” she admitted, voice steady but edged with something unspoken.

Minjeong blinked, hesitation creeping in as she fumbled for words. “I… I don’t know what’s going on between you and Ryujin.”

Jimin shook her head immediately. “There’s nothing going on.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion.

Maybe it was the weight of the evening, the way conversation after conversation had pulled at her from every direction.

Or maybe—just maybe —it was something deeper.

Because Jimin leaned in—closer, drawn to the warmth, the certainty of something solid in front of her.

Her nose brushed against Minjeong’s.

Minjeong turned away at the last second.

Not pulling back entirely—but shifting just enough, letting her movement skim against Jimin’s cheek, trailing downward—jawline, then lower.

To her neck.

Jimin let out a small huff, pushing Minjeong away lightly, her lips forming a pout.

Minjeong’s face was unreadable.

But her eyes—

Dark.

Minjeong cleared her throat, straightening slightly. “I’m sobered up,” she murmured.

Jimin watched her for a moment, then nodded, placing the washcloth away before reaching for the door.

As soon as she pulled it open, a crisp breeze slipped through—cool, sharp, an instant reminder of just how warm it had gotten inside.

Minjeong exhaled, steady now, her gaze flicking toward Jimin before she stepped forward.

And just like that, the space between them shifted.

Chapter Text

Jimin watched as Minjeong pulled the door open, movements stiff, controlled—almost too controlled. The dim bathroom light cast sharp edges on her figure, painting the tension between them in stark contrast.

She exhaled, hands gripping the sink’s edge, forcing pressure from her chest. It did little. Her pulse still pounded beneath her skin, something foreign coiling inside her—demanding attention she refused to acknowledge.

Minjeong stepped out, her stride faltering slightly before disappearing into the hallway.

Jimin didn’t move right away. She let the silence settle, inhaled deeply—then under her breath, just a whisper—

"You’re going to be the death of me."

Another breath, then motion. She followed, shaking away whatever had just embedded itself inside her.

She had to—before it caught up.

But the second she stepped out, it did.

Ryujin.

She stood at the edge of the hallway, posture deceptively loose—but her fingers, curled just slightly against her side, gave her away. Her gaze swept past Jimin, settling on Minjeong as she walked off. There was no open hostility, no outward confrontation—just a lingering, unspoken weight.

Then—she looked up.

Jimin did the only thing she knew how. She smiled.

Ryujin mirrored it, quick, practiced. But there was something hollow beneath it.

"You alright?"

Jimin nodded, clearing her throat. "Yeah, just checking on Minjeong. She had a few drinks."

Ryujin hummed softly. "Didn’t realize you were playing babysitter tonight." The words were casual, but her tone carried something beneath it—something restrained.

Jimin chuckled, shaking her head. "Someone’s got to keep her in check."

But even as she said it, she glanced toward Minjeong again—watching as she settled onto the couch. Still playing it off, still determined to nurse her drink despite her wavering balance.

Ryujin followed her gaze, but this time, something in her posture hardened. She placed it squarely onto Minjeong. Her stare was deliberate. Not outright hostile, but sharp—like she was assessing her, measuring the space Minjeong took up as if it didn’t belong to her. As if it had always belonged to someone else.

Jimin felt it. The silent battle waged without words. Ryujin’s refusal to acknowledge the real conflict—the one that should have been between the two of them. Ryujin stayed close, pressing a hand lightly against Jimin’s lower back, guiding her—like she needed to be led, like she couldn’t find her own direction. It sat heavy in her nerves—an irritation she refused to show but felt deeply.

She needed out. Needed space. Needed her mother. Jimin slipped into movement she could control—helping, setting the table, gathering utensils. Something grounded. Something away. Something that gave her a moment to breathe. She smiled softly as she pulled open the drawer, carefully selecting the good china plates for dinner.

Ryujin stepped beside her, moving to help—but staying just a little too close, hovering like she needed Jimin near.

Jimin’s mother returned her daughter’s smile, focused on the roast as she did a final drizzle of its juices over the meat.

Jimin inhaled deeply, letting out a soft hum. “Smells amazing.”

Her mother chuckled. “Minjeong made a good call on the rosemary.”

The name landed like a quiet force between them.

Ryujin’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around the utensils—but when she spoke, her tone was effortless, carefully measured. “What do you think of Minjeong?”

A casual inquiry—on the surface. But Jimin knew what it was. An assessment. A test.

Mrs. Yu didn’t hesitate. Her expression brightened instantly, warmth filling her voice.

“She’s lovely,” she said without a second thought. “And I’m happy she’s gotten Jimin to eat properly.” With that, she turned, pinching Jimin’s cheeks with practiced affection. “I always missed these.”

Jimin let out a small, playful groan, wriggling slightly in protest—but her mother simply laughed, her attention returning to the roast.

Beside her—Ryujin remained quiet. She carefully set down the utensils, fingers just a little too tense—but her expression remained flawless. Not a flicker of discontent, not a shift in posture. Just control.

But Jimin knew her too well. She saw the silence. Felt the weight of the unspoken words.

Ryujin had expected something else. Ryujin had expected the same certainty she’d always known. Expected the quiet reassurance. Expected the unspoken loyalty that had never wavered.

And instead—she was met with praise.

For Minjeong.

Jimin carried the plates to the dining room, setting them down as the rest of the girls moved to clean up—small appetizer plates, scattered pistachio shells from Mrs. Uchinaga’s absent-minded snacking.

Aeri noticed immediately.

The stiffness in Jimin’s posture. The proximity of Ryujin—lingering just a little too close. The way Jimin’s fingers pressed against the porcelain, her grip controlled but not quite relaxed.

Without a word, without needing confirmation, Aeri stepped in.

Smooth, effortless. She took the plates from Jimin’s hands, brushing past Ryujin in a way that felt natural—but was anything but. “I’ll set the table,” she murmured, voice low enough for only Jimin to hear. “Go—free yourself.”

Jimin exhaled. A quiet, grateful thank you.

Before Ryujin could follow, Aeri pivoted with trained precision, shifting her attention fully onto her, engaging her in conversation with the ease of someone who had done this before. Steering her away—redirecting her energy—without giving her the space to linger.

Jimin didn’t wait.

She slipped back into the kitchen, drawn toward the quiet presence of her mother. Something stable. Something that let her breathe.

Meanwhile, at the table, Yizhuo had seen everything.

She didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. She took half a second to process—then, without ceremony, tipped back the rest of her wine in a single gulp and beelined straight for the living room.

Yizhuo slid onto the couch beside Minjeong without hesitation, greeting the uncles with a quick, easy smile before turning her attention elsewhere. She didn’t need to look twice. She’d already figured it out.

Minjeong—drinking too much. Ryujin—hovering just a little too close. And Jimin—fractured in a way Yizhuo almost didn’t recognize. She’d always known Jimin as the one who kept it together. Calm, polished, composed. The kind of girl who carried the weight of student council meetings, late-night debates, and whispered drama with the same practiced smile. But here? Jimin was cracking at the edges—and doing a poor job of hiding it.

Yizhuo reached for the half-empty glass in Minjeong’s hand and slipped it away without a word.

Minjeong blinked, confused. “Hey—”

"You’ve had enough,” Yizhuo said, tone gentle but firm, her eyes scanning the room, watching the way Mrs. Shin’s gaze lingered too long on Minjeong’s expression.

“They’re watching you,” she added, lowering her voice. “Not because they’re curious. Because they’re trying to fit you into a frame they’ve already made in their heads.”

Minjeong didn’t respond—just stretched her legs out on the rug, eyes still following the chaotic blur of the hockey match on the screen.

But Yizhuo had seen it. The lingering glances at the dining table. The way Mrs. Shin had looked at Minjeong, the way Mrs. Uchinaga had whispered something under her breath while passing dishes. They weren’t outright hostile. Just... curious.

Minjeong wasn’t part of this circle—not in the way Ryujin was. Not in the way Jimin had always been. And that meant she was up for scrutiny.

Yizhuo sank back into the couch, arms crossed. "They're watching you."

Minjeong hummed absentmindedly, eyes still following the game.

"Jimin is still their golden girl,” Yizhuo went on, softer now. “Ryujin’s always been the heir apparent. Then you walk in, and they don’t know where to place you."

Minjeong glanced at her sideways. “What, you want me to impress them?”

"No," Yizhuo said plainly. “I want you to keep being yourself. Let them catch up.”

A roar of cheers went up from across the room as the Doosan Bears scored, Mr. Yu leaping from the couch and slapping the back of one of the uncles in triumph. Yizhuo smiled, letting the noise carry away the weight of the conversation, just for a moment. Then she leaned back, tossing a pistachio into her mouth.

"You’re not the problem," she said, glancing at Minjeong. “You’re just the plot twist they weren’t expecting.”

Minjeong sank a little deeper into the couch, her eyes trained on the television, though none of the movement stuck. She could hear the living room noise blur together—the uncles yelling about defensive lines, someone laughing too loudly at a joke she’d missed. Everything around her buzzed with ease she couldn't quite access. She wasn’t imagining the way eyes had lingered. She didn’t need Yizhuo to spell it out. Even through the fog, she could feel it. Like she didn’t belong. Like she’d stepped into a room that had already made its decision about her.

Yizhuo didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned in, gently squeezing Minjeong’s shoulder—anchoring, quiet. Then came the grin. "It’s Team Edward vs. Team Jacob all over again."

Minjeong furrowed her brows. "What?"

Yizhuo smirked. "You know... family-fueled loyalty wars, passive-aggressive favoritism, the classics."

Minjeong rolled her eyes, unimpressed, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

"House is divided," Yizhuo added, motioning loosely toward the other room. 

Minjeong didn’t reply, but her gaze drifted to the side table where her glass still sat, untouched. And maybe it was nothing—maybe just an idle reach. But her fingers hovered a second too long before she grasped it, the motion too careful for someone supposed to be careless.

Yizhuo caught it instantly. Without hesitation, she reached across, snatched the glass from Minjeong’s hand, and downed the rest in one clean gulp. A sharp exhale. Then, like it was obvious, "Not letting you spiral. Try again another night."

Minjeong blinked at her, eyes just a little clearer.

Yizhuo leaned in, playful but firm. "Ball’s in your court." Then, smirking, "Or fine—puck’s yours, captain."

Minjeong stared at Yizhuo like the puck metaphor had physically offended her. "I’m in no position to fight like this." Her voice was quiet—low and leveled, but unmistakably resigned. "Ryujin has always been the better option."

Yizhuo blinked. Then scoffed. "In what world?" she asked, folding her arms and leaning closer.

Minjeong didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t need to explain—at least not all of it. The plan she’d been carrying, tucked behind her ribs, hadn’t left her alone in weeks. February 14 hovered like a quiet expiration date she couldn’t escape. No matter how loud her soul screamed for Jimin—no matter how greedy her heart or body wanted to be—she knew it wasn’t meant to last. So instead, she just shook her head. "You wouldn’t get it."

Yizhuo narrowed her eyes. "Bullshit." Then—she grabbed Minjeong by the shoulders and gave her a quick, desperate shake. "Bro, I’m rooting for you. Aeri is too! Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. She’s literally running interference every time Ryujin comes near Jimin—I’ve witnessed it."

Minjeong ran a hand over her face, dragging it down roughly like she could wipe the tension off her skin. "Stop," she muttered. "Please. Just... stop for a second."

That was enough.

Yizhuo caught herself, bit down gently on her bottom lip. She knew the warning signs—push too hard and Minjeong would shut down completely.

She exhaled, her voice softer now. "Okay. I’ll stop. For now."

There was a beat of silence, and then— "But listen to me." Her hand found Minjeong’s again, firm but kind. "I’ll support you no matter what. I mean that. Even if you decide to nuke this whole thing and disappear into a cave, I’ll bring snacks. Just..."

She hesitated, then said it plainly. "You’re allowed to be loved, Minjeong. By me. By us. You don’t have to earn it first."

Minjeong said nothing. But she didn’t pull her hand away.

It was grounding, in a way Minjeong hadn’t realized she needed.

Yizhuo—devil spawn incarnate, chaos in sneakers—had always been the tether when Minjeong wandered too far into the dark. Maybe that was why they worked. Because Minjeong had been flirting with death long before she ever admitted it. Toying with the idea of disappearing, of letting go. And if the underworld really did send someone to keep her company, then of course it would be Yizhuo. Sharp-tongued, loud-hearted, wild as hell—hers, entirely.

But on good days— On the rare ones when the clouds cleared and the air felt breathable—Minjeong didn’t see a devil at all. She saw something closer to a guardian.

No, not quite that either. Yizhuo wasn’t holy. She was a fallen angel—the kind who played both sides but always circled back to her. Pulling her from the edge. Keeping her from going too far in either direction.

Across the house, Mrs. Yu clapped her hands, smile bright and practiced. "Dinner is ready, everyone!"

The announcement moved like muscle memory—quiet shifts of chairs, soft conversation trailing off, footsteps padding from room to room.

Mr. Yu took his place at the head, carving knife in hand, slicing the roast with quiet precision as the aroma spread warmly through the space. Mr. Uchinaga passed the mashed potatoes across the table with an easy nod.

Aeri began placing bowls of sides on the table—creamed corn, glazed carrots, Brussels sprouts with toasted almonds—all arranged without instruction.

Ryujin peeled the foil off a chilled bottle of champagne, tilting it open with practiced finesse. She moved gracefully, refilling glasses with gentle tilts of the wrist. The aunties smiled with fond approval; the uncles reached over to ruffle her hair as she passed.

Jimin accepted her glass with a soft smile—not forced, not overly warm. Just… familiar.

Minjeong watched from her place at the table. Observing. Absorbing.

Everything moved like choreography. No calls. No chaos. Just years of comfort layered into every motion. These weren’t bloodlines—they were lifelong friendships turned something deeper. This rhythm had been built before any of the kids had learned to walk, and now it just lived in the walls.

She nodded once at the scene, unreadable, and looked back down at her plate.

Then— "There’s no gravy?" Mrs. Shin’s voice rose from the other end, brows gently furrowed.

The room paused. Just a breath.

"I completely forgot!" Mrs. Yu exclaimed, already pivoting toward the cupboard to rummage for instant gravy packets.

Mrs. Shin, ever opinionated in her calmly disarming way, set down her fork with a soft clink. "No gravy…" she remarked, tilting her head slightly. "I suppose I’ll just have to eat the roast later then—it’s not quite the same without it." A clipped pause. Then a side glance down the table. "And by the time it’s ready, the meat will be cold anyway."

A ripple of unease moved through the table. Chairs shifted. Eyes flicked. The kind of tension that didn’t explode—but settled thick, quiet, and heavy.

Mr. Yu’s brows tightened ever so slightly, lips parting like he might rise to defend his wife’s flustered look—

But Minjeong beat him to it. "I’ll take care of it," she said evenly, already reaching for her napkin. She folded it once, set it beside her plate, and stood with a calm steadiness that felt almost rehearsed.

Jimin shifted beside her, as if ready to offer… something. But the moment passed.

Minjeong was already on her way to the kitchen.

She weaved her way to the kitchen, expression steady, tone smooth as she stopped Mrs. Yu mid-scramble for packets. "Please, enjoy the meal first before it gets cold," she said softly. "I’ll handle the gravy."

Mrs. Yu blinked, slightly caught off-guard. "I don’t even know where the packets are—"

"I can make it fresh," Minjeong replied with a small, reassuring smile. "I’ll use the roast juices, chicken stock, and flour. It won’t take long."

There was a beat. The tension—soft but present—eased slightly. Enough for the others to return to their plates.

Minjeong turned to the stove, her movements precise, deliberate. She wasn’t rushing.

But this wasn’t just about gravy. It was a small way out—a way to catch her breath. A reason to step out of the current, to keep her hands busy, to prove (if only to herself) that she wasn’t just taking up space.

The kitchen hummed behind her, the clinking of silverware and quiet hum of conversation cushioning her steps. But she felt Mrs. Yu’s presence still by the counter. Not hovering. Not prying. But there.

Minjeong stirred slowly, focused on the task. But Mrs. Yu stayed, unease flickering just beneath the surface—not because she doubted Minjeong’s skill, but because here she was, in the kitchen alone, stirring a sauce she hadn’t been expected to make.

Mrs. Yu raises her hands with caution, holding the gravy boat in one hand, and a stick of butter in the other. She paused at the edge of the counter, her presence hesitant—not imposing, but intentional. "Do we need this?" she asked, gesturing with the butter like it might hold the answer to something bigger. Her voice was calm, casual—but the way her fingers gripped the foil-wrapped stick said otherwise.

Minjeong glanced over, catching that grip. She offered a small smile. "Yeah. That’ll help thicken it."

Mrs. Yu nodded, her shoulders softening just a fraction as she unwrapped the butter and slid it toward the pot. She didn’t say anything more—not about the roast, not about the table, not about Minjeong being in here instead of out there. She just lingered. She gathered a whisk from the drawer, handed over the flour when Minjeong needed it, reached instinctively for the chicken stock like she had made this a hundred times before. Not taking over. Not fussing. Just... staying. Because maybe she’d sensed it too—that no one should have to stand alone, even when they insist they’re fine.

Meanwhile, at the table, Mrs. Shin lifted her gaze, watching the kitchen with mild curiosity. "This is her first time meeting you all, right?" she asked casually, her tone conversational, but her eyes lingering a second too long.

Mr. Yu didn’t look up right away. He carved clean through the roast, sliding a generous slice onto Yizhuo’s plate—who, frankly, looked ready to propose to the beef.

Then he answered. "Yes," he said, voice even but edged. "First time. And still managed to step in without anyone asking."

His carving knife clicked against the platter as he cut another slice of roast. "She just flowed right in," he said, tone smooth, but with the faintest drop of bite. "Made everything feel easy. More helpful than half the room probably realized."

He didn’t name names, but his eyes flicked once—fleeting, but unmistakable—toward the end of the table.

"My wife was worried sick this would fall apart." He handed off a plate, still smiling, but the warmth was cooling at the edges. "Funny how it’s always the quiet ones who step in and get things done."

There was a pause—small but sharp. One of those silences people pretend not to notice.

Then a tug—Jimin’s fingers gently wrapping around the cuff of his sleeve. No words, just a reminder.

Mr. Yu looked at her, let out a small breath through his nose. And then he softened again, expression flicking back to his usual.

"Anyway—roast is still warm. Let’s not give it a chance to get shy."

He passed the next plate down the line, carving with fresh precision—like the moment had never happened.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Yu stood beside Minjeong, murmuring something about the consistency—not too thin, not too thick. Minjeong adjusted the flame, nodded, gave the sauce one last stir.

Neither of them heard the hum of conversation from the dining room. They worked in quiet rhythm, tucked into their own corner of the evening.

At her seat, Jimin tilted back in her chair, subtly leaning on the rear legs to sneak a view past the heads and shoulders—to see into the kitchen.

Before she could catch more than a glimpse, Ryujin reached out. A firm hand on the top rail of Jimin’s chair. A clean push. Back down onto all four legs.

“You need to stop doing that,” Ryujin said, not sharp, but unyielding. Her voice is low and close—like a reminder, not a request.

Jimin didn’t argue. She never did. She nodded slightly, eyes dropping to her plate. A quiet acquiescence, practiced.

Then—movement.

Her father made another clean cut, lifting a thick, almost over-generous slab of roast beef—the largest he’d carved yet, even larger than the one he’d served Yizhuo.

He placed it onto Minjeong’s empty plate near the head of the table, then glanced toward the kitchen.

“Just making sure she eats,” he said, voice carrying just enough to be heard, before flashing Jimin a knowing grin. “Soaks up some of that bubbly.”

Jimin huffed a small laugh, her lips curving as she shook her head at him, amused. Softly, warmth spreads under Jimin’s ribs. Not because it was grand. Not because it was favoritism. But because her father had noticed, too. Noticed Minjeong’s quiet help. And he took care of Minjeong in the way he would with others, without saying too much.

She scooped a serving of mashed potatoes onto her own plate, waiting patiently for her turn.

Just then, Mrs. Yu returned to the table, holding the gravy boat with both hands, a warm smile lighting her face. “It’s ready,” she announced cheerfully, setting it down near the center.

Minjeong slipped back into her seat beside Jimin—quiet, steady, as if nothing had shifted, even though something had. On Jimin’s other side sat Ryujin, posture straight, perfectly composed.

Mr. Yu resumed carving, his hands steady with the kind of muscle memory only years of hosting could build. He placed a neatly portioned cut onto Jimin’s plate—exactly how she liked it, no gristle, not too thick. A touch more than she’d probably finish, because he was his daughter, and that’s just how it had always been. Then another for Ryujin—leaner, smaller, just enough to satisfy but not overwhelm.

From the other end of the table, Mr. Shin spoke, voice firm but edged with humor. “That’s all, Yu? Cut a real piece for my daughter.”

Mr. Yu chuckled, polite but clipped. "She never finishes her plate," he replied with practiced calm. "After this many years, I’ve perfected the cuts—no waste, no leftovers."

What he didn’t say was this:

It wasn’t guesswork. It was muscle memory, yes—but also instinct. A lifetime of watching these kids grow up around the table. Jimin, distracted by conversation, never quite finished more than two-thirds. Ryujin always claimed she could eat more but routinely left her plate with a bite or two untouched. Aeri liked her cuts lean, her portions clean—never one to ask for seconds.

Each serving was a quiet calculation. A private kind of care.

Most years, the rest of the roast would be tucked away for him and Jimin the next morning—sandwiched between toasted bread, horseradish, and cheddar. A small tradition.

But tonight was different. With two new faces at the table tonight, he wasn’t saving anything. He’d cut the largest slabs for Yizhuo and Minjeong without flinching. He wanted them full. He wanted them to be welcome. And frankly—those two scrawny girls looked like they could use it.

Ryujin leaned back, unfazed, the corner of her mouth ticking upward. "I’ve developed quite the appetite," she said smoothly. "And I’ve been looking forward to this—Mrs. Yu seemed especially excited this year."